Rejected By My Cruel Fated Mate
I was pregnant with the future heir of the Blackwood Pack, but my fated mate, Alpha Gavin, was nowhere to be found when sharp, tearing agony ripped through my swollen belly.
Instead of rushing to my side, he was in a luxury penthouse with his mistress, Piper.
When I desperately called his human number for help, it was Piper who answered the phone.
"I'm Piper. His future Luna."
Minutes later, I received a leaked audio file of Gavin promising to formally reject me the moment our pup was born.
Before the heartbreak could even set in, my armored SUV was violently rammed off the road by a massive truck.
It wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit paid for by Piper's pack.
I woke up in the clinic with an empty womb. My pup was dead.
Gavin didn't even show up. He just mind-linked the butler to say he was "too busy" to deal with my loss.
He let his mistress murder our child and treated me like disposable trash, assuming my grief would make me a weak, compliant victim.
He thought he could just bury my trauma and move on with his perfect new life.
He was wrong.
I faked my own death in a fiery crash, leaving him with nothing but my signed rejection papers and the bloody receipt proving his mistress hired the killers.
Now, armed with a new identity and untraceable wealth, I am stepping out of the shadows.
I am going to bankrupt their packs from the inside out and make my former Alpha watch his empire burn.
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Chapter 6
Gavin POV
The cold seeped into my bones, pulling me from a brief, nightmare-fueled unconsciousness. I opened my eyes to the sight of shattered crystal and splintered mahogany. I was still on the marble floor of the grand foyer, surrounded by the wreckage of my own making.
My head throbbed violently, but it was nothing compared to the gaping, bleeding void in my chest where my Mate-bond used to be. My inner wolf was pacing endlessly in my mind, letting out pathetic, agonizing whimpers for a female I had sworn I didn't love. The contradiction was tearing my sanity apart.
I pushed myself up, my muscles stiff. Out of pure, ingrained habit, I reached out through the mind-link. *“Bastian, get this place cleaned up.”*
Dead silence.
The reality crashed over me like a tidal wave. Bastian was gone. The man who had practically raised me had looked at me with utter disgust and walked away. I was completely, utterly alone.
I needed to do something. I needed to regain a fraction of control before the guilt swallowed me whole. I would give Elara a memorial fit for a true Luna. It was the only pathetic piece of atonement I could offer her.
Hours later, the air at the Memorial Clearing was thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and profound grief. Hundreds of my pack members stood in a solemn circle around the massive, unhewn black granite stone.
I stepped forward, my hands trembling slightly as I placed a bouquet of pale moonflowers at the base of the stone—the very flowers Bastian had picked for her when I couldn't be bothered.
Before I could even step back, a cloying, sickeningly sweet scent invaded my senses.
Someone crashed into my back, wrapping their arms tightly around my waist. A loud, theatrical sob shattered the silence of the clearing. I looked down and saw a stark white dress—a color strictly reserved in our traditions for the grieving Mate of the deceased.
"Gavin! Oh, Goddess, how could this happen to us?" Piper Holloway wailed, burying her face in my spine, trying to cement our bond in front of the entire pack.
My inner wolf snarled, a visceral wave of pure disgust and bloodlust rolling through me. She was using my Mate's memorial as a stage.
I didn't just pull away; I violently tore myself from her grip and shoved her hard. Piper shrieked as she hit the dirt, her pristine white dress staining with mud.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide with fake tears, ready to spin another web of lies. I didn't give her the chance. I turned to face my pack, letting the raw, devastating power of my Alpha aura explode outward.
"I have only one Mate, one Luna, and her name is Elara Thorne!" I roared, my voice echoing through the trees, vibrating with endless remorse. I pointed a shaking, clawed finger at the woman on the ground. "This woman... is her murderer!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Piper’s face drained of color. "Gavin, no, you're confused—"
"Silence!" I snapped. I locked eyes with my Gamma, who was already stepping forward. "Gamma Jaren! Drag her out of my territory. If she ever sets foot here again, kill her on sight."
"You can't do this to me!" Piper screamed, thrashing wildly as Jaren and three Warriors grabbed her arms, hauling her up. "I am an Alpha's daughter!"
"You are nothing to me," I spat.
The pack watched in cold silence as she was dragged away, her curses fading into the distance. The spectacle was over, but the hollow ache in my chest only deepened.
As the crowd began to disperse, a heavy hand clamped onto my shoulder, spinning me around.
*Smack.*
The backhand caught me completely off guard, snapping my head to the side. The sharp sting of the slap radiated across my jaw. I didn't raise a hand to defend myself. I just looked into the furious, disappointed eyes of my father, Louis Blackwood.
"You let a snake into our home," the former Alpha snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that commanded respect. "You let her murder your own blood, and shamed your Mate even in her death! Is this how a Blackwood Alpha acts?"
I swallowed hard, the metallic taste of blood on my tongue. I had no defense. Every word he spoke was a nail in my coffin. I had failed as a protector, as a Mate, and as an Alpha.
My father turned his back on me in disgust, walking away without another word.
Suffocating under the weight of my catastrophic failures, I turned away from the clearing. I dragged my heavy feet back toward the manor, back to the ruined grand foyer, knowing my display of weakness had already drawn the vultures out from the shadows.
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8.0
When gifted cellist Vivienne Aurel inherits her late father's catastrophic $4.2 million debt, she expects to lose everything. She doesn't expect the debt to be bought by Caspian Vane, the most feared private equity magnate in New York. Caspian doesn't want to ruin her; he wants her to work exclusively for him as the artistic director of his new cultural foundation for eighteen months. Forced into his world under a binding agreement, Vivienne prepares to fight against a cold, transactional cage. But as the intense, quiet proximity between them begins to blur the lines of their contract, she discovers a terrifying truth: the man who now owns her future has been watching her from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
9.7
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
9.3
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."
7.1
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.
7.2
Hope worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street, enduring daily humiliation from her boss just to be her mother's golden ticket out of poverty.
But when a severe kidney infection left her bleeding and collapsing in the middle of a boardroom presentation, her boss didn't call an ambulance.
He slammed his hand on the table, publicly accused her of popping pills like a junkie, and threw her out of the building.
Dragging her agonizing, feverish body back home, Hope desperately needed a mother's comfort.
Instead, the moment her mother heard she had lost her six-figure job, the woman's face contorted with pure rage.
She didn't care that Hope's kidneys were failing; she grabbed a heavy glass ashtray and hurled it directly at Hope's head.
"You threw away a six-figure job? You threw away our ticket out of this dump?!"
The glass shattered against the wall, slicing Hope's bare leg open.
For twenty-nine years, Hope had sacrificed her health, her dignity, and her sanity to be the perfect daughter.
She didn't understand why her life was only worth the paycheck she brought home, or why her own mother would rather see her dead than unemployed.
Looking at the blood dripping down her calf, the guilt that had chained her for a lifetime suddenly vanished.
She pulled out her phone and hit send on a brutally honest resignation email to her toxic boss.
Then, she opened a text from the intimidating, billionaire doctor who had treated her at the clinic—the only man who had ever told her she was a fighter.
She packed her bags and walked out the door.
This time, she was going to live for herself.