The Alpha's Lost Luna: Too Late for Redemption
For nine years, I was the "Wolfless Wonder," the shame of the Reyes Pack. I swallowed bitter suppressants every morning to hide my identity as a rare White Wolf, enduring my husband’s coldness just to stay by his side.
But tonight, Alpha Dominick shattered whatever bond we had left. He walked into the Annual Gathering with his mistress, Chastity, clinging to his arm, pregnant and smug.
When Chastity staged a miscarriage and blamed me, Dominick didn't ask for the truth. He dragged me to the hospital.
"She needs blood," he snarled. "O-Negative. Like yours."
He used the Alpha Command to force me onto the table. He watched as they drained me dry to save the woman destroying my life.
"Alpha, her heart rate is dropping!" the doctor warned. "It will kill her!"
Dominick didn't even flinch.
"Keep going," he ordered. "Take what you need until Chastity is safe."
As the machine beeped and darkness took me, the submissive wife died.
I woke up in the morgue holding cell and made a choice. I signed the divorce papers, set the penthouse on fire, and vanished into the night. He thought I burned to death.
He didn't know I escaped.
Months later, he tracked a ghost to a vineyard in London. But he didn't find the broken girl he sacrificed.
He found the White Wolf, glowing with silver magic, standing beside a new mate who actually cherished me.
Dominick fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Annis, come home. I command you."
I looked down at him and smiled.
"Your voice doesn't work on me anymore, Alpha. You killed the part of me that listened."
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Annis POV:
The penthouse was cold. It smelled of him-cedar and rain-a scent that used to be home, now just a trigger for nausea.
"Ten minutes," Dominick said. "The cleaners are coming to sanitize the room before Chastity moves in."
I went to the closet. Empty.
"I threw them out," Chastity said from the doorway, filing her nails. "Hideous rags."
"Where is my lockbox?" I demanded. "It was under the floorboard."
"Oh, that?" She pointed to the fireplace.
My blood froze.
A fire crackled in the hearth. In the center, my metal lockbox glowed red hot.
"My passport!" I screamed, lunging.
"Ah-ah," Chastity tutted, kicking a heavy chair in my path. I stumbled.
"Why?" I cried. "I saved your life!"
"Because," she whispered, stepping closer while Dominick was in the other room. "You're a loose end. As long as you're breathing, he might remember what the bond felt like. I can't have that."
She grabbed a heavy brass candle holder from the mantle. Infused with Wolfsbane oil.
"Time to finish this," she hissed.
She swung.
I ducked. The brass hit the wall.
Something inside me snapped.
The blood loss had flushed the suppressants. The White Wolf woke up.
Enough!
Power surged. I grabbed her wrist.
"You took everything," I snarled, my voice layering with the wolf's. "My husband. My dignity. My blood."
I shoved her.
She flew backward, crashing into the table with the lit Wolfsbane candles.
The candles toppled. The oil spilled onto the rug.
Whoosh.
Flames erupted. Thick, purple smoke filled the air.
I coughed, lungs seizing. Wolfsbane smoke is paralyzing to wolves. My legs gave out.
Chastity screamed. "Dom! Help! She's trying to kill me!"
Dominick burst in.
The room was an inferno. I was on the floor, paralyzed. Chastity was near the door, feigning a faint.
Dominick looked at me. Our eyes met.
"Dom..." I reached out. "Please..."
He looked at the fire. He looked at me. Then he looked at Chastity's stomach.
"My heir," he muttered.
He turned his back on me.
He scooped Chastity up and ran.
He left me to burn.
The betrayal hurt more than the fire. It seared my soul. The bond, the thin thread that still connected us, turned to ash.
Get up, my wolf commanded. We do not die for him.
With a scream of rage, I forced my paralyzed body to move. I crawled. The heat blistered my skin.
I reached the service elevator. I smashed the button.
As the doors closed, blocking out the flames, I made a vow.
Annis the weakling died in that fire. The White Wolf was born.
You may also like
8.5
After four years of marriage, my wealthy husband Brad handed me a $50,000 severance check outside the Manhattan Family Court.
He linked arms with his mistress, Jenna, who flaunted the diamond ring that used to be mine.
"Just take it, Hayley. Take the money and get out of our lives," he sneered, looking at me with absolute disgust.
I tore the check into pieces, but my nightmare was just beginning.
To access my grandfather's trust fund, I had exactly seventy-two hours to get legally married, so I desperately proposed a one-year contract marriage to a poor insurance salesman I met in a dive bar.
When Brad found out, he and his arrogant family cornered me at their estate.
Brad mocked my new husband for being a penniless, money-grubbing parasite, while my former mother-in-law slapped me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground.
"You are trash, just like your mother," she spat, watching my knee bleed onto the sharp gravel.
Jenna gleefully kicked my phone away, shattering the screen and cutting off my only lifeline.
Lying there in the dirt, I stared at the broken glass in absolute despair.
I didn't understand why four years of quiet devotion had earned me nothing but cruel betrayal and endless humiliation from the people I once called family.
Just as I thought I had completely lost, a black Lincoln Navigator slammed to a halt at the gates.
My "penniless" new husband stepped out, radiating a terrifying, righteous fury that made the entire Patton family freeze in horror.
7.0
Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress was never mine.
I found out on a Tuesday—a C-list actress draped in my custom Vera Wang, hanging off my fiancé's arm. Six months of French lace. Six meters of Italian silk. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me.
He locked the doors of that boutique. Froze my cards. Threatened my friends. Told the world I was just a delusional former assistant who didn't know her place.
The internet called me crazy, a liar, a desperate woman who couldn't take a hint. His name trended everywhere. My accounts got suspended before I could say a word.
What he never knew: his empire ran on my capital. His patents were mine. His executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a paper trail of fraud stretching back years.
I dialed the encrypted phone. A voice said, "I've waited five years."
"Then wait three more days," I said. "I'm going to tear his head off."
9.3
My husband Hudson had kept me a medicated ghost for three years, convinced I was unstable. But a cheap pink hair clip, tangled with golden blonde hair in his car, ripped through the chemical haze. The bitter pill he forced me to take wouldn't numb the burning truth, only fuel my awakening.
I was an architect once, but now I was just Cora, a docile wife trapped in his suffocating world. When he saw my shock, his concern was sickeningly sweet as he offered another Xanax. I pretended to swallow the poison, letting it dissolve under my tongue, a constant reminder of my awakening.
Back at the mansion, his massive car deliberately blocked mine, a crude barricade confirming his control. Then, a message from an old intern confirmed my darkest fears: this was domestic abuse. He urged me to check Hudson’s closet, to record everything.
I knew then I was living with a dangerous monster, and my denial shattered. The anger burned, fueled by the bitter taste of that undissolved pill.
That night, Hudson walked in, wearing a hideous, sloppily tied red polka-dot tie. It was a clear, undeniable sign of another woman. My architect’s mind was awake, cold and calculating. "Game on, Hudson." I would make him taste this bitterness back a thousand times.
7.9
On my eighteenth birthday, the celestial pact hiding my aura finally expired. I stood on the rotting steps of the trailer, watching my foster family celebrate my eviction like they’d won the lottery. Brenda threw a liability waiver at me to sign, ensuring I’d never ask for a dime of their welfare checks again. Worse, her daughter Regina stood there smirking, flaunting the heirloom emerald bracelet she’d stolen from my secret stash—unaware it was a spiritual artifact soaked in fifty years of blood magic. "Consider it payment for room and board, freak," Regina sneered, forcing the silver band over her wrist. They thought they were discarding a burden. They didn't realize I was the only dam holding back a tidal wave of their own bad karma. As I signed the papers, voluntarily severing our ties, the air pressure plummeted. The bracelet began to constrict like a snake, turning Regina’s flesh a necrotic purple as the protection I offered vanished. Before they could scream, a matte black helicopter bearing the Sterling Industries crest descended onto the muddy lawn, blowing their plastic lawn chairs into the neighbor's yard. A man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped out, ignoring the filth to bow before me. He looked at my terrified foster family and announced, "We are here to retrieve the Sterling heiress." I smiled at Regina, whose arm was already beginning to rot, and whispered, "Keep the bracelet. You'll need it to pay for the amputation."
9.5
The night I ran, I left everything behind.
My dead fiancé's ghost. His brother's cold hands reaching for me. A father who won't meet my eyes because he's already sold me to the highest bidder.
I thought I was escaping.
Then a stranger pulled me from the darkness, and I learned what real danger looks like.
Damon moves like he owns the world. Talks like every word matters. Looks at me like I'm the only woman who ever made him feel something. He says he's the son the Kings family erased, the bastard they tried to bury. He says Evan loved me-really loved me-and that's why I should trust him.
He wants me to sign a contract. One year as his wife. One year to help him destroy the family that destroyed us both. One year pretending to belong to a man who makes my heart race and my skin burn every time he's close.
But the closer we get, the more I feel him keeping secrets.
He touches me like I'm fragile. Looks away when I ask about Evan. Holds the truth behind his teeth like it might cut us both.
And the whole time, I'm falling.
Falling into his warmth. His danger. His impossible kindness that feels too real to be fake.
But if I've learned anything from the Kings, it's this: the men who save you are always the ones who need you most.
And the ones who need you?
They're the ones who hurt you in the end.
Evan knew something the night he died. Something about my father. Something about the deal that would make the Kings the most powerful people in the country.
Damon knows too.
And the only way he'll tell me?
Is if I say yes.
Say yes to the contract. Say yes to the marriage. Say yes to the fire building between us that feels less like pretending every single day.
But when I finally learn the truth-about Evan, about my father, about the empire that wants us both dead-
Will the man holding me survive what comes next?
And more terrifying:
Will I survive loving him?
7.2
"I need a wife for one year. No feelings, no drama, just a signature on a contract. In return, I will pay you fifty million Naira."
Amaka Okoro is a survivor from the streets of Mushin, but even she is running out of time. Her mother is dying, and the hospital bills are a mountain she can't climb. When the cold and powerful Alexander Sterling-the most feared billionaire in Lagos-offers her a fake marriage, it feels like a miracle.
But the glittering world of Victoria Island is more dangerous than the slums. Behind the diamond rings and luxury galas lies a dark secret Alexander has been hiding for three years-a secret that involved the death of his first bride.
As the lines between the contract and reality begin to blur, Amaka must decide: is she just a replacement for a dead woman, or is she the only one who can save Alexander from his own shadows?
In the city of Lagos, love is a luxury. Can Amaka afford the price?