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?
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Chapter 9
Before she could react, his arms slid around her waist, pulling her closer. Her breath caught but she didn't move.
"Or... am I dreaming?" he whispered.
Elara didn't give herself time to think about it.
Thinking was dangerous and thinking meant remembering.
And remembering right now would be a mistake.
"The passcode," she repeated, more firmly this time.
He hummed faintly, his head dropping briefly against her shoulder.
"I missed you..." He mumbled, the words barely coherent.
Her expression hardened slightly. He's completely out of it.
"Silas," she pressed again. There's no point speaking to him in this state, she should hurriedly take him to her room.
As she turned away heading towards her own private space, she heard;
"1812," he said faintly forcing himself to breathe as if regaining consciousness for a brief moment.
"That's... the code..."
His grip loosened slightly as his head tilted, voice fading.
"1812..."
The numbers lingered in the air like something fragile. 1812
"It was that day...Elara..." He whispered, "You were eighteen...and I was twelve years old...do you remember?"
Elara didn't give time to think about what he said, that's murder on her side. She didn't waste another second as she shifted her weight slightly, keeping Silas steady against her as she reached for the keypad. Her fingers moved quickly, pressing into the cold. A soft click followed and the door unlocked.
She pushed it open with her shoulder, guiding Silas inside before kicking the door shut behind them.
The room was dimly lit, clean, precise, everything in its place. It felt like him, smelt like him, a man's room smelt so pretty.
She barely made it two steps in before his weight gave out again.
"Silas-"
He sagged against her, his grip tightening weakly around her waist as if she was the only thing holding him together.
"Don't..." he murmured, his voice barely there. "Don't let go..."
She was increasingly getting annoyed, dangerous and she ignored it as she tried to push towards the bed.
"You're not in a position to make requests," she said, her tone firm, though quieter now. She guided him towards the bed, her pheromones barely anchoring her strength as it seemed to be draining out of her, his omega pheromones had seeped into hers so much that she was on the verge of losing control.
But she managed, lowering him down carefully. The moment his back hit the mattress, he exhaled sharply, as the contact grounded him, if only a little. She looked at his shoes and began to take them off.
But it didn't last before his body tensed again almost immediately, a low, strained sound slipping past his lips as his hands fisted into the sheets.
"Hot..." he breathed. "It's too much..."
Elara stood there for a second, watching and assessing him. Her own breath hitching...she could feel the pull in between her legs. Her pheromones are slowly turning against her.
She looked away and when she looked back, he was already moving, tearing at himself like he was trying to escape his own skin. His bow tie came loose, discarded. Buttons followed, one after another, until his shirt fell open.
Don't go there, she turned away slightly, dragging a hand through her short hair, trying to think past the scent that was still wrapping around her like a trap. Or the exposure of skin in plain sight.
Focus.
"What did they give you?" she asked, her voice sharper now as she looked back at him. She proceeded towards his drawer, to find anything...just any drug that could quell him.
"Silas."
That got something.
His gaze shifted, slowly finding her again. Locking onto her like instinct instead of thought.
"You're here..." he whispered.
Not answering the question, she wasn't even trying to, she was trying to save them both from something that's about to happen if not curbed. Her irritation grew as she ransacked through and increasingly found nothing.
She turned to him, her own sweat detailing how much wrong has started to take hold of her, "Listen to me," she said, her voice dropping, more controlled now. "You need to tell me where your suppressants are. My pheromones can't help you anymore, not now."
"Why? They helped twelve years ago..." He said his lips parted slightly. "Do it as you did it last time, make it go away..." He said, while her eyes trailed the line on his neck, following the sweat that kept soaking into his chest and straight down to his abs.
Her brows drew together sharply, her breathing cutting.
"Your suppressants..." she insisted trying to create a distance but his hand whipped forward and gripped hers, pulling her towards himself, she landed on his body before she could even blink.
She seized.
Silas's grip tightened instinctively around her wrist, like he was afraid she would disappear if he let go. The heat coming off his body was suffocating now, burning through the thin space between them.
"Elara..." he breathed, her name rough against his lips.
It wasn't just the way he said it. It was how his body reacted to her. Like she was the answer to something he couldn't fight anymore.
Her jaw clenched, "Let go."
But he didn't budge. Worse, she wasn't moving either.
Their pheromones had tangled somewhere between them, thick and volatile, feeding off each other in a way that made the air feel too tight, too charged to breathe.
Her Alpha roared beneath her skin, feral, aggressive, fighting to take over what little control she had left.
This wasn't good, it was dangerous. She could feel herself slipping. Melting into his grasp instead of resisting it.
Her breath hitched.
"No." Elara shook her head sharply, as she could physically throw the feeling off, and grabbed his wrist, trying to pry his hand away from her.
"Let go," she repeated, more forcefully this time.
But Silas, who could barely stand minutes ago, didn't move, even an inch. His grip held unyieldingly firm.
Her eyes flickered, something unsettled flashing through them.
"You heard me," she started, her voice tightening as she pulled harder, her strength pressing in now. "I said let..."
She didn't finish before his lips crashed into hers.
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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.