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 6
Elodie POV
The suppressed snickers of the surrounding elites buzzed like toxic hornets in the grand ballroom. I took another slow sip of my champagne, letting the cold liquid soothe my throat as the trap tightened.
My stepmother, Luna Victoria Schmidt, glided over to a group of rival Alphas standing nearby. She wore a mask of perfectly practiced, fake sympathy. "Poor thing," Victoria sighed, her voice carrying effortlessly over the music. "Kingsley's legal battles must have the Blackwood Pack's funds running so tight. It’s a shame she has to make do."
Bianca Sterling preened under the attention, stepping closer to me. "Oh, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with sugary venom. "Are you wearing the budget version? It looks so... empty."
Kingsley’s hand, still wrapped around my arm, turned to absolute steel. A low, guttural rumble—a feral, beastly growl meant only for my ears—vibrated deep within his chest. His scent spiked violently. The smell of cedarwood before a thunderstorm and a burning bonfire flooded the space, thick with lethal aggression. His Lycan was seconds away from tearing the room apart to protect his mate.
He shifted his weight, preparing to pull me behind him and unleash his Alpha's Command on the entire room.
I turned my head just enough to meet his storm-gray eyes. With a microscopic, almost imperceptible movement, I shook my head. My lips parted, silently forming a single word: *Wait.*
Kingsley’s jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained against his collar, but miraculously, he held his ground.
Just then, the crowd near the entrance parted like the Red Sea. Valentina V, the supreme authority of the fashion world and a formidable older she-wolf, stepped into the ballroom. Alphas and Lunas alike stepped aside, bowing their heads slightly in respect.
Clotilde’s eyes lit up with malicious triumph. Like a proud peacock, she stepped directly into Valentina’s path, blocking her way. "Valentina! What perfect timing," Clotilde announced, ensuring the entire room was watching. "Please, you must settle a debate for us. Who wore it better?"
Valentina V stopped. Her icy, calculating gaze swept over the silent crowd before landing on the two of us.
She approached Bianca first. Valentina didn't even bother to touch the glittering, crystal-encrusted fabric. She simply leaned in slightly, taking a delicate sniff of the air.
"Tsk," Valentina clicked her tongue, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Then, she walked straight toward me.
Kingsley’s body went completely rigid. I could feel the violent hum of his beast, ready to sever the arm of anyone who dared touch me. But Valentina ignored his lethal aura. With her leather-gloved fingers, she gently brushed the fabric of my cuff. Reaching into her clutch, she produced a professional jeweler's loupe and pressed it to her eye, examining the inner seam of my sleeve.
She was looking for the microscopic 'P' hand-stitched in platinum thread—a detail invisible to the naked eye.
After a long, agonizing moment, Valentina lowered the loupe. She took a step back and turned to the breathless crowd.
"This is *Velvet Noir*," Valentina announced, her voice ringing with absolute, unquestionable authority. "Hand-stitched by the late master designer Pierre himself. The 2024 Atelier prototype. Only three exist in the world. It is a priceless piece of art."
A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom.
Valentina then turned her lethal gaze back to Bianca, who was suddenly trembling. "And what you are wearing, Miss Sterling, is a factory-line replica. Those cheap glass beads are merely a distraction from the atrocious stitching."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Valentina looked back at me, a rare smile touching her lips. "Exquisite taste, Elodie. I expect you at my private dinner next week."
As Valentina walked away, the illusion shattered. Bianca’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. Her chest heaved, and I could see her eyes flashing, her inner wolf panicking, desperate to shift and flee from the ultimate social execution.
I slowly lowered my champagne glass and looked up at Kingsley.
He was staring at me as if he were seeing me for the very first time. The confusion and protective fury that had clouded his eyes were entirely gone. In their place was a burning mixture of shock, awe, and a dark, consuming fire of Lycan possessiveness. His beast was roaring in his mind, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
I was never the helpless wolfless victim he thought he needed to protect. I was the one who had orchestrated the slaughter.
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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.