HER FATED MATE IS AN OMEGA
SYNOPSIS:
"I spent ten years scrubbing your floors, Greene. Tonight, you'll scrub mine."
Elara Vance has always been the pride the Republic until she ran away from home, fell in love with Greene Jones, a man who treated her like dirt and discarded her like she was never the girl the entire Republic feared because of her strong dominating pheromones.
Now she's back after twelve years to serve revenge to Greene Jones like a hot dish in a way that he will pay for every act meted out on her for twelve years. But things wasn't going to go as planned as she meets Silas, the handsome bulky head of her father's security but a recessive omega of her past that she has totally forgotten but now wears a new stance as her bodyguard, recognized by the entire republic as an Alpha, and her perfect chosen mate, Calvin; ruining the comeback and revenge she planned out for herself and now she has to think about saving and claiming her mate, Silas while navigating and protecting the seat meant for her.
The real question becomes; will Calvin ever allow her take all it took him twelve years to build?
THEME: The true definition of power. Is it found in the biological dominance of an Alpha, or in the resilience of an Omega who survived in the lion's den?
Chapters
Share
Chapter 7
"Please! I can fix this-"
"And make sure," she added, her gaze finally flicking back to him, "he remembers exactly where he stands."
Greene dropped fully this time to his knees. Right there in front of everyone.
"Elara, please! I didn't know! I swear I didn't know-"
She stared at him unmoved.
"You're right," she said quietly.
"You didn't know."
Her lips curved slightly not into a smile but for something colder.
"And that ignorance cost you everything." She turned to the guards, and then lowered her stance to meet Greene's ears, "I spent ten years scrubbing your floors, Greene. Tonight and forever, you'll scrub mine."
"Please...Elle, for the sake of the beautiful..."
A slap left her hand directly on his face, and his face shifted, "Beautiful what?" She asked narrowing her gaze at her. "Remind me, what was ever beautiful about you?"
"Take him away."
The guards grabbed him and dragged him back as he shouted, begged, struggled, no one stepped in and no one spoke. Because the verdict had already been delivered and the room had accepted it.
"That served him right, he was talking too much." Someone murmured from the crowd.
"How could he insult Alpha Elara like that?" Another asked in a low tone.
"But more importantly, what's the relationship between Elara and that man? What of Beatrice, she was here a while ago."
"A lot is even happening because what is our almighty Silas doing on the floor?"
"Where's Beatrice?" Elara asked, her gaze sweeping slowly across the crowd, sharp and searching. Her eyes didn't miss a single face. "Find her."
She didn't direct the order to anyone in particular, yet it carried enough authority that several guards and attendants immediately broke away, pushing through the guests.
Moments later, the sound came-
"Leave me alone! Let me go!!"
The protests grew louder, closer, until Beatrice was dragged forward and shoved roughly to the ground at Elara's feet.
A faint scoff slipped past Elara's lips as she looked down at her.
"You said you were what again?" she asked, her voice calm but cutting as she lowered herself slightly. Beatrice trembled under her gaze, panic written all over her face. "The President's daughter?"
"I-I didn't say that," Beatrice replied quickly, too quickly. Her voice shook as her eyes darted away, only to land on Silas, still on the floor, his body subtly writhing as he struggled to keep himself together.
Elara's eyes narrowed.
"What did you say?" she pressed, her tone dropping.
Before Beatrice could respond, a sharper, commanding wave of pheromones rolled in from behind. The crowd instinctively parted, creating a clear path.
The President.
And beside him, the Prime Minister.
"What is going on here?" Her father's voice rang out, firm and authoritative.
Beatrice scrambled to her feet instantly, rushing toward her father's side like a frightened child seeking protection.
The President's gaze swept past her, landing almost immediately on Silas, who was still trying, failing to stand upright.
"What is wrong with him?"
"Sick," Elara answered quickly, almost too quickly.
Calvin's eyes snapped to her face at once, suspicion flickering in their depths.
"I'm... I'm fine," Silas managed, his voice strained as he forced himself halfway up, only for his body to falter again. It looked less like weakness and more like something was pulling him apart from the inside.
"Why are you on a rampage?" the Prime Minister asked, irritation seeping into his tone as he glanced between Elara and his daughter.
Elara straightened, her expression cooling instantly. "Why? Am I not allowed to punish citizens who make mistakes in this country?"
"On your first day back?" he shot back. "Everyone is here to celebrate you, yet you choose to turn it into a spectacle in front of distinguished guests?"
Elara let out a soft, humorless snort. "If your daughter hadn't stolen my identity, I wouldn't have had a reason to."
A brief silence followed.
"And why would she steal your identity?" her father asked, his voice measured, but probing. "Did you think to ask her?"
Elara's fist clenched at her side.
Before she could respond, Calvin stepped forward, his gaze locking onto Beatrice.
"Why did you steal the Alpha's identity?" he asked bluntly.
Beatrice hesitated, her lips parting as her eyes flickered once again toward Silas.
"Because..." she began, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. "Because I'm in love with Silas."
A ripple went through the crowd.
"What?" Elara's brows furrowed, disbelief clear in her tone. "You're in love with Silas... and somehow that led to Greene?"
Even Silas, in his dazed state, seemed to register his name faintly, his expression tightening as if he were trying and failing to grasp the conversation happening around him.
"Who is Greene to you?" the Prime Minister asked smoothly, redirecting the narrative with practiced ease.
Beatrice straightened slightly, clinging to her story. "I'm telling the truth. I had to disguise myself... to make Silas jealous. That was the only way."
Soft laughter broke out across the room.
Whispers followed, all romantic, dramatic, and amusing.
The tension shifted.
"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?" the Prime Minister continued, his tone light but pointed. "We are family, Elara. Matters like this should be handled privately, not turned into entertainment for a crowd."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Or did you lose your manners during your twelve-year... absence?"
The jab landed and Elara felt it-but didn't react.
Not outwardly.
The Prime Minister turned, placing a guiding hand on Beatrice's shoulder as he began to lead her away.
As she moved, Beatrice glanced back.
And smiled.
A small, sharp, victorious smile meant only for Elara.
"Take care of this," the President said, his tone quieter now but no less firm. "And meet me in my study tomorrow morning. You will explain everything."
Then he turned, following after the Prime Minister.
The crowd slowly began to settle, though the whispers hadn't stopped.
Elara exhaled slowly, the tension in her chest coiling tighter instead of easing.
Then she turned back to Silas. He was still watching her, still breathing unevenly, still affected, and this time, she didn't hesitate.
She started toward him.
"What's wrong with him?" Calvin's voice cut in, stopping her mid-step.
Elara paused.
"Who?" she asked, though she already knew.
Calvin lifted his hand slightly, pointing.
"Silas."
You may also like
9.1
Cora crash-landed her escape pod on a brutal alien planet, only to be immediately hunted by a massive six-eyed beast.
A colossal black wolf dropped from the canopy and crushed the beast's neck to save her. But before she could even breathe, the wolf transformed into a towering, naked primitive man with glowing gold eyes.
He hauled her back to his savage tribe, where she was instantly treated like garbage. The women sneered at her fragile human body, and the men eyed her like fresh meat.
The tribe leader's jealous daughter even handed her a waterskin laced with a terrifying alien breeding drug, hoping to turn Cora into a mindless spectacle of lust in front of the entire settlement.
"Drink. You look like you're dying," the daughter sneered, waiting for Cora to lose her mind.
Cora was terrified and completely out of her depth. She didn't understand why this lethal Alpha warrior looked at her with such dark, consuming possessiveness, or why he was willing to slaughter his own people just to protect her.
How was a stranded human supposed to survive in a terrifying world where every plant, beast, and local wanted her dead?
"BEEP! Critical Warning! Liquid contains high concentrations of alien aphrodisiac herbs," her implanted AI assistant suddenly echoed in her skull.
Looking at the hostile tribe and the fiercely protective Alpha shielding her, Cora silently activated her tech interface. She wasn't just going to be a helpless pet in this savage world.
9.7
Sienna woke up in a hospital room, her body screaming from a severe car accident. Through the glass, a man paced with violent rage, a dark shadow she felt absolutely nothing for.
Her friend Julia burst in, eyes bloodshot, dropping a bomb: "He didn't even try to help you." Dante, Sienna's fiancé, had protected another woman, Valeria, in the crash, leaving Sienna to burn alive.
Her past life unspooled – seven years sacrificed, an architecture degree abandoned, all to serve Dante. Her phone was a shrine to him: his photos, his "taboos," and even "Valeria's preferences," with no trace of Sienna herself.
But amnesia brought no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating fury. She felt disgust for the "idiot" she'd been, stripped of dignity. The memory loss was a release, a blank slate.
With chilling resolve, Sienna deleted every trace of Dante. Ripping out her IV, she declared, "The wedding proceeds." Not for love, but as a weapon: "I need to take back everything that belongs to me before I disappear."
8.1
On my wedding day, the wedding planner looked at me with pity in her eyes.
She told me the groom had called with a last-minute request. He wanted the name on the floral arch changed from "Elena" to "Sofia."
Five years of loyalty to Dante Romero, and I found out he was planning a "secret" ceremony with his mistress an hour before ours.
He claimed she was dying of cancer. He said it was her final wish to be a bride, and that as a good mafia wife, I should understand. He swore it was just charity.
But I had seen the texts where he called me "furniture."
I had watched him step over my body when I fell down the stairs at a club, just so he could leave with her.
And this morning, I watched Sofia walk into the hotel lobby wearing *my* custom French lace wedding dress, smirking as she clung to his arm.
Dante thinks I'm crying in the bridal suite.
He thinks I will sit in the front row of his "fake" wedding and wait for my turn like a dutiful puppet.
He is wrong.
I wiped my tears and picked up my phone. I didn't cancel the wedding date. I just changed the location to the ballroom next door.
And I changed the groom.
As Dante says his vows to his mistress, I am walking down the aisle to meet the only man the Romero family fears.
The Reaper.
8.6
For two years, I was trapped behind my own eyes, a prisoner in my own skull.
A crazed fan had hijacked my body after a brutal car crash, wearing my skin like a cheap suit.
When my soul finally locked back into my flesh in a cramped hospital room, I realized she had destroyed everything I built.
This parasitic stalker had drained my massive fortune to zero, buying luxury gifts for a mediocre actor and turning me into the internet's most hated woman.
My phone was flooded with death threats, and the hashtag demanding I go to hell was trending at number one.
Even the hospital nurses despised me. One marched into my room, raising her hand to violently slap my pale cheek.
"You psychotic bitch, you make me sick!"
Worse, my sprawling Beverly Hills estate had been foreclosed and sold to a mysterious billionaire named Kasey Dominguez.
I had absolutely nothing left. No money. No reputation. No home.
The sheer violation of watching a psychotic stranger ruin my life while I was locked in the passenger seat of my own mind made my blood boil.
I refused to let her destroy my legacy.
As the nurse's hand descended, my atrophied muscles snapped into action.
I twisted her wrist until the joint popped, grabbed the keys to my freedom, and slipped out into the cold Los Angeles night.
I was going to take my life back, starting with the billionaire who thought he owned my house.
8.0
For ten years, I played the safe, "wolfless" emotional support animal for my werewolf best friend, Finn, secretly loving him while he chased his toxic ex.
When she got engaged to a rival Alpha, he dragged me across the country to crash the mating ceremony, only to abandon me at the airport.
His terrifying older brother, Alpha Knox, picked me up instead and shattered my world with one sentence: Finn had always known how I felt, and he intentionally weaponized my devotion.
To prove how little I meant to him, Knox orchestrated a cruel test at a seedy Rogue club.
While I sat right next to Finn in a sticky booth, Knox sent over a stripper.
"You don't mind, right, Sloane? It's just a gift," Finn slurred.
Without hesitating, he let the stripper straddle him right in front of me, burying his face in her neck to chase away the pain of his ex.
A decade of my blind loyalty turned to ash in that smoke-filled room.
I hated my defective, wolfless biology, but I hated him more for treating me like a stray dog begging for scraps.
Why did I waste my entire youth protecting a male who didn't even see me as a woman?
Suffocating on shame and fury, I fled to the cramped club bathroom to hide.
*Click.*
The deadbolt slid into place, and the intoxicating scent of a violent thunderstorm and spent gunpowder swallowed me whole.
Alpha Knox Crawford stood against the locked door, his merciless eyes pinning me to the sink.
7.1
I worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street just to keep my sick brother alive, enduring endless humiliation from the wealthy family that adopted us.
But when I went to surprise my boyfriend of three years, I found him kissing my spoiled adoptive sister, Tatum.
They were celebrating their engagement to merge their powerful families.
To keep me quiet, my adoptive mother, Eleanor, threatened to freeze my brother's medical trust fund unless I attended the party to play the supportive sister.
Instead, I discovered Eleanor had been embezzling from my brother's life-saving fund to cover her own bad investments.
The nightmare worsened when a drunken Ryder cornered me in my apartment stairwell.
"Once I marry Tatum, Eleanor is giving me control of Liam's trust fund to buy out my father's board members."
He planned to drain my brother's medical money, dump Tatum, and keep me as his mistress.
For a decade, I suffered their abuse hoping for a shred of decency, only to realize they were plotting to leave my brother to die on the streets for corporate greed.
Calling the police wouldn't stop these billionaires. I needed absolute power.
Remembering the dark, predatory gaze of Jaren Jarvis—the ruthless billionaire who had watched me fight back at the party—I canceled my call to 911.
If they wanted to destroy my only family, I was going to use the devil himself to crush theirs.