
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."
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Chapter 3
Alessia POV:
Santino’s warning tore through the grand hall, carrying a bone-chilling coldness that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
The invisible weight of his Alpha aura pressed against my chest. My lungs were being squeezed tight, forcing the oxygen out in shallow, burning gasps.
I swallowed the metallic tang of blood pooling in my mouth. My brain raced, analyzing the variables.
The suppressant was at its peak concentration in my bloodstream. Fighting back physically right now was a tactical error. The royal survival code pounded in my head: endure, calculate, and strike only when the advantage is absolute. Pride without power was just stupidity.
Slowly, deliberately, I loosened my death grip on the oak banister. My fingers ached as they uncurled from the wood.
I bowed my head. I let my chin drop toward my chest, breaking eye contact with his glowing, blood-red stare. I let my shoulders slump just a fraction, mimicking the physical posture of a submitted wolf.
Santino let out a harsh, satisfied scoff. The suffocating pressure in the room vanished in a split second.
The air rushed back in. Below me, the maids gasped loudly, dragging oxygen into their lungs as they slowly pushed themselves up from the floor.
I took a small step backward, moving to the far edge of the landing. I pressed my back against the wall, leaving the center of the staircase wide open.
Santino didn't waste another second. He wrapped his arm tightly around Valentina’s waist and marched toward the stairs. He walked with heavy, arrogant steps, wearing the pride of a conqueror.
They reached the top landing. As they passed me, Valentina suddenly shifted her weight. She leaned into my space and slammed her shoulder hard against mine.
My body was still trembling from the drug and the physical exertion. The impact knocked me off balance. My heel slipped on the edge of the carpet. I stumbled backward, my hand flailing out to catch the wall just before I tipped down the steps.
Santino didn't even turn his head. He didn't check to see if I had fallen. He just kept walking down the hallway.
I pushed myself off the wall. I stood perfectly still, watching their retreating backs.
Santino stopped in front of the largest guest suite, the one located directly next to our master bedroom. He reached out and pushed the heavy door open for her.
My expression was entirely blank. But deep inside my chest, a heavy iron door slammed shut. The three-year sentence I had served in this marriage was officially over. I pronounced it dead.
I turned on my heel and walked in the opposite direction, heading straight for my private study at the far end of the corridor.
I stepped inside and pushed the door shut. I turned the deadbolt. The heavy click of the lock sealed me off from the rest of the house.
My legs finally gave out. I stumbled toward the leather sofa in the center of the room and collapsed onto the cushions. My limbs felt like lead.
I lay there in the silence. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked the hours away. Outside the window, the bright afternoon sun slowly faded into a bruised purple twilight, and then into pitch black.
The automated security lights of the territory flickered on, casting long shadows across the lawn.
I sat up. The worst of the drug’s immediate fatigue had passed. My breathing was steady again.
The room felt stuffy. I stood up and walked over to the wall panel, hitting the switch to open the central air conditioning vents.
A rush of cool air blew down from the ceiling grate. But it wasn't the crisp, clean scent of pine and fresh linen I was used to.
A thick, nauseating wave of cheap, rotting peach perfume poured out of the vent. The central system was circulating the air from her room into mine.
My stomach violently rebelled. I slapped my hand over my mouth, gagging hard.
I slammed my hand against the control panel, shutting the vent completely.
The silence returned, but the smell lingered. It was a physical violation. A werewolf’s scent marks their territory. Smelling her in my locked sanctuary meant my home was already gone.
I walked over to the heavy mahogany desk. I pressed the power button on the computer.
The screen flickered to life, casting a harsh blue glow over my pale, cold face. I typed in the encrypted password for the territory’s master financial system.
The dashboard loaded. I moved the mouse, navigating straight to the fund withdrawal and transfer page.
"Since you like providing for someone else, use your own money."
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7.5
On the morning of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I found a cream-colored document tucked inside my husband's suit pocket.
It was a twenty-million-dollar asset transfer for his former receptionist, Carmen. But what made my blood run cold was the contingent beneficiary: Leo, my newborn son who the hospital claimed was kidnapped twenty-three years ago.
When I confronted Devonte, he didn't even try to explain. He handed me a fake Cartier watch, canceled all my credit cards, and publicly called me delusional.
The next day, he moved Carmen into our mansion and emptied all our joint accounts into offshore trusts.
"If you don't sign these papers and walk away, I will have you committed," he threatened, his mother nodding in agreement.
They had orchestrated the kidnapping of my baby, hiding him with the mistress while I spent half my life sedated and screaming in grief. Now, to keep his secret, Devonte was going to lock me in a psychiatric ward and bury me in debt.
I didn't understand how the man I loved could be such a monster. Why did he steal my child? What else was hidden in that confidential adoption file?
Pushed to the absolute brink, I refused to be his victim.
When his goons came to my temporary apartment to drag me away, I turned to the rugged union electrician who had just fixed my lights.
"If you need a husband to keep you out of a psych ward, I'll marry you," he said, offering himself as my legal shield.
I took his hand. It was time to tear my husband's perfect life apart.

8.1
One wardrobe malfunction.
Two people who don't belong together.
Three awful "Be my wife."
Everyone else is at this party to marry the host.
I'm only here until I can get a ride home.
When my dress rips in the world's worst-timed wardrobe malfunction,
I go find somewhere quiet to fix it.
So I'm standing there in nothing but my heels when,
As my luck would have it, the door opens...
And the man of the hour walks in.
I wish I could say I played it cool.
But it's been a looong time since anyone has seen me in my birthday suit...
Much less the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on.
All I want to do is fix my dress, click my heels three times, and be back on my couch in fuzzy slippers.
But Ivan has other ideas.
He's decided who he's taking to the altar...
And I don't have a choice but to say "I do."

9.0
I crashed a wedding.
Got caught by the best man.
Now, I'm pregnant with his baby...
It's Katya's fault. (As per usual.)
My BFF despises her ex and wants to hate-watch him marry the woman he left her for.
Problem is, she didn't fill me in on that plan...
Until we arrive at the ceremony.
As soon as I find out, I run.
Hop on the elevator and smash the Doors Close button like the Energizer Bunny on a sugar rush.
But right before they shut...
A hand comes shooting through.
And attached to that hand, unfortunately for me, is the most stunning human specimen I've ever seen.
Tall.
Dark.
Handsome.
Dangerous.
Also... the best man.
He takes one look at me and knows I don't belong.
"Who let you in here, little bird?" he growls.
I gulp. Tremble.
Open my mouth to lie...
And then the elevator stops.

7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.

7.4
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.