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 8
Kingsley POV
The velvet paddle in Elodie’s hand—number 707—hung in the air like a drawn blade.
"Six million," Preston Howell called out, his voice dripping with oily arrogance. He leaned against his chair, casting a mocking glance at the Silver Creek tables. "Let’s put this dying pack out of its misery, shall we?"
I stepped forward, the Lycan blood roaring in my veins, fully intending to silence the insolent pup. But before I could speak, my wolfless wife’s voice rang out, steady and cold.
"Seven million."
I stared at the back of her head, my jaw clenching. I pushed my aura toward her, a heavy, suffocating wave of dominance meant to force her submission. She didn't even flinch.
*'What is she doing? Foolish girl! Protect her!'* Rage, my inner wolf, snarled against my skull, pacing frantically. She had no assets, no pack backing. She was making herself a target.
Preston’s face darkened. "Eight million."
Beside him, Clotilde let out a shrill, grating laugh. "Is the Lycan King footing the bill for his little charity case?"
A lethal growl vibrated in my chest. I was seconds away from tearing Clotilde’s head from her shoulders, but Elodie simply raised her paddle again.
"Nine million."
Preston lost his mind. His pride, fragile and bloated, shattered under the public defiance of an Omega. "Ten million!" he roared, a price absurdly over the territory's valuation.
Elodie calmly lowered her paddle. She was done.
I exhaled a harsh breath, a mixture of confusion and dark irritation swirling in my gut. I couldn't fathom what this suicidal, humiliating performance was meant to achieve.
"Ten million, going once..." the auctioneer stammered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elodie slip a cheap, disposable phone from the hidden pocket of her black velvet gown. Her thumb tapped the screen once.
A split second later, the massive financial monitors flanking the ballroom stage flickered. The standard blue graphs vanished, replaced by a blinding, blood-red screen. A breaking news ticker from Drake Media scrolled across the displays in bold white letters:
*DRAKE HOLDINGS ACQUIRES OMNI-TECH EXCLUSIVE PATENTS.*
My heart stopped dead in my chest.
That acquisition was the Blackwood Pack’s highest-level classified intel. It was my ultimate weapon, designed to dismantle the Howell Pack’s financial infrastructure, and it wasn't supposed to drop until next Monday.
Preston’s phone buzzed violently. He answered it, and I watched the blood drain from his face until he looked like a corpse. His entire credit line for this auction was anchored to the Omni-Tech patents he thought he was securing. His funding was gone. Severed in an instant.
I stared at Elodie’s rigid posture. *How did she know?* The timing was calculated down to the millisecond. The mole I had been hunting for three years, the phantom bleeding my empire... was it my wolfless wife?
"Mr. Howell?" the auctioneer asked nervously. "Do we have confirmation on the ten million?"
Preston was dead silent, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
In the suffocating quiet of the ballroom, Elodie raised paddle 707 one last time.
"Ten thousand and one dollars," she said.
It wasn't a bid. It was a public execution.
The sheer, unadulterated humiliation broke Preston. He let out a guttural, animalistic howl of defeat, kicking his chair violently to the floor before bolting from the ballroom like a wounded stray.
Elodie had just destroyed an Alpha without bearing a single fang.
She walked onto the stage, her movements fluid and precise. Pulling a sleek leather checkbook from her clutch, she signed the paper. I caught a glimpse of the ink—the strokes were sharp, aggressive, entirely alien to the meek Elodie Holloway I thought I knew.
She took the deed from the trembling auctioneer. But she didn't walk back to me.
Instead, she bypassed the Blackwood Pack entirely and walked straight toward the Silver Creek tables. She stopped in front of Elder Constance Schmidt, the crippled matriarch sitting in her wheelchair. Without a word, Elodie placed the deed into the old woman's lap.
They exchanged a single, knowing look.
The leaked intel. The untraceable funds. The silent pact with a rival Elder. The pieces slammed together in my mind, forming a terrifying, undeniable truth.
*'TRAITOR!'* Rage roared, clawing violently at the confines of my mind. *'MATE! MINE! PUNISH HER! CLAIM HER!'*
I stood frozen amidst the whispers of the crowd, my eyes locked on the woman I was bound to by the Moon Goddess. The fragile Omega I had sworn to protect was gone, replaced by a stranger who had just declared war.
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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.