From Rejected Omega to the Supreme Alpha's Queen

I stood before a polished black headstone, tracing the gold letters of my own name. Five years ago, my Fated Mate, Clayton, rejected me in a blizzard because I was a "useless Omega" who couldn't shift. He left me to freeze to death so he could mate with my sister, Ainsley, claiming it was necessary for the pack's genetics. Now, Clayton stood behind me, trembling as he dropped a bouquet of wilted lilies. He thought I was a ghost. But when he realized I was alive, the shock turned into arrogance. He tried to use his Alpha Command to force me to my knees. My family was even worse. When I walked into the pack house, my father accused me of treason for "faking my death." My aunt tried to slap me for being disrespectful. They demanded I donate my blood to save my father's life, still treating me like a disposable resource. They didn't realize that the pressure crushing the room wasn't coming from them—it was coming from me. They had thrown away a Royal White Wolf to keep a human pretending to be a shifter. The irony was suffocating. I didn't flinch when they threatened me. I just smiled and let my true aura explode, turning the air to ice. "You rejected me for being weak," I whispered, my eyes flashing silver. Then, the doors blew off their hinges. My husband, the Supreme Alpha, walked in and grabbed the elders by the throat. "You just declared war on the Blood Moon Pack." Chapter 1 Ivy POV: The marble of the headstone was cold under my fingertips. It was polished black stone, the kind rich families bought to perform grief for the public while feeling absolutely nothing in private. I traced the gold lettering. Here lies Ivy Dillard. Beloved Daughter. Gone too soon. "Beloved daughter," I whispered, the wind snatching the words from my lips. "What a joke." I adjusted my dark sunglasses. My black trench coat whipped around my legs in the Chicago wind. Five years ago, the cold would have killed me. I was a weak Omega then, a wolf who couldn't shift, shivering in the snow where they left me to die. Now, the cold felt like a lover's caress. My inner wolf, a beast of pure white fur and ancient power, stretched contentedly in my chest. She enjoyed the irony. We were standing on our own grave. "I didn't expect to see anyone here." The voice came from behind me. I didn't need to turn. I'd heard the hesitation in his heavy footsteps the moment they crunched onto the gravel. Clayton Greene. My nose twitched. The wind carried his scent to me. Once, it had smelled like rain and comfort. Now? It smelled like stagnation. Like a pond that had sat too long without fresh water. And then, he inhaled. I heard the sharp intake of breath. He caught my scent. It wasn't the milky, barely-there scent of a dormant Omega anymore. It was the scent of polar ice, crisp winter air, and wild roses blooming in a blizzard. The scent of a Luna. "Who are you?" Clayton asked. His voice trembled slightly. I turned around slowly. I reached up and took off my sunglasses. Clayton was holding a bouquet of wilted white lilies. When his eyes met mine, the flowers dropped from his hand. They hit the grass with a soft thud. His face went pale, draining of all color. He stumbled back, his boots scraping against the gravel path. "Ivy?" he choked out. "No. That's impossible. You're... you're dead." I looked at him. He hadn't aged well. The guilt—or perhaps just the stress of running a failing pack—had carved premature lines into his face. "Am I?" I asked, letting my voice drop to a hum that vibrated in the air. "You're a ghost," he whispered, eyes wide. "Or a Rogue playing tricks." "A ghost doesn't have a heartbeat, Clayton," I said, taking a step toward him. "Listen." I let my aura slip just a fraction. It wasn't a full release, just a tease. The pressure in the air dropped. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. My heart beat strong and slow, like a war drum. "And a Rogue?" I laughed, a cold sound. "Do I look like a scavenger to you?" I was wearing a coat worth more than his car. My boots were Italian leather. I didn't look like a stray; I looked like royalty. Clayton stared at me, trying to reconcile the shivering, crying girl he had rejected five years ago with the woman standing before him. He couldn't do it. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice gaining a little strength, though his wolf was clearly cowering inside him. I could smell his fear. It smelled like sour milk. I pointed a gloved finger at the grave. "I came to pay my respects," I said. "To the girl you murdered." "I didn't kill you," he protested quickly, the lie coming automatic to his tongue. "You ran away. The storm..." "Save it," I cut him off. "There is nothing in that coffin but rocks and your family's lies." I walked closer to him. He was an Alpha heir, born to lead, but as I approached, he shrank. My white wolf was pacing in my mind, growling low, wanting to snap his neck. Patience, I told her. The game has just begun. I looked down at the wilted lilies on the ground. "Cheap flowers, Clayton," I said, sneering. "For the girl who was supposed to be your Fated Mate? That is an insult to the Moon Goddess." "You were an Omega," he snapped, defensive now. "You couldn't shift. You were useless to the pack." "And look at me now," I said softly. I let the full weight of my gaze hit him. My eyes flashed silver—the signature of the White Wolf lineage. "Do I look useless?" He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was drowning in my presence. The ice and roses scent was suffocating him. "The Ivy you knew is in that hole," I told him, stepping past him toward the exit. "She's dead. But I'm very much alive. And Clayton? My heartbeat is much stronger than yours ever was."