I AM THE LUNA QUEEN
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went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.
One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn't. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don't remember, and the King I'm bound to doesn't love me-he loathes me.
They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.
Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.
I am not her.
And if this King thinks I'll kneel, he's about to learn what a true Queen is made of.
I AM THE LUNA QUEEN Chapter 1
Hazel’s Pov
I went to sleep in my dorm room.
That much I’m sure of.
My last memory is the soft hum of the radiator, the faint glow of my laptop screen casting blue across the walls, and the quiet chaos of half-finished notes scattered on my desk. I remember setting my alarm, curling under my blanket, and letting exhaustion finally drag me under.
But when I woke up…
It wasn’t my ceiling I stared at.
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of smoke and herbs, something cloying and strange. A chill pressed into my skin, though the surface beneath me was warm—too warm, like I was lying on silk sheets pulled from a fever dream. My eyes fluttered, my chest heaved, and the sound hit me first.
Crying.
Dozens of soft, choked sobs echoing around me, broken only by frantic whispers.
“My Queen—please, please open your eyes—”
“She’s breathing—oh, Moon Goddess, she’s breathing!”
“Call the doctor, now! Hurry!”
My eyes shot open, a gasp tearing through my throat.
The noise stopped instantly.
A cluster of women knelt around me, dressed in maids uniform. Faces blotched with tears, hands pressed together in prayer or desperation. Their eyes, wide and gleaming, fixed on me as if I were some miracle risen from the dead.
“Your Majesty,” one whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re awake.”
I sat up too fast, my head swimming. “What the hell—”
But the voice that came out of my mouth sounded strange.
It was higher. Softer. Wrong.
My hands trembled as I lifted them, staring at pale, delicate fingers tipped with perfectly manicured nails painted blood-red. My gaze slid lower—to the silken dress draped across my body, the neckline dipping scandalously low.
“What the fuck…” The whisper scraped past my lips.
The women surrounding me exchanged alarmed glances, but none corrected me. Instead, they shuffled closer, like moths drawn to a flame.
“Do you need water, my Queen?” one asked, her trembling hands already reaching for a crystal glass from the bedside table.
“My Queen.”
“Your Majesty.”
“Our Queen.”
The words stabbed at me again and again, their reverence so absolute it terrified me.
Queen?
I wasn’t a queen. I was a twenty two year-old college student who had fallen asleep during a Netflix binge and was supposed to have a quiz in English Lit tomorrow morning.
This was insane.
“Okay,” I said, holding up a shaky hand to stop them. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not—whatever you think I am. I’m not your queen.”
The room stilled.
For a heartbeat, nobody breathed. Then, as if choreographed, they all dropped their gazes to the floor, pressing their foreheads down toward the polished hardwood like I’d just blasphemed.
One of them whispered, “The mistress will hear…”
My stomach twisted. Mistress?
Before I could ask, the doors at the far end of the room opened—softly, like someone pushing through velvet.
The women flinched. Their bodies shrank toward me instinctively, shielding me as if they knew danger had just entered the room.
I craned my neck and froze.
A tall woman walked in, draped in black silk, her hair a cascade of raven curls that framed a face too sharp, too cruelly beautiful. Her lips curled into a smirk when her eyes landed on me.
“Well,” she purred, her voice like poisoned honey. “The corpse rises.”
The tension in the room thickened until it pressed against my ribs. The women beside me pressed lower to the ground, their fear palpable, their hands trembling as though even their breathing might offend her.
The stranger approached my bed with leisurely steps, her heels clicking against the hardwood. She looked down at me, her eyes glittering with malice, and for the first time I noticed the faint, red-rimmed bruises on my wrists. My wrists.
My gut twisted violently.
Had she—?
“Careful, pet,” she drawled, leaning in so close I caught the sharp bite of her perfume. “Death doesn’t excuse insolence. The Alpha king may tolerate your existence, but I do not.”
Alpha King?
The word struck like a lightning bolt, a piece of a puzzle slamming into place. Alpha king. Queen. Mistress. My skin prickled, and dread seeped into every corner of my mind.
I wasn’t in my room anymore.
I had woken up in someone else’s life.
And judging by the bruises, by the way this woman’s words dripped venom, by the sheer terror etched into the faces of the attendants still kneeling around me…
That life was a nightmare.
“I…” My throat closed around the words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her laughter sliced through me like glass. “Oh, how convenient. The Queen forgets. Tell me, will your memory return before tonight, when His Majesty summons you? Or will you shame him with your pathetic excuses again?”
Heat surged into my face. His Majesty? Summons?
The questions clawed at me, but I swallowed them down. Every instinct screamed not to give this woman more ammunition.
She tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “No matter. Whether you remember or not, your place remains the same—beneath me.”
The words landed like a brand against my skin. And though confusion and fear churned in my chest, something else rose with it—anger.
Because whoever this queen was, she had been broken. Bruised. Forced into silence. Surrounded by cruelty disguised as loyalty.
But me?
I wasn’t built to bow.
I met the woman’s gaze, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “We’ll see about that.”
Her eyes narrowed, surprise flickering there before she masked it with another cruel smile.
“We shall,” she whispered, before turning on her heel and storming out, her gown whispering across the floor.
The moment the doors shut, the attendants exhaled in shaky unison. One of them grabbed my hand, tears pooling in her eyes.
“My Queen, please,” she begged. “You mustn’t provoke the Lady. She has His Majesty’s heart. If she—if she tells him—”
Her words cracked.
But I didn’t hear the rest.
Because my heart was pounding too loud, drowning out everything.
His Majesty. The Alpha King. The man whose queen’s body I now inhabited.
And if what I’d just seen was any indication, he wasn’t a savior. He wasn’t a husband.
He was the monster who let his mistress tear his wife apart.
And now, I was trapped in her place.
Holy fuck this must be a nightmare.
I'll soon wake up, yes, I have to wake up.
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I AM THE LUNA QUEEN of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
7.3
Ten years ago, I was banished from my pack, branded a whore and a traitor for allegedly drugging and stealing my sister's fated mate.
Now, I was summoned back because my father, the Alpha who disowned me, was dying from a poisoned attack.
Standing by his deathbed, a locked memory finally surfaced—I didn't drug anyone. My husband and I were both victims, poisoned with wolfsbane to force our mating.
But before my father could reveal who orchestrated the setup, his heart monitor flatlined.
My brother instantly shoved me to the ground, pointing a trembling finger at my face.
"You killed him. I will hunt you, I will break you, and I will make your life a living hell."
Even my husband, Kieran, the man I was forced to marry to save our unborn child, walked right past me in the hospital corridor.
He didn't spare me a single glance, choosing instead to gently comfort my mother while I sat bruised and shattered on the cold floor.
I didn't understand why my own family hated me so blindly, and I understood even less who had framed me a decade ago.
What terrified my father so much in his final moments that he couldn't even speak the culprit's name?
Watching my cold husband walk away with the family that abandoned me, the last shred of my naive hope died.
I wiped my tears and stood up. This time, I was going to tear this pack apart to find the truth.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.
9.4
Dorene survived a terrifying night with a bleeding, dangerous intruder in her hotel penthouse, only to receive a far more devastating blow the next morning.
A black and gold envelope arrived. It was an engagement invitation. Her boyfriend of seven years, Kadyn, was marrying her sweet, innocent best friend, Dolly.
Refusing to hide, Dorene crashed the gala in a blood-red gown. But Dolly was ready. Grabbing Dorene's wrists, Dolly purposely threw herself backward into a tower of champagne glasses, shrieking about her stomach and her unborn baby.
"If anything happens to Dolly or my child, I swear to God, I will destroy you!"
Kadyn roared, holding the weeping Dolly in the broken glass. He didn't ask a single question. He branded Dorene a jealous monster. To completely break her dignity, he publicly handed her over to the city's most notorious, sleazy playboy just to appease Dolly's fake tears.
"Give him a shot," Kadyn told her coldly.
Seven years of love were ground into the marble floor. She was framed, publicly humiliated, and discarded like trash by the two people she trusted most.
Dorene didn't shed a single tear. She gave them a smile of pure, freezing mockery and walked out of the gilded cage into the freezing Manhattan night. She didn't know that as she left, the lethal, blood-stained man from her penthouse was watching from the shadows, ready to help her burn their world to the ground.
