His Unwanted Mate: Rise Of The White Wolf

The wind off the Hudson River was sharp, biting through my wool coat. I stood on the pavement across the street, staring up at the Manhattan penthouse. The building had a sleek, imposing facade of glass and dark steel. We spent three years renovating that place. I picked out the custom velvet curtains in the living room. I flew to Italy to select the marble for the kitchen island. I treated that home like a monument to what we were building together. Now, I looked up at those towering windows and felt nothing but a cold, heavy knot in my chest. My phone buzzed in my gloved hand. It was an automated alert from the property management app I set up during the remodel.

The rooftop was lit like a dream someone else was having. Three hundred people. Champagne towers. A string quartet playing something soft and forgettable near the east terrace. The Manhattan skyline spread out behind it all like a backdrop someone had ordered specifically for tonight — all glass and light and the kind of beauty that costs more than most people make in a year. I had worn the navy Valentino. The one Jace said made me look like I belonged anywhere. I remember thinking, when I zipped it up in the car, that it was a good omen. I was wrong about a lot of things that night. Jace took the microphone at 9:47 p.m.

The coffee shop buzzed with its usual afternoon energy, but I barely heard the familiar hum of conversation and clinking cups. Across from me, Ryan scrolled through his phone with that casual indifference I'd grown to recognize—the same look he wore when I tried to share something important with him. "So Marina had another emergency last night," he said without looking up, his thumb still swiping across the screen. "Poor thing was in so much pain she could barely get out of bed." My chest tightened. Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since I'd curled up on my bathroom floor, tears streaming down my face as cramps tore through my body like serrated knives. Two weeks since I'd called him, voice breaking, begging him to pick up some tampons and ibuprofen because I couldn't even stand up straight. "You know how uncomfortable that stuff makes me, Lace," he'd said then, his voice distant and dismissive. "Can't you just ask your cousin or something? I've got plans with the guys anyway." "What kind of emergency?" The words came out steadier than I felt.

I sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of the bridal suite, my wedding vows spread before me like delicate petals. The words I'd written and rewritten a dozen times seemed perfect now—promises of devotion, of the love that had sustained me through five years with Sebastian. Tomorrow, I would stand before everyone we knew and pledge my heart to the man who already owned every piece of it. The silk of my nightgown whispered against my skin as I reached for my pen, ready to add one final line about forever. That's when the screaming started. Shrill, desperate cries echoed from the hallway, growing louder by the second. I froze, pen suspended over paper, my heart hammering against my ribs. The sound was raw, animalistic—like someone in genuine distress. The door to my suite exploded open. Kira Harrison burst through like a storm given human form, her dark hair wild around her face, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivers.

For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back. Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away. On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess. Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side. Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like." Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?" Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music." When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled. It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake.

Tonight was supposed to be the night I became the happiest woman in D.C., celebrating my engagement at the legendary Bolton Manor gala. I wore emerald silk and a diamond that cost more than most mansions, convinced that Hank Bolton was my soulmate and the key to my family's future. But behind the heavy oak doors of the guest wing, the dream died. I found my fiancé tangled with another woman, laughing about how I was nothing more than a "clueless cash cow" whose inheritance would fund his run for the Senate. In my first life, I reacted with tears and screams, which only allowed his family to paint me as an unstable lunatic. They stripped me of my dignity, bankrupted the Adams estate, and watched coldly as my brother, Lucas, died in a ditch trying to save me. I ended up gasping for air in a burning building, realizing too late that my perfect engagement was actually my execution. I died in the soot and the shadows, feeling the searing heat of a betrayal that burned worse than the fire. I lost everything because I was too blind to see the monsters hiding behind expensive smiles. But then, I suddenly gasped for air and realized the smoke was gone. I was standing in front of a vanity, the calendar mocking me: October 14th. The night of the gala. I had been given a second chance, and this time, I wasn't going to be the victim. I recorded the betrayal on my phone and walked into the library with a heart made of ice. I didn't just blow up the engagement; I demanded a new groom—Hank’s "invalid" older brother, Dereck, a man the world had written off as a dying recluse. "I'll take him," I told the stunned family. I wanted a husband who couldn't cheat, a puppet who would leave me a wealthy widow within a year. I thought I was choosing a safe, broken man to shield me from my enemies. I didn't know that under his blanket, Dereck was hiding a holster, or that the "dying" man was actually a predator who had been waiting for someone exactly like me to walk into his trap.