Rejected by the Alpha: The White Wolf's Revenge

Geraldine POV:

The numbers blurred on the screen.

My neck ached, a dull throb that radiated down my spine. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to force the annual financial report back into focus. It was almost three in the morning. The only light in the cavernous study of our Manhattan penthouse came from the laptop, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls.

Another late night. Another deadline only I seemed to care about.

I was scrolling through the final quarter expenditures when my finger froze over the trackpad.

A wire transfer.

Fifty million dollars.

It wasn't the amount that made the air leave my lungs in a silent gasp. It was the destination: a blind trust I didn't recognize. An account I hadn't set up.

A fist of ice clenched in my stomach.

This was our personal holding account, the one I had built from the ground up with my inheritance and five years of relentless work. Darrien handled the public-facing deals, the handshakes and the smiles. I handled the architecture of the business itself-the code, the logistics, the money.

He wasn't supposed to make a move this big without me.

My heart started a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. I needed to see the details, the authorization trail. I clicked on the transaction, and a security prompt appeared. Deep Audit Access Required.

I typed in Darrien's backup password. OurFuture1105.

November fifth. Our anniversary. The day we closed our first major deal, the day he'd sworn we were a team, forever.

Access Denied.

The red letters pulsed on the screen. A cold sweat broke out on my neck. He had never changed that password. It was our thing. A stupid, sentimental detail in a life that had become anything but.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my mind racing. What other date would he use? What other date mattered?

A sick feeling, a memory I had pushed down for months, surfaced. Kenzie Petty, his new "executive assistant," with her wide, innocent eyes and a scent that always clung to his suits. I remembered him glancing at a calendar notification on his phone a few months ago, a soft smile on his lips. Kenzie's birthday.

My hands were shaking as I typed it in. KenzieBday0812.

The system unlocked instantly.

The full transaction details filled the screen. The transfer was authorized by Darrien Garza. And beneath the routing numbers, in the small, unassuming memo field, was a single line of text.

"For our future, My Love."

The world tilted. The air thickened, becoming heavy and unbreathable. I gripped the edge of the cold marble desk, my knuckles turning white. The words swam before my eyes, burning themselves into my brain. Our future. My Love. Not my future. Not our future. Their future.

Fifty million dollars of my money, my work, my life, gifted to her.

A heavy tread in the hallway broke the silence. The study door swung open, slamming against the stopper.

Darrien stood there, silhouetted against the dim light of the hall. The smell of expensive whiskey and another woman's cloying jasmine scent rolled off him in waves. It was Kenzie's scent. It made me want to vomit.

He squinted, his brow furrowing in annoyance when he saw me.

"What are you still doing up?" he slurred, his voice rough with irritation.

My first instinct was to slam the laptop shut. My hand moved, a fraction of an inch, before I stopped it. The screen's glow illuminated my face, and he must have seen something there, because his eyes narrowed, shifting from my face to the open computer.

"You shouldn't be working this late," he said, but there was no concern in his tone. It was a command.

He tossed his suit jacket onto a leather armchair, the careless gesture of a man who owned the world and everything in it. Including me.

"Why are you on my personal laptop?" he asked, his voice hardening. The drunken haze was clearing, replaced by a sharp, defensive edge.

I couldn't find my voice. It was trapped somewhere in my throat, strangled by the betrayal. I just stared at him, at the man I had loved, the man I had built an empire with. The man who was a complete stranger.

"The fifty million, Darrien," I finally managed to whisper. The words felt like shards of glass in my mouth. "Where did it go?"

He froze for a single, telling second. Then, a slow, contemptuous smile spread across his handsome face. It was a look I had seen him use on business rivals just before he destroyed them. I had never imagined it would be turned on me.

He walked toward the desk, his height and the sheer force of his Alpha presence designed to intimidate. It always had before. Tonight, I just felt... empty.

"It's an overseas investment," he said smoothly, leaning his hands on the desk, caging me in. "A strategic layout for the new European branch. It's complicated. You wouldn't understand." He patted my head, a condescending gesture he knew I hated. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of shame, a hint of remorse. There was nothing. Only cold, hard calculation. He thought I was stupid. He had always thought I was weak.

As if on cue, his phone, lying face up on the desk beside my laptop, buzzed.

The screen lit up.

A text message.

From a contact named "My Love."

Before he could react, my hand shot out and grabbed the phone. It was a desperate, clumsy movement.

"Geraldine, don't," he snarled, lunging for it.

His arm knocked against mine. It wasn't a hard blow, but I was off-balance, emotionally and physically. I stumbled backward, falling into the plush leather of my chair. My grip on the phone loosened, but not before I saw the message.

"Baby, are you asleep? The baby just kicked me."

The baby.

The word exploded in the silent room. It was a lightning strike, a gunshot, the final, deafening crack in the foundation of my life. It shattered every last illusion, every desperate hope I'd clung to.

He snatched the phone back, his face a mask of cold fury. The pretense was over. He didn't even bother to lie anymore.

"Yes," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "It's Kenzie's. She's pregnant."

He looked down at me, sprawled in the chair, and his expression was one of pitying disgust.

"She's the perfect Omega, Geraldine. Strong. Fertile. She can give me an heir, a real Lycan heir." He gestured vaguely at me. "What can you give me? You're a wolfless. A dead end. You can't even shift."

Wolfless.

The ultimate insult in our world. A creature of a lower class. Broken. Incomplete. For five years, I had let him believe it, hiding my own true nature to make him feel stronger, more powerful. I had thought it was love. It was just a tool he used to control me.

A dry, rattling laugh escaped my lips. I looked down at my hands, at the faint silver scars from my first shift, a secret I had kept from everyone. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.

"Don't you dare make a scene," he warned, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Don't think for a second you can challenge this. I will have you removed from the board. I will lock you out of every account. You will have nothing."

He turned and walked out of the study, pulling the door shut with a resounding slam that echoed the shattering of my heart.

I sat alone in the suffocating darkness, the glow of the laptop screen casting a sickly light on my face. For a moment, I felt nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. Then, something deep inside me, something I had suppressed for years, began to stir. A low, primal hum. The dormant power of my white wolf bloodline, stirring in rage.

My movements were slow, deliberate. I opened the bottom drawer of the desk, pushing aside old blueprints and contracts. My fingers closed around a small, velvet box.

Inside was a heavy, silver signet ring, cold to the touch. Engraved on its surface was the crest of the Carroll family, a roaring wolf crowned by a crescent moon. A symbol of a life I had run from, a power I had rejected.

With steady hands, I slid the ring onto my finger. It felt like coming home.

Then, I picked up my own phone and scrolled through the contacts to a number I hadn't dialed in five years. A number I had sworn I would never use again.

The phone rang once, twice, before a crisp, familiar voice answered.

"Geraldine?"

My own voice, when it came, was unrecognizable. It was as cold and sharp as a shard of ice.

"Mother," I said, my gaze fixed on the damning numbers on the screen. "I'm ready to come home. I'm ready to accept the alliance."

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