The Alpha's Cruel Bet: The Rejected Omega
On our one-year anniversary, I waited in red silk, praying my Alpha, Alex, would finally mark me as his Luna.
Instead, a notification popped up on his tablet: "The Omega Prank."
I tapped it and watched a livestream of him draping the Moonstone Necklace around another woman's neck, laughing that I smelled like desperation.
It turned out the last year of my life was just a bet. A game to entertain the bored elites.
But the humiliation didn't stop at the truth.
Alex forced me to wear a diamond collar at the Charity Gala, parading me as "The Alpha's Pet" while the pack laughed.
When his grandmother ordered me beaten with a cane for a painting his mistress ruined, Alex didn't stop them.
He just poured a drink and looked away while the wood cracked against my spine.
I didn't scream. I just watched him check his phone, indifferent to my blood.
He thought he could exile me to a winter cabin to keep his "embarrassment" hidden.
He didn't know I had already initiated the Ghost Protocol.
I staged a bloody scene at the cliff's edge, making it look like a rogue attack.
Standing over the freezing black water, I looked back one last time and severed the bond.
"I reject you, Alex Bradley."
Then I jumped, leaving him with nothing but a fake suicide scene and a regret that would come too late.
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Chapter 4
Jillian POV:
The humiliation didn't stop at the Gala. It was Elder Eleanor's eightieth birthday. The matriarch despised me.
"You will present a gift," Alex had ordered. "Something handmade. Show some effort."
I had spent nights painting the Silver Lake forest. It was the only piece of home I had left.
The banquet hall smelled of roasted meat and judgment. Elder Eleanor sat on her throne, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"The Omega has a gift," Alex announced, bored.
I stepped forward, holding the covered canvas. "Happy Birthday, Elder Eleanor."
I pulled the cloth away.
Gasps rang out.
My blood ran cold.
It wasn't my landscape. The canvas was a crude, grotesque painting of Eleanor's face on a pig's body, roasting on a spit.
"Abomination!" Eleanor shrieked. "Insolent cur!"
"No!" I cried. "This isn't mine! I painted the forest! Someone switched it!"
I looked at Charlotte. She was covering a smirk behind a champagne flute.
"Alex, please," I begged. "You saw me painting the trees!"
Alex looked at the painting, then at me. He knew. He had to know. But he sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Grandmother, she has no taste," Alex said dismissively. "I'll have her removed."
"Removed?" Eleanor roared. "She insulted the Matriarch! She needs discipline!"
"She's just an Omega, Grandmother," Alex said, trying to de-escalate, but not defending me. "It's not worth the effort."
"It is to me! Guards! The cane!"
Two warriors grabbed my arms. Alex stepped back. He didn't stop them. He just poured himself a drink, looking away.
"Ten strikes," Eleanor commanded.
The cane came down. It wasn't the Silver Whip—that would kill me—but the heavy wood cracked against my back with bone-breaking force.
CRACK.
I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.
CRACK.
I locked eyes with Alex. He was checking his phone.
That was the moment. Not the pain of the wood, but the indifference in his eyes. He wasn't a monster who enjoyed my pain; he was a coward who wouldn't lift a finger to stop it.
By the tenth strike, I was slumped on the floor.
"Get her out of my sight," Eleanor spat.
As the guards dragged me away, I saw Charlotte whisper in Alex's ear. He finally smiled.
I didn't pass out. I memorized that smile. It was the fuel I needed.
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9.8
The stench of rot and fear clung to me in the brutal prison pen. I pushed away my uncle’s smile; revenge burned cold. Survive.
The gate screeched, a guard's roar herding us out. A scarred man stopped, gripped my chin, sniffed, then barked, "This one. Pull her out." My time was up.
Dragged to Alpha Baron Stone—who trembled at the Alpha King’s name—my "unusual" scent marked me. Stripped, lashed by silver, scrubbed raw, every trace of me vanished. From my cell, I watched in horror as others were thrown into an arena, torn apart by starved wolves.
My stomach heaved. Why me? Why was I spared *that* gruesome end, only to be prepared for a terrifying king?
An old Omega woman opened my door with bread—a chilling sign I wasn't meant for the arena. A cold resolve solidified: I would survive this hell, remember my uncle’s face, and learn what twisted fate the Alpha King had chosen.
8.5
After surviving years in the Alpha King's brutal prisons, I returned to my pack only to be stripped of my family home and exiled to a rotting cabin.
I accepted the humiliation in silence, until I found a dying baby girl abandoned in a trash-filled alley.
Taking her in awoke the terrifying, protective beast I had kept chained in my mind. The pack, fueled by rumors and a jealous woman's bruised ego, viewed us as abominations. They trespassed on my land to uncover my "dirty secrets," forcing me to build a massive stone fortress with my bare hands just to keep my daughter safe from their cruelty.
We lived in isolated peace for years, until the day I took her outside the walls to visit my parents' graves.
A convoy of royal Alphas arrived, and their Luna fell to her knees at my mother's cousin's grave, weeping and calling her "sister."
I didn't understand. Why was my forgotten family connected to the royals? And why did Cassian Vargan, the most powerful Alpha in the world, freeze in absolute shock the moment he realized who I was?
"You... are you Gideon Stone's son?"
The bloody past I had buried under a mountain of stone had finally found me.
I didn't answer him. I just pulled my daughter behind me and tightly gripped my knife, ready to slaughter a king if he took one more step.
7.6
I pulled the perfectly baked Beef Wellington from the oven, its rich scent filling our Manhattan penthouse. For five years, I’d crafted this perfect life, but tonight, I’d discover my entire existence was a cruel, silent lie. The man I loved had built it all on betrayal.
Preparing our anniversary dinner, I reflected on five years of building a flawless home for Blake, a dream I’d never known.
Searching for a pen, I found a hidden compartment in Blake’s desk containing a cheap black USB drive—a significant secret for a man who despised anything less than perfect.
His MacBook unlocked with his birthday, not ours. The USB, after a near-data-wipe, revealed "The Archives": hundreds of photos of Blake with his college girlfriend, Isabelle, passionate love letters, and a wardrobe chosen to mirror hers. My name yielded "0 results found," while millions were wired to Isabelle.
I was a meticulously funded stand-in, a ghost he dressed up to play house. My non-existence in his world and his financial betrayal ignited a cold, burning rage.
Blake returned, dismissive, offering a delayed anniversary gift. I confronted him; he ripped the USB, snapped it, and stated, "Nothing changes, as long as you know your place." My obedience shattered: "I want a divorce," I declared, then destroyed dinner and packed my own bag.
8.4
They say marrying Cassian Blackmoor is a death sentence.
Seventeen wives. Seventeen funerals. One widower no one can explain.
They call him cursed. They call him dangerous. Some call him a murderer who hides behind wealth and silence. But no one can prove anything - and no one dares accuse a billionaire who buries his wives with the same calm devotion he once loved them with.
Eloise Laurent knows the rumors. She knows the whispers. She knows the stories about the widower whose brides never live long.
Instead, she falls for him.
For the quiet sadness in his eyes.
For the way his voice softens only for her.
For the way he loves like he's terrified of losing her.
And maybe he should be.
But when she discovers a hidden grave bearing her own name, Eloise realizes something far worse than rumors is waiting for her inside his house.
9.6
I snuck into the Long Island estate’s private study, desperate to find my boyfriend, Channing, and beg him for the money to save my mother’s life.
But when I wrapped my arms around the man standing in the dark, I felt a body of cold, hard muscle that didn't belong to Channing.
The lights flickered on, and I found myself pinned against the window by Constantine Warner, the ruthless head of the empire who despised me more than anyone on earth.
He didn't pull away; he held me there, his gray eyes burning with a mix of razor-sharp disgust and a dark, violent hunger that terrified me to my core.
Outside the room, my boyfriend Channing walked in, but instead of defending me, he laughed at my humiliation just to please his powerful brother.
I was left with nothing—no money for my mother’s surgery, no dignity, and the haunting realization that the man who hated me most was the only one who truly saw me.
Why did Constantine look at me like I was his prey, and what happens when the parasite finally decides to bite back?
7.1
I was the trophy wife of Wall Street’s golden boy, Spencer Elliott. For three years, I played the part of the perfect, silent spouse, enduring his coldness and his mother’s venom. I did it all because Spencer was the only person paying for the experimental medical care keeping my dying mother alive.
But during a high-society gala, the gilded cage finally broke. I overheard Spencer laughing with his mistress about the "custom cocktail" he was feeding my mother. He wasn't paying for her cure; he was paying a doctor to systematically poison her with sedatives to keep me dependent and compliant until his forty-million-dollar inheritance vested.
When I tried to confront him, the mask of the perfect husband shattered. He dragged me by my hair into our bedroom and slammed me against the wall, his eyes cold and murderous.
"If you ever try to leave, your mother gets an overdose. Accidentally, of course."
He told me I was nothing more than a pawn for his payout. I realized then that my entire marriage was a calculated swindle, and the man I thought was my savior was actually my mother's executioner.
The betrayal was so deep it turned my blood to ice. Every sacrifice I had made and every humiliation I had swallowed was built on a monstrous lie. I felt a cold, sharp rage replacing my despair, a surgeon’s focus shifting from healing to a much more dangerous kind of excision.
That’s when Julian Sterling, the most feared man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to burn my world down. He rescued me from Spencer’s violence and promised me a life of freedom, but as I finally exhaled in his arms, my secret burner phone buzzed with an encrypted message. The man who originally ruined my family was back, and the last time he was seen, he was standing right next to Julian. Is my new protector my greatest ally, or the target I've been hunting all along?