His Silent Omega's Hidden White Wolf Bloodline
I was the Lycan King's political wife, universally despised as a "wolfless Omega" freak.
When my husband, Kingsley, was poisoned with a lethal dose of silver at a pack gala, I disguised my scent and risked everything to drag him to safety.
But instead of recognizing his mate, he threw me to the wolves. He spent weeks tearing the city apart to find his "mysterious savior," while treating me like a sickening disease.
"Stay out of my sight. You reek of sickness."
He spat those words at me, completely blind to the fact that the scent he hated was the bleach I used to hide my tracks. Meanwhile, my abusive family publicly humiliated me, auctioning off my mother's grave to my worst enemy while Kingsley just watched in disgust.
I endured his icy glares and their venomous insults in silence. They all thought I was just a pathetic, empty shell they could crush. They didn't know I was "The Zero"—the phantom hacker currently bleeding their financial empires dry.
At the grand auction, I finally dropped the act. I wiped out my enemy's fortune with a single keystroke, bought my mother's land, and traded it to the Elders for my absolute freedom.
Now, as the auction screens bleed red, Kingsley is staring at me with dark, consuming shock. He finally realizes the lethal monster he’s been hunting was his submissive wife all along.
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Chapter 4
Elodie POV
The morning sun felt too bright after a night spent dismantling Clotilde’s financial portfolio. I sat quietly at the far end of the massive obsidian dining table in the Aerie. Gamma Arthur Vance stood beside Kingsley, sliding a cream-colored envelope across a pristine steel tray. The Schmidt Pack crest gleamed in heavy gold wax.
Kingsley’s jaw ticked. The foyer was already suffocating under his scent—cedarwood and the ozone of an impending thunderstorm. His inner wolf, *Rage*, was highly agitated. Clotilde had poisoned him weeks ago, and this Gala invitation was a blatant, arrogant provocation.
My eyes caught the handwritten note attached to the invitation. *Preston Howell*.
The name of the man who had discarded me for my half-sister simply because I was wolfless. A phantom sting of old humiliation flared in my chest, causing my fingers to twitch slightly against my porcelain coffee cup.
Kingsley didn't miss it. His storm-gray eyes snapped to me, instantly misreading the microscopic physical reaction.
"You want to go," he sneered, his voice dripping with absolute ice. "Like a pathetic, dependent Omega, you're actually eager to crawl back to the very social circle that spat on you."
I kept my face a blank mask, weighing my options in silence.
He took my silence as a confession. A harsh, mocking laugh tore from his throat. "Spineless." He turned to his Gamma, his voice dropping into the heavy, inescapable timber of an Alpha's Command. *"Arthur. Get her styled. I won't have my wife looking like some banished Rogue. Make her presentable."*
He shoved his chair back and stalked out, leaving the room vibrating with his contempt.
Back in the security of my suite, I locked the door and pulled out my encrypted phone. A message from my informant, Cole Parrish, blinked on the screen.
*Target confirmed. The Schmidt Gala's silent auction includes The North Lot. Howell Pack is the buyer.*
My blood ran cold. The North Lot wasn't just a piece of territory. It was my mother's resting place, the only remaining tether to my hidden White Wolf bloodline. My father was selling it to Preston.
This was no longer about surviving a social execution. It was a territorial war. I had to stop that sale at all costs.
Hours later, Arthur wheeled a rack of gowns into my dressing room. They were explosions of sequins, feathers, and tulle—garments designed to make a Luna look like an expensive, submissive ornament.
"No," I said flatly.
I walked to the back of my closet and unzipped a garment bag, pulling out the *Velvet Noir*. It was a long-sleeved, high-necked black velvet gown with a plunging back. It didn't scream wealth; it whispered lethal authority. Like a shadow cast at midnight.
Arthur frowned, crossing his arms. "With all due respect, Luna, that’s a bit... aggressive for tonight, isn't it? The Alpha requested—"
I turned my head and met his gaze. I didn't speak. I simply let a fraction of my suppressed, ancient bloodline bleed into my stare. Arthur was a battle-hardened Gamma, yet he instinctively took a half-step back, his inner wolf recognizing an apex predator even without a scent. He swallowed hard, bowing his head slightly, and left the room without another word.
When I descended the grand black marble staircase of the foyer, the air was thick with Kingsley’s oppressive aura. He was pacing, clearly ready to leave without me.
Then, he looked up.
Kingsley froze. The icy gray of his eyes was instantly swallowed by blown-out black pupils. The sheer, dangerous elegance of the dress clung to my curves, transforming the 'wolfless freak' into a dark queen. For a split second, the air crackled. His Lycan beast was clawing at the surface, roaring a single, possessive word in his mind.
I felt the pull, a heavy, intoxicating gravity drawing me toward him, but I anchored my feet to the marble.
Kingsley blinked hard, his jaw clenching as he violently shoved his instincts down. "Barely adequate," he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.
Inside the dim, leather-scented cabin of the Maybach, the tension was a physical weight. As the car took a sharp turn, the soft velvet of my skirt brushed against his thigh.
Kingsley flinched as if burned. He shifted sharply toward the door, putting as much distance between us as the backseat allowed. He glared straight ahead, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
*"Don't speak tonight,"* he growled, lacing the words with a heavy Alpha's Command meant to cage me. *"Just stand there."*
I turned my head toward the window. In the reflection of the dark glass, I saw the tight lines of his face, the subtle tremor in his clenched jaw. He wasn't just angry; he was terrified of his own lack of control.
I let the silence stretch. Tonight, I wouldn't just stand there.
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7.8
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
8.5
"Oh. God, Eli, please! I'm not on the pills," I gasped, my fingers clawing at his shoulders.
"With a pussy as sweet as that?" he growled against my neck. "Jett was the loser. I'm not. I'm gonna fuck this pussy till the end. Afraid you're gonna have my child?"
My head dropped as a shudder ripped through me. "You're crazy!"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're mine now. My woman. And I'm gonna fuck you until this pretty body of yours only knows me."
---
Rowanne Steele thought she had it all. A perfect marriage to Jett Carter, heir to the Carter empire, and a future filled with love. But when Jett dies in a tragic car crash, her world shatters. Her mourning days aren't over, still clinging to his memory, drowning in grief and loyalty to the man she thought she knew.
Until one night, a hidden truth rises from his belongings and everything Rowanne believed about her husband was a lie.
Lost and heartbroken, she runs into the only arms that feel safe, Eli Carter, Jett's younger brother.
What begins as a moment of comfort in the rain turns into a mistake neither of them can forget. A mistake that feels far too much like fate.
Rowanne swears it can't happen again. Eli refuses to let go. Whether forbidden or not, he's determined to claim her. And this time, he won't lose.
9.4
Hayley was betrayed by those who should have loved her most. To save their precious adopted daughter from a punishment she deserved, her own parents sent Hayley straight into a living hell—an infamous prison where survival demanded cruelty, and weakness meant death.
Four years later, the girl who had entered those iron gates no longer existed. She emerged with a single, unbreakable rule carved into her soul: Every betrayal would be repaid tenfold.
The day she walked free, the world trembled. A convoy of luxury cars lined the road. A legion of loyal followers awaited her triumphant return.
Her father tried to buy her silence with money. But money had long lost its power over her.
Her adopted sister hid behind sweet words and false kindness. But empty smiles no longer fooled her.
Everything that had once been stolen would be reclaimed—piece by piece.
When her parents attempted to tie themselves to the city's most feared man by offering their adopted daughter, Hayley's lips curved into a cold smirk. "Not on my watch."
Backed by a legendary hacker, shadowy allies, and an entire prison willing to burn the world for her, Hayley dismantled her enemies with terrifying precision.
Then the tyrant noticed her. "You're interesting," he said. "Be my woman, and the city is yours."
Hayley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You want to own me? Survive me first."
High society became their battlefield. Power collided with desire. Ambition clashed with obsession. In this ruthless game of dominance and temptation, only one would kneel first.
The girl once abandoned in hell rose from its ashes, crowned by fire and vengeance—And in the end, even the most feared ruler in the city would bow, offering his empire to the woman who had conquered both hell… and him.
8.9
The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below.
I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty.
Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first.
I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated.
Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child?
I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.
7.2
Christa discovered her adopted daughter Evelyn was sneaking around with a street thug named Dante.
When she furiously confronted her, Evelyn squeezed out a few tears and played the tragic, abused orphan.
"Mom is so cruel to me, I just want someone to love me," Evelyn cried to the men of the house, who instantly took her side.
Christa didn't realize her anger only gave the girl the perfect victim card. Evelyn manipulated the family's guilt to drain their wealth and orchestrate a massive corporate fraud.
When the authorities closed in, Evelyn let Christa's eldest daughter Julianna take the fall, sending her to federal prison.
The Stephenson family went completely bankrupt.
Christa's husband Grant, crushed by the betrayal and debt, jumped off a Manhattan skyscraper.
Until her family was entirely destroyed, Christa couldn't understand. They had given the orphan a home, a trust fund, and endless love.
Why did Evelyn treat them like easy marks? Why did she use their kindness as a weapon to tear them apart?
Opening her eyes again, Christa saw the heavy velvet drapes letting in the pale morning light.
She was back seven years ago, on the exact day she first caught Evelyn texting that thug.
This time, Christa wouldn't scream or fight. She would cut off the money, drop the rules, and watch the parasite dig her own grave.
7.6
I sold myself to a paralyzed billionaire to pay for my mother's life support.
But my step-sister staged a photo of me with another man, making my new husband think I was a cheating gold-digger.
In a jealous rage, Curtis locked me in a dark panic room.
While trapped, my step-mother sent a picture of her hand on my mom's ventilator plug, forcing me to sneak out to a black-market clinic.
There, they forcibly drained 800cc of my blood to sell.
Half-dead and in severe shock, I dragged myself back home, only for Curtis to confront me with another staged photo of my ex grabbing me outside the clinic.
Believing I had snuck out to see a lover, he ordered his guards to throw my blood-drained body into the freezing wine cellar.
"Please, don't put me down there! I'll die!"
I begged and clung to his wheelchair, but he just kicked my hand away in absolute disgust.
In the pitch-black, 55-degree room, my organs slowly shut down.
I didn't understand why I had to endure this hell, or why he was so blinded by his own fragile ego that he never even noticed how chalk-white my face was.
Hours later, his precious sister needed an emergency transfusion, and they dragged my icy body out to drain me again.
But when the doctor rolled up my sleeve and exposed the horrific, bruised puncture wound, Curtis finally realized the truth.
As he stared at my arm in absolute, paralyzed terror, the EKG machine attached to my chest flatlined.