Rejected by the Alpha for a Fake Heir
Five years ago, a silver bullet meant for Alpha Liam shattered my spine. I took the shot to save him, and in exchange, my inner wolf went silent. I became a ghost in my own pack—the barren Luna.
But gratitude has an expiration date. Liam brought Sarah home, claiming she was just a "designated breeder" for the heir I couldn't provide.
It was a lie. When Sarah faked a fall, Liam didn't defend me. To appease the Elders, he ordered me to be whipped with silver lashes.
He watched from the balcony as I bled.
Later, on the day he marked her, he drained my rare blood to save her from a "miscarriage," then handed me a one-way ticket to Paris.
"It's for your safety," he said, exiling me to make room for his new family.
I looked at the man I sacrificed everything for. He didn't see a wife; he saw a resource to be used and discarded. He thought he could break me and send me away quietly.
So, I gave him exactly what he wanted: a dead Luna.
I didn't board the plane to Paris. Instead, I let him watch the news report that Flight 815 had crashed into the Atlantic with no survivors.
While he went mad with grief, realizing Sarah was a fraud, I was in the North, unlocking the White Wolf he thought was gone forever.
When we met again, I wasn't his broken wife. I was holding another Alpha's hand.
"Liam Vance," I smiled, my eyes glowing white. "I reject you."
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Chapter 6
Eleanor POV:
I spent the day packing my escape bag. Fake ID. Cash.
Sarah barged into the attic.
"I need your veil," she demanded. "Liam said I could have it. A symbol of... transition."
"It's a holy object, Sarah. Woven by Blind Silk Worms."
"Give it to me, or I tell Liam you tried to poison me. Again."
I looked at her. Pathetic.
"Fine."
I pulled the veil from the chest. As I smoothed it, I crushed dried Devil's Nettle into the lace lining. A plant that causes unbearable itching and mild hallucinations in wolves.
"Here," I said. "May it bring you exactly what you deserve."
*
I watched the ceremony from the window.
Liam looked like he was at a funeral.
When the Elder asked for the vows, Sarah started twitching.
"I do," she rushed out, scratching her neck.
"You may mark her," the Elder said.
Liam leaned in. Sarah shrieked.
"It burns! Get it off!"
She tore the veil off, clawing at her face. She tripped over her dress and face-planted into the mud.
"Happy wedding day," I whispered.
The chaos was delicious.
Then the screaming changed.
"Blood!" Sarah yelled. "Save the baby!"
Warriors kicked my door in.
They marched me to the hospital. Liam was pacing, covered in mud.
"She's losing blood," he said, frantic. "Placenta detachment. She has Golden Blood. Rare."
"Like me," I said.
"You're the only match," Liam begged. "Eleanor, please. That is my child. Don't let my child die because you hate her."
If I refused, the pack would execute me on the spot.
"Fine. My blood buys my freedom."
They hooked me up. I watched my life force drain into the tube, feeding the woman who stole my husband.
When it was over, Liam handed me a ticket.
"Paris," he said, looking guilty. "One way. Sarah knows you poisoned the veil. If you stay, she'll demand your head. Go."
Exile disguised as mercy.
"Goodbye, El."
I took the car to the airport.
But I didn't board the flight to Paris.
I went to the bathroom, changed into a hoodie, and used my new passport: *Aria White*.
I boarded a budget flight to the North. Neutral territory.
Two hours later, over the intercom: *"Breaking news. Flight 815 to Paris has disappeared from radar over the Atlantic..."*
I stared out the window.
Eleanor Vance was dead.
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9.3
My fiancé, Chadwick Steele, always treated me like a dirty secret-the nerdy brains behind his glamorous tech empire. He flaunted his affair with his mistress, Isa, while constantly reminding me I was an embarrassment he was forced to tolerate.
That all came to a head in a crowded mall. In front of everyone, he publicly broke our engagement, choosing her over me and leaving me to her mercy.
But Isa wasn't satisfied with just winning. She had Chadwick's bodyguards pin me to the floor.
She slapped me, kicked me, and then pulled out a silver letter opener. As she carved a bloody gash across my cheek, she laughed about teaching me a permanent lesson for daring to exist in her world.
I was bleeding and broken, my spirit completely shattered. I thought it was over.
Then, a custom Rolls-Royce pulled up. My mother, Frederica Mooney-the silent titan of Silicon Valley who secretly bankrolls the entire Steele family fortune-stepped out. She took one look at my face, her eyes turning to ice, and gave me the only words I needed to hear: "I give you my full permission."
8.5
Synopsis
It still feels so unreal being dumped by my boyfriend at the courtyard on the day of our wedding.
David didn't show up and when I called him to know the reason why.
He told me right to my face that he had found love with another woman who happened to be my best friend.
My heart was shattered into a million tiny pieces.
I was wallowing in self-pity when I overheard Lucas talking on the phone about needing a replacement for the woman who has collected a part-payment to be his wife.
I agreed to be his wife without thinking twice wanting to get back at my Ex.
What would happen when two strangers' hearts intertwined?
And what started as an arrangement became a bedrock for something real?
Read to find out.
7.5
In a world ruled by power and illusion, the most dangerous role is playing yourself.
When scandal detonates inside the powerful Laurent empire, its fragile heiress, Georgia Laurent, vanishes from public view. Investors panic. Markets wobble. The media circles like vultures.
Then Georgia returns.
Perfectly styled. Perfectly composed. Perfectly convincing.
There's just one problem.
She isn't Georgia Laurent.
She's Sharon Beckley - a struggling actress drowning in debt and one missed audition away from losing everything. When the enigmatic fixer James Barnett offers her an obscene amount of money to impersonate the heiress "temporarily," Sharon accepts. It's a role with strict rules: smile for cameras, memorize the biography, sign where instructed, and never ask questions.
But behind the mirrored walls of the Laurent estate, Sharon discovers this isn't damage control.
It's containment.
Locked wings of the mansion. Security systems recently upgraded. Burned files in marble fireplaces. Offshore accounts bleeding billions from Laurent Global Holdings. And whispers of a former executive whose fatal accident may have been murder.
When Sharon pushes too far, the pressure shifts. Surveillance tightens. James grows colder. The board becomes ruthless.
Then the real Georgia disappears.
No flight records. No secure messages. No proof she's alive.
And suddenly Sharon understands the truth: she wasn't hired to stand in.
She was selected to replace.
Now trapped inside a stolen identity with powerful men determined to preserve the illusion, Sharon faces an impossible choice - become Georgia completely and inherit an empire built on blood...
Or expose the conspiracy and risk being erased permanently.
Because in the Laurent world, identities are assets.
And only one Georgia Laurent is allowed to exist.
9.4
I stood in the center of my Manhattan penthouse, staring at the empty satin hanger where my custom Vera Wang gown should have been. It was a masterpiece of silk and pearls that had taken six months to perfect for my wedding to the billionaire heir, Boston Travis.
Then my phone buzzed. Boston’s voice was a flat line, devoid of the love he’d promised me for four years.
"The wedding is off, Florrie. I’m marrying your sister, Asia."
He told me Asia was dying of Stage 4 cancer and her "final wish" was to be a bride—wearing my dress. He had sent his security team to my home with a spare key to steal the gown, claiming it was Travis property since his family accounts paid the bill. My stepmother texted me minutes later, demanding I vacate my own beach house so the "dying" girl could have a honeymoon.
When I tried to protest, Boston snapped at me.
"How could you be so heartless? She’s your sister. Have some compassion."
They expected me to play the part of the discarded woman while they paraded my life around as a PR stunt. I realized then that Asia hadn't just taken my dress; she had spent her entire life stealing my father's love and my peace, always playing the fragile angel while I was cast as the villain.
I didn't cry. I sat at my desk, opened my contacts, and relabeled Boston Travis as "TARGET."
If they wanted a tragic story, I would give them a massacre. I reclaimed my mother’s multi-million dollar trust, seized the deed to the beach house, and walked into Asia’s hospital room with a lit sparkler to expose the truth behind her "terminal" illness.
As I slapped Boston in the hospital lobby in front of a dozen recording iPhones, I realized I didn't need a husband. I needed a clean slate—and I was going to burn their empire to get it.
9.5
As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.
When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.
I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."
Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.
At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.
Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.
The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.
For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.
I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"
8.7
The world was a symphony of agony, played on the strings of my own body. I was tied to a chair in a damp basement, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth as my fingernails were ripped from their beds by a pair of rusty pliers.
My best friend, Corrine, stepped into the flickering light wearing my favorite Chanel suit and the engagement ring that was supposed to be mine. Beside her, my fiancé Aldo held the pliers, his voice smooth and cultured as he demanded I sign over my entire inheritance to them.
As I struggled, a news report flashed on an old TV in the corner: Hunter Gallagher, the man I had treated like dirt but who had always tried to protect me, was dead in a horrific car explosion. Corrine laughed, whispering in my ear that they had lured him to his death using a fake kidnapping tip. He died trying to save me from a trap set by the people I trusted most.
They didn't just want my money; they wanted to erase me. They plunged a needle full of heroin into my neck, watching with cold, mocking eyes as my heart hammered against my ribs and finally seized into nothingness.
I died in that basement, a blind, spoiled girl who had let her true protector be murdered. As the darkness closed in, my soul burned with a single, silent vow: If I ever get another life, I will drag you both to hell with me.
Suddenly, I gasped for air, my lungs fighting against a weight that wasn't there. I wasn't in the basement; I was in my own bed, my fingernails intact and my skin unbroken. I checked my phone, and my heart stopped—it was May 20th, exactly one year before my death. Hunter was still alive, and this time, I wasn't the prey.