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 5
Elodie POV
The Maybach’s door opened, and the night air hit me instantly. It was thick with the sharp pine and heavy musk of dozens of rival Alphas. Camera flashes exploded like white fire, blinding and chaotic.
Kingsley’s hand clamped around mine, his grip iron-clad. The familiar, intoxicating sparks from his touch shot up my arm, but his body was rigid. He pulled me flush against his side, using his massive frame to shield me from a particularly aggressive Alpha glaring in our direction.
*"Don't let them smell your fear,"* Kingsley growled, his voice a barely audible, feral rumble against my ear. *"They will eat you alive."*
Instead of cowering under his heavy Alpha's Command, I kept my gaze fixed forward. With my free index finger, I slowly, deliberately traced a single line down the center of his palm.
*I hear you, but I am not yours.*
Kingsley went completely still. His storm-gray eyes snapped down to me, flashing with pure shock before the irises were swallowed by pitch-black. *Rage*, his Lycan beast, was roaring in his mind—provoked not just by my silent defiance, but by the magnetic, maddening pull of it.
We reached the top of the grand marble steps, flanked by two rows of Silver Creek Pack Warriors. Standing at the entrance was my father, Alpha Richard Schmidt. He didn't even acknowledge Kingsley. His cold, calculating eyes landed solely on me.
"You're finally proving useful," Richard muttered, his voice carrying just enough to ensure the nearby elites heard him reduce me to a mere asset.
Kingsley shifted instantly, stepping entirely in front of me. His scent—cedarwood and the violent ozone of a burning bonfire—exploded outward, suffocating the space with pure aggression.
"Your pack is bleeding territory, Richard," Kingsley said, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy register. "Before you worry about my assets, manage your own. I hear sharks are already smelling the blood in the water."
Richard paled, his jaw tightening. "You're swimming with them, Drake."
Kingsley let out a low, dark chuckle. "I *am* the shark."
Inside the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over the crowd. The air was heavy with expensive perfume, roasted meats, and raw power. We barely made it past the towering champagne fountain when Preston Howell blocked our path, Clotilde clinging smugly to his arm.
Preston’s oily gaze raked over me, lingering on my wolfless frame before he smirked at Kingsley. "This must be a very quiet marriage," he sneered. "Considering there's no... mind-link."
My stomach twisted at the vicious reminder of my greatest vulnerability. Instinctively, I stepped a fraction of an inch behind Kingsley's broad shoulder.
He felt the movement. The temperature around us plummeted. Kingsley stared at Preston, his eyes turning to winter ice.
"Your pack's balance sheets are fragile, Howell," Kingsley said, his tone eerily calm but dripping with absolute murder. "Say one more word, and I guarantee by sunrise, you will have nothing left."
Preston swallowed hard, the color draining from his face as he took a hasty step back. But Clotilde’s smirk only widened.
Suddenly, a loud, theatrical gasp echoed near the grand staircase.
Bianca Sterling was descending the steps, draped in a glittering, crystal-encrusted replica of my black velvet gown. Clotilde pointed at her, her voice carrying perfectly over the sudden hush of the crowd. "Oh my goddess, look!"
Bianca strutted over, stopping right in front of me. She looked me up and down, her voice dripping with sugary venom. "Oh, darling. Are you wearing the budget version? It looks so... empty."
Suppressed snickers rippled through the surrounding Alphas and Lunas. The trap had been sprung.
Kingsley’s jaw clenched, a lethal growl vibrating deep in his chest. His Lycan was ready to tear the room apart to protect his mate's honor.
But I didn't flinch. I calmly reached out, lifting a crystal flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. I took a slow sip, looking at Bianca with a gaze of absolute, hollow boredom, as if I were watching a terribly written play.
I wasn't breaking. I was waiting.
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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.