She Was Unwanted, Now She's Queen

For three years, I swallowed a bitter pill daily, suppressing my royal white wolf bloodline for a normal life as the Alpha’s Luna. That morning, my husband Santino coldly announced a crucial announcement, then entered our grand hall with another woman, declaring, "Alessia, she will be living here from now on." She was pregnant, he announced, carrying our late Beta’s child—yet her neck was unmarked. My scoff met his furious Alpha dominance, threatening my title, forcing my bow as he settled her into the suite next to ours. Her sickening scent soon permeated my private study. Later, I found him intimately grooming her in the kitchen—a sacred act for mates—while he snarled mental insults, branding my jealousy pathetic. Watching his hands violate our vows, a slow, cruel smirk pulled at my lips. My three-year marriage was officially over. I had already paused my royal trust fund’s capital, then severed our mind link with a chilling declaration: "Don't touch me with the hands that just touched her." Chapter 1 Alessia POV: I sat on the edge of the cold double bed, my head bowed as I stared at the small white suppressant pill resting in the center of my palm. The bedroom was silent, the kind of heavy, suffocating silence that follows a storm. The chill of the mattress seeped through my thin nightgown, but I barely felt it. My focus was entirely on the chalky disk in my hand. This tiny pill was the chain I willingly placed around my own neck every single morning for three years. It was the price I paid to suppress my royal white wolf bloodline, to hide my true identity, all for the sake of a normal life. A normal husband. A normal pack. My mind drifted to last night. Santino had stood right there by the door. His broad back was turned to me, his posture rigid and uncompromising. He didn't even look over his shoulder when he delivered his cold ultimatum. He told me he had something important to announce today. His voice had carried no warmth, no affection. Just the sterile tone of an Alpha giving a command to a subordinate. My fingers curled inward. My nails dug into the soft flesh of my palm, leaving deep, crescent-shaped indentations. The physical sting grounded me. I didn't reach for the glass of water on the nightstand. I tossed the dry pill into my mouth and swallowed hard. The chalky texture scraped against my throat. A bitter, chemical taste exploded on my tongue and crawled down the back of my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut as the familiar poison went to work. Within seconds, the drug hit my bloodstream. Deep inside my chest, the ancient, restless power of the white wolf let out a muffled whimper before sinking back into a forced, unnatural sleep. The heavy lethargy settled into my bones. I was used to this weakness. I had sworn to live as an ordinary werewolf, to build a humble family, and this daily dosage of poison was my commitment to that vow. A wave of dizziness washed over me. The room tilted. I reached out blindly and gripped the edge of the heavy oak nightstand to steady myself. My knuckles turned white from the effort. I waited for the spinning to stop, taking slow, measured breaths. Once the nausea passed, I pushed myself up from the bed and walked over to the floor-to-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. The woman staring back at me looked pale. Dark circles bruised the skin under my brown eyes. But despite the physical frailty, my posture was ramrod straight. My chin was tilted up. The innate pride of my bloodline was something no chemical could completely erase. I smoothed my hands down the front of my dark blue silk dress. The color and fabric were traditional symbols of the Luna, the female leader of the Silver Creek pack. I made sure there wasn't a single wrinkle. I turned away from the mirror and walked toward the carved wooden door of the master bedroom. I wrapped my hand around the cold brass doorknob and twisted it slowly. The hinges let out a faint friction sound as the door swung open. I stepped out into the wide, carpeted hallway. Instantly, the hushed, frantic whispers of the pack maids drifted up from the first floor. They were speaking fast, their tones laced with shock and suppressed excitement. I walked to the top of the grand staircase. The moment my foot touched the top landing, the whispering stopped dead. The silence below was absolute. I took a breath, and my nose flared. Even with the suppressants dulling my senses, a foreign scent hit the back of my throat. It was a sickening mixture. The cloying, artificial sweetness of rotting peaches layered over the distinct, sour stench of a stray wolf. My stomach heaved. The royal blood in my veins reacted violently to the inferior, unbonded genetics. It was a physical, visceral disgust. My brows slammed together. I gripped the banister and looked down at the luxurious, marble-floored entryway. Outside the heavy oak front doors, the deep rumble of an expensive car engine cut off abruptly. The brass lock clicked loudly. The massive doors were pushed open from the outside. A rush of cold morning wind swept into the grand hall. It caught the giant crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling, making the glass pendants clink against each other like warning bells. Santino stepped over the threshold. His tall, imposing frame was clad in a custom-tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was perfectly styled. I stood motionless on the stairs, looking down at my husband from my elevated position. Usually, when he returned from a trip, he would look up, find me on the stairs, and offer a curt nod. Today, he didn't even glance in my direction. Instead, he turned his body slightly sideways. He extended one arm backward, his hand hovering in a protective, shielding gesture over the space behind him. My chest tightened. That specific, possessive stance was the exact way he used to shield me when we first met. Now, he was giving it to someone else. A woman stepped out from behind his broad back. She was wearing a thin, flimsy white dress that offered no protection against the cold. She looked around the grand hall with wide, timid eyes. Her pale fingers reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Santino’s expensive suit jacket. She gripped the dark fabric so tightly her knuckles turned stark white. The air in the grand hall turned to stone. The maids standing by the walls kept their heads bowed, absolutely rigid. No one dared to take a full breath. My eyes locked onto the woman’s face. She had large, watery eyes and a trembling lower lip. It was a perfectly constructed mask of pitiful vulnerability. Santino finally lifted his head. His dark eyes met mine. There was no hesitation, no guilt, and absolutely no warmth in his gaze. "Alessia, she will be living here from now on."