Rejected Omega, Secret Bride of the Billionaire Lycan
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.
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Chapter 4
Elenor POV
The lock of his cage had just clicked shut in my mind, but my body was still frozen against the freezing edge of the marble counter. I stared at the bold letters on the document—*MATE-BINDING & PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT*—my vision swimming.
"Why?" The word barely scraped past my throat. I looked up into his ruthless, charcoal eyes. "Out of all the females in the world, why me?"
Damien’s gaze swept over me, analytical and entirely devoid of warmth. He looked at me the way a billionaire evaluated a distressed asset. "You, a wolfless from a rival Pack, with no political standing, are the perfect, uncomplicated solution to this diplomatic incident. Your lack of connections makes you... efficient."
Efficient.
The word sliced through my chest with surgical precision. It felt exactly like Caleb Thornton’s cruel voice echoing in my head, calling me a charity case in front of his entire Pack. To Caleb, I was garbage to be discarded. To the Lycan King standing before me, I was just a convenient tool. A blank slate to be used and erased. The familiar, suffocating humiliation of being absolutely nothing threatened to drown me.
Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly. He noticed my flinch. He noticed everything.
Instead of backing away, he leaned closer. The intoxicating, heavy scent of sharp cedarwood, a raging rainstorm, and rich Cuban tobacco wrapped around me, short-circuiting my panic.
"It is a two-year contract," Damien murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, velvety register meant only for me. "When it ends, you walk away with an eight-figure trust fund. Enough money to ensure you and your brother, Jamison, never have to scrape by again."
My breath hitched at Jamison's name. He had investigated me thoroughly.
Damien’s large hands gripped the edge of the counter on either side of my hips, trapping me completely. "As my Mate, my Luna, you will never again be a wolfless charity case. You will be the Luna of the Blackwood Pack. No one will ever dare to look down on you again."
A tear slipped down my cheek. He had found the deepest, most bleeding wound in my soul and offered the exact cure I had spent my entire life begging for. Protection. Respect. A future for my brother.
My trembling fingers reached out. Damien immediately placed a heavy, solid gold Montblanc pen into my palm.
I didn't read the pages. I couldn't. Blinded by a toxic mix of trauma, exhaustion, and the desperate need to escape my pathetic past, I signed my name on the dotted line. Elenor Harmon.
The second the ink dried, I looked up. For a fraction of a heartbeat, a flash of raw, unfiltered, feral fervor ignited in Damien’s eyes. It was a terrifying, predatory hunger that made my blood run cold. But before I could process it, the mask of the cold, calculating CEO slammed back into place.
He snatched the document, turned on his heel, and strode over to a titanium safe embedded in the wall. *Click.* The heavy metal door sealed shut.
"Go shower," Damien commanded, his tone suddenly brisk and entirely devoid of the seductive warmth from a moment ago. "There is a white dress laid out on the bed in the master suite. Put it on."
I blinked, my mind struggling to keep up with his whiplash-inducing shift in demeanor. "A dress? For what?"
"We are going to City Hall," he stated, checking the heavy Rolex on his wrist. "We have exactly two hours."
"Two hours?" Panic clawed its way back up my throat. "Today? You want to get married *today*?"
Damien turned to face me, his jaw set in stone. "The Pack Elders and my rivals are already circling. We must make this union official before they can interfere."
He didn't leave room for argument. The sheer force of his Alpha aura pushed against me, a silent demand for obedience. I was entirely powerless. In less than twelve hours, my life had been violently ripped from my hands and rewritten by a man I didn't even know.
Numbly, I pushed myself off the marble counter and walked toward the bedroom, the ticking of his watch echoing in my ears like a countdown to my own execution.
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8.4
Ayleen Avery was just a struggling hotel worker trying to survive her shift. But during a sudden blackout, she accidentally stumbled into the pitch-black VIP suite of a ruthless billionaire driven mad by chronic insomnia.
Calmed only by her unique natural scent of roses and rain, the terrifying man attacked her from the shadows and forced himself on her. Terrified and broken, Ayleen fled at dawn, unknowingly leaving behind her late mother's antique rose necklace in his bed.
Her greedy coworker found the necklace, claimed to be the woman from that night, and was instantly swept into a life of luxury. Meanwhile, Ayleen was blackmailed into a forced marriage with her attacker—Cassius Doyle—to save her adoptive father from prison. Deceived by the stolen necklace, Cassius believed Ayleen was a manipulative spy. He brought the coworker into their home and paraded her around the master bedroom.
"In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes."
He choked Ayleen, forced her to sleep in a damp storage room, and treated her with violent disgust while pampering the thief.
Ayleen was suffocating in absolute despair. She had lost her innocence, her freedom, and her mother's only relic to a vicious liar. She couldn't understand how this all-powerful man could be so completely blind. Why couldn't he recognize the very scent that had cured his agonizing madness?
Staring at the dark bruises he had just left on her neck, Ayleen wiped the blood from her lip. She would endure this three-month marriage to secure her family's safety, but once the contract ended, she would expose the truth and tear down the fake savior he cherished so much.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
8.9
Five years ago, Arabella Sterling vanished without a trace, disgraced, heartbroken, and branded her billionaire benefactor's dirty secret.
What the world never knew was that she'd also been his wife.
Or that the man she loved-and the son she gave everything for-chose another woman over her.
Now, she's back as The Reformer, a world-renowned business strategist celebrated for resurrecting dying empires.
Her newest client? The Sterling Group.
Her ex-husband's empire.
Adrian Sterling has spent years trying to atone for the lies that destroyed them both.
But when Arabella walks into his boardroom, colder, sharper, untouchable...he realizes redemption may come at a cost he can't pay.
Because this time, she's not here to save him.
She's here to ruin him.
8.8
My fiancé, Knox, was the man I’d spent ten years building a life with, the one I’d poured my family’s fortune into. But then I found the lockbox. Inside, a photo of him smiling, his arm around a heavily pregnant woman, marked: *To my only wife Deana.*
I’d been looking for a charger in our Boston penthouse closet when I stumbled upon it. The faded Polaroid showed Knox, younger, beaming, with a heavily pregnant stranger. Its timestamp: "Ten years ago"—the exact year I funded his Ivy League PhD.
Flipping the photo, I saw Knox’s familiar handwriting: *To my only wife Deana and our upcoming miracle.* My world crumbled. The man I’d loved had a wife, making me the unwitting mistress. My opulent life was built on his lies.
His text, "Baby, I'm coming home to *our house*," twisted into a cruel joke. My tears froze. A decade of sacrifices, of family alienation—all for a man who used my money and trust—shredded in my mind. The fragile woman in me vanished; my eyes turned cold and clear. I relocked the box, smoothed the rug, and applied crimson lipstick. Practicing a flawless smile, I whispered, "Welcome home, my sweet liar."
9.7
Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.
7.5
Daisy spent her birthday cooking a perfect dinner, waiting in their massive penthouse for her billionaire husband, Emmett.
Instead of coming home, a breaking news alert flashed on her screen: Emmett was at the hospital, protectively shielding his old flame, Eryn. When Daisy rushed to the VIP ward, Emmett physically blocked her to comfort a crying Eryn, completely forgetting it was his wife's birthday.
Heartbroken, Daisy demanded a divorce and fled. In response, Emmett ruthlessly froze all her bank accounts and trust funds, leaving her penniless in the freezing Manhattan rain. When she cornered him with divorce papers at a public funeral, a heavy metal cart slammed into her, tearing her calf wide open. Bleeding onto the marble floor, she begged him to sign. Instead, Emmett violently ripped the bloody papers to shreds.
"Unless I am dead, you are my wife," he snarled, locking her inside a room.
Daisy risked her life to escape through a window, dragging her bleeding leg to a dingy motel. But the real nightmare began when Eryn called. The tragic car crash that killed Daisy's adoptive parents ten years ago wasn't an accident—the brake lines were cut. And Emmett, the man she loved, had been using his vast corporate empire to protect the murderers all along.
Why did Emmett bury the police report? What was the deadly secret behind her true identity and the antique "Venus" necklace? Staring at her blood-stained hands in the cracked mirror, the terrified wife died. Daisy grabbed her coat and limped out into the dark, heading straight for the Navy Yard to burn his empire to the ground.