Rejected Omega, Secret Bride of the Billionaire Lycan
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I was the Thornton Pack's brilliant but "wolfless" assistant, a defect they treated like a charity case.
After years of letting the Alpha, Caleb, control me to prove my worth, he publicly humiliated and discarded me for a pure-blooded pack princess.
Heartbroken and drunk at a bar, I accidentally bit and marked a terrifying stranger who saved me from two creeps.
I woke up to find out I had drunkenly claimed Damien Blackwood—a ruthless billionaire and the apex Lycan King of the werewolf world.
To prevent a pack war over the claiming mark, Damien trapped me in a two-year contract marriage, treating me like a convenient political tool.
Right after we signed the papers, I got a call from the police.
My little brother, Jamison, had been arrested for punching Caleb, who was bragging about ruining my dignity.
At the precinct, Caleb sneered at my misery, threatening to destroy my brother's future.
Seeing the fresh bite mark on my neck, Jamison exploded in handcuffs, screaming that Damien had blackmailed me into his bed to get him out of jail.
I begged Damien to step outside so I could explain this horrific misunderstanding, feeling like I had sold my soul to a cold-blooded predator.
But Damien ignored my pleas. He pulled me behind him, his suffocating Lycan aura crushing everyone in the room.
"Yes, she was with me last night, because she is my wife."
Before anyone could process the shock, his eyes darkened with a terrifying, unhinged possessiveness.
"And I didn't marry her to solve a problem. I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years."
I stared at his broad back, my blood running cold as I realized I had no idea what kind of monster I had just bound my life to.
Rejected Omega, Secret Bride of the Billionaire Lycan Chapter 1
Elenor POV
The neon sign of the Tribeca bar flickered, casting a sickly red glow over the sticky wooden counter. I stared at the amber liquid in my glass, the cheap whiskey burning my throat, but it did nothing to numb the phantom pain tearing at my chest.
Three hours. It had been three hours since my entire world shattered under the crystal chandeliers of the Thornton Pack's Annual Unity Gala.
I was supposed to be Caleb’s secret weapon, the brilliant assistant who managed his Pack's affairs behind the scenes. But when the Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack paraded his beautiful, pure-blooded daughter in front of him, Caleb hadn't just cast me aside. He had slaughtered my dignity.
I closed my eyes, but I could still hear his cruel, dismissive voice echoing over the clinking of champagne glasses.
*"Her? She's just a wolfless charity case my Pack took in. Barely an Omega. Don't take her seriously."*
*Wolfless.* The word was a silver-dipped dagger, twisting into my deepest wound. In the werewolf world, being wolfless meant you were defective. A burden. I had spent years enduring the Pack's whispers, letting Caleb control me just to prove my worth. And in one breath, he had reduced my existence to a pathetic joke just to make himself look available.
"Hey, sweetheart. A pretty thing like you shouldn't be drinking alone."
A heavy, sweaty hand clamped down on my thigh. I flinched, my eyes snapping open. Two human men had boxed me in. The one touching me reeked of stale beer and unwashed clothes.
"Let go of me," I muttered, trying to shove his hand away. But without a wolf to grant me strength, my push was embarrassingly weak.
"Come on, don't be a bitch," the second man sneered, leaning in closer.
Panic flared in my chest. I tried to slide off the barstool, but they pressed closer, trapping me. I was too exhausted, too broken to fight.
Then, the temperature in the bar plummeted.
It wasn't a draft. It was a suffocating, terrifying weight that instantly crushed the oxygen out of the room. A scent washed over me—a violent, intoxicating blend of sharp cedarwood, a raging rainstorm, and rich Cuban tobacco. It was an Alpha's aura, but heavier and darker than anything I had ever felt in the Thornton Pack.
The human man's hand was suddenly ripped from my thigh. He didn't even have time to scream before he was thrown backward, crashing into a table of empty bottles. His friend took one look at the towering figure standing behind me and bolted out the door, driven by pure, primal terror.
I slowly turned my head.
He stood there like a mountain of lethal grace. He was dressed in a bespoke black suit that stretched over broad, muscular shoulders. But it was his eyes that made my breath hitch—deep, charcoal-gray pools swirling with a possessive fury that seemed entirely directed at me.
I didn't know him. I had never seen him before. Yet, the moment his gaze locked onto mine, a strange, violent shiver wrecked through my spine.
He didn't spare a single glance at the groaning man on the floor. He just stared down at me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"You're coming with me."
His voice was a low, gravelly rumble. It wasn't a request. It was an absolute, undeniable command.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to run. He was dangerous. A predator. But as he reached out and his large, calloused hand wrapped around my wrist, a jolt of pure electricity shot up my arm. The spark was so intense it made my knees buckle.
I was wolfless. I shouldn't be feeling this.
But the whiskey, the heartbreak, and the sheer, overwhelming dominance radiating from him stripped away my last ounce of resistance. I let him pull me away from the sticky bar, out into the cool autumn night of New York.
A black, armored Maybach idled at the curb like a waiting beast. He opened the heavy door and guided me inside, sliding into the back seat right next to me.
The door shut with a solid thud, sealing us in. The spacious interior was completely saturated with his cedar and rainstorm scent. I pressed myself against the cold leather of the door, my head spinning wildly as the car pulled away from the curb, carrying me away from Caleb, away from my past, and into the terrifying unknown.
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Rejected Omega, Secret Bride of the Billionaire Lycan of Contents
New Release Novels
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
7.6
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.
8.5
Five years ago, Nina Hale lost everything... her family, her reputation, and the man she once loved. Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by those she trusted most, she disappeared without a trace.
Now she's back.
With a new identity and a burning determination, Nina is ready to reclaim her life and chase the dream she once gave up: becoming a star actress. But her return awakens old enemies, and her scheming sister Lydia is determined to ruin her again.
Just when Nina thinks things can't get worse, she's caught in another trap... and unexpectedly crosses paths with a quiet, lonely little boy.
Ethan Grant hasn't spoken in years.
Feeling responsible for him, Nina agrees to stay and help the child come out of his shell. But she didn't expect Ethan's dangerously charming father, Lucas Grant, to enter the picture.
Cold, powerful, and impossible to read, Lucas slowly finds himself drawn to the woman who brightens his son's world.
What begins as a simple act of kindness soon turns into something far more complicated, because Nina came back for revenge.
She never planned to fall in love.
**********
"I saw you with him," Lucas said quietly, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Nina exhaled, crossing her arms. "You don't get to care."
"Don't I?" He stepped in, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just a contract."
"Then why does it bother me?" His hand hovered near her waist, not touching-yet.
"It shouldn't." Her breath faltered.
His gaze darkened, "And yet it does."
7.2
Stepping out of the women's correctional center, Karli took her first breath of freedom in three years.
But the luxury SUV waiting for her didn't bring her home. Instead, her adoptive parents tossed a prenuptial agreement onto her lap.
They demanded she marry a violently unhinged, disfigured man so their company could secure a massive commercial deal.
When she refused, her adoptive mother slapped her hard across the face.
The blow brought back the suffocating nightmare from three years ago—how they had drugged her, framed her for a crime she didn't commit, and sent her to prison just so her stepsister could steal her fiancé.
Now, to break her again, her adoptive father ordered his bodyguards to drag her into the estate's freezing, pitch-black basement.
"You can rot in the dark without food or water until you sign that paper!"
Sitting on the damp cement, bleeding and shivering, a white-hot fury burned away Karli's panic.
They had stolen her youth, her reputation, and her grandfather's inheritance. She would rather die than be their sacrificial lamb again.
She smashed the basement window with a hammer, dragged her bleeding body through the shattered glass, and sprinted blindly into the stormy night.
Under the flickering neon sign of a convenience store, she grabbed the sleeve of a terrifyingly cold stranger.
"Are you single? Marry me right now."
She just needed a legal marriage to escape her family, entirely unaware she had just proposed to the most ruthless billionaire in Chicago.
8.6
For two years, I was trapped behind my own eyes, a prisoner in my own skull.
A crazed fan had hijacked my body after a brutal car crash, wearing my skin like a cheap suit.
When my soul finally locked back into my flesh in a cramped hospital room, I realized she had destroyed everything I built.
This parasitic stalker had drained my massive fortune to zero, buying luxury gifts for a mediocre actor and turning me into the internet's most hated woman.
My phone was flooded with death threats, and the hashtag demanding I go to hell was trending at number one.
Even the hospital nurses despised me. One marched into my room, raising her hand to violently slap my pale cheek.
"You psychotic bitch, you make me sick!"
Worse, my sprawling Beverly Hills estate had been foreclosed and sold to a mysterious billionaire named Kasey Dominguez.
I had absolutely nothing left. No money. No reputation. No home.
The sheer violation of watching a psychotic stranger ruin my life while I was locked in the passenger seat of my own mind made my blood boil.
I refused to let her destroy my legacy.
As the nurse's hand descended, my atrophied muscles snapped into action.
I twisted her wrist until the joint popped, grabbed the keys to my freedom, and slipped out into the cold Los Angeles night.
I was going to take my life back, starting with the billionaire who thought he owned my house.
7.9
For five years, I was the invisible force behind my charismatic architect boyfriend's empire, painstakingly designing the dream home we built together.
But for the eighteenth time, Jayson canceled adding my name to the deed, rushing out on our candlelit dinner for yet another "critical emergency" with his young, attractive mentee, Ciera.
He left me alone at our custom dining table, blindly prioritizing her manufactured crises over our future. Hours later, Ciera posted a photo on Instagram. She was sitting in his executive chair, wearing his unbuttoned dress shirt, with two empty wine glasses on the desk. When I finally confronted him the next morning, he didn't apologize. Instead, he looked at me with arrogant amusement.
"Where are you going to go, Allison? Without me? Without this firm? Don't forget, I made you!"
My love didn't die in a sudden explosion; it bled out drop by drop over eighteen broken promises. I had poured my soul into his success, only to be treated like a disposable asset in my own home. To make the irony even more suffocating, a plastic stick in my bathroom soon revealed two stark red lines. I was pregnant with his child.
I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't use the baby to beg for his love. Instead, I packed a single suitcase, accepted a senior role at his biggest rival firm in London, and left a resignation letter on his desk. This time, I am building an empire of my own.
