Luna, the White Wolf, is reborn.

I hid my identity as the Alpha King's daughter just to be Santino's perfectly submissive Luna. I thought deep love would be enough. I was wrong. Three years into our marriage, Santino brought a pregnant woman into our pack compound, and even gave my late mother's necklace to his mistress. I tried to argue, to make him respect our marriage. But he said, "Without my protection, you are nothing." I played the harmless, weak Luna for so long that he actually thought I was a helpless Omega. Santino wants a war? Then I will give him a war. "Damian," my mind was made up as I awakened the Royal Guard, "destroy everything." Santino could certainly start the fire. But when the war ends, only I can decide. By the time he regrets it, it will be too late. Chapter 1 Alessia's POV: I stared at the tiny white pill in the palm of my hand. Suppressants. Three years ago, I made a pact with my father. I hid my noble bloodline to prove that I could find true love without relying on my heritage, rather than just becoming a mated pawn for a princess. I thought I had succeeded. For three years, I forced down this bitterness every morning. I did this to be the perfectly submissive Luna of the Silver Creek Pack. I diluted my power, hid my true identity, and concealed my true self. I swallowed it dry. As I walked down the stairs, a chalky taste still lingered in my mouth. The Packhouse is the heart of any werewolf community. It's where the Alpha rules, where the high-ranking members live, and where pack business is handled. Today, it reeked of rot. "She has nowhere else to go, Alessia. Have some mercy." I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. My husband, Santino, the Alpha of this pack, was standing in the foyer. Beside him stood a woman I had never seen before. She was petite, eyes brimming with tears, her hands trembling. But beneath the cover of cheap perfume, I caught a distinct scent—the scent of a rogue. A wolf without a pack, an outcast who had turned her back on our laws. "Santino, you brought in a rogue?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the churning in my stomach. "You brought a rogue into the pack compound? That's a violation of security protocols." Santino's jaw tightened. He was handsome, with the broad shoulders typical of an Alpha male, but there was always a glint of arrogance in his eyes—an arrogance I had foolishly mistaken for confidence years ago. "She isn't just a rogue," Santino snapped. "This is Valentina. She is the mate of my late Beta, Marco. She is carrying his pup." Valentina cradled her stomach, looking at me with wide eyes. "Please, Luna," she whispered, "I just want my baby to be born safely." My inner wolf, usually suppressed by the pills, grew restless. She let out a low, warning growl in the back of my mind. Liar, she said. In our culture, when a lower-ranking wolf meets an Alpha or Luna, they bare their necks. It's a sign of submission, an instinctual acknowledgment of the hierarchy. Valentina didn't bare her neck. Instead, she looked at me, and for a split second, I saw a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "If she's carrying a pack member's child, she can stay in the Omega dormitories," I said, trying to maintain order in the house. "They have guest rooms there." "No," Santino interrupted, his voice booming. "She is staying here. On the second floor. Right next to our suite." "That floor is strictly for high-ranking officials," I argued. "I am the Alpha!" Santino stepped forward, his aura dominating the room. The air grew thick with pressure, an overwhelming scent of dominance meant to force me into submission. "I command that she stays near me. Don't challenge me, Alessia. You know you're too weak to withstand my Alpha command." I lowered my head, not out of fear, but out of habit. The pills made me physically weaker than a typical Alpha female, and he used that against me. He weaponized my love for him to hurt me. "As you wish, Alpha," I whispered. But a crack had already formed in my heart, and my inner wolf was beginning to bare her fangs. That night, the air in the house shifted. Normally, the Packhouse smelled of pine. But by dinnertime, Valentina's scent was absolutely everywhere. I tried to ignore it. I sat in the living room reading a book, trying to be a good wife. "My ankle hurts so much," Valentina's voice drifted in from the kitchen. "Let me take a look," Santino's deep voice replied. I stood up and quietly walked to the kitchen doorway. Santino was kneeling on the floor. Valentina sat on a chair with one leg extended. His large hands were rubbing her ankle, his thumbs pressing deeply into the muscle. I froze. To a human, this might look like first aid. But to wolves, scent is everything, and touch is crucial. By rubbing her skin, he was mingling his scent with hers. Such intimate behavior was usually reserved strictly for mates or parents with their pups. He was marking her with his scent. He crossed the line. I reached out to Santino through the mind-link. The mind-link is a telepathic channel connecting all pack members. It allows for instant communication, but between mates, it is supposed to be an intensely private line. What? his irritated voice echoed in my head. He didn't even look up from her leg. You are scenting her. Stop it. Alessia, I'm helping a widow. Stop being so jealous; it's unbecoming of a Luna. He didn't stop. His hands continued trailing up her calf. Valentina tilted her head back slightly and let out a soft sigh, sounding almost like a moan of pleasure. I felt a tear rip open in my chest. It wasn't a physical wound, but something much deeper. My feelings for him, my respect for him, shattered. I slammed the door shut on our mind-link, completely blocking him from my mind. He didn't even notice. I went upstairs to our bedroom, but the bed felt freezing cold. I couldn't sleep, just listening to the sounds of the house. Hours later, I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. He didn't come into our room. Instead, he went into the guest room next door. "She's afraid of thunder," he had told me once when I asked why he was spending time with a female subordinate. There was no thunder tonight. The next morning, I went downstairs early for breakfast. The hormone-suppressing pills sat untouched on my nightstand. I just stared at them without moving. Is it worth it? I asked myself. I walked into the dining room. Valentina was already there, sitting at the head of the table—my seat. She was eating bacon, looking completely relaxed. But what truly chilled me to the bone wasn't where she was sitting. It was what she was wearing. She was wearing a white button-down shirt, way too large for her, with the sleeves rolled up. It was Santino's shirt. It was completely soaked in his Alpha pheromones. And now, it was draped over Valentina.