The Alpha's Secret Fake Rogue Luna
I was just a wolfless Rogue, keeping my head down to earn a temporary sanctuary in the Blackwood Pack.
But everything changed when Alpha Damien, spiraling into madness after his mate Chloe publicly rejected him, forced me into a dangerous game. He commanded me to be his fake lover for an upcoming Gala to shatter his ex's arrogant ego.
I thought it was just a temporary business deal to secure my safety.
Instead, it painted a massive target on my back.
The high-ranking she-wolves sneered at me, calling me a filthy seductress, and Chloe herself stormed in, demanding I stay away from her Alpha.
But the real nightmare wasn't the pack's hatred—it was Damien.
The safe boundaries of our fake arrangement completely shattered when his act turned into a terrifying, possessive obsession.
He trapped me in his home, his feral inner wolf purring at my scent, and kissed me with a consuming hunger that triggered my darkest memories of being abused by an Alpha.
I didn't understand why the most powerful, ruthless Alpha in the region was suddenly obsessed with a broken nobody.
Why did his maddened beast only quiet down when I touched him?
I had sworn to never belong to an Alpha, to never be treated as property again.
But when I tried to run from his manor, he didn't let me go.
He locked me inside his private jet, caging me against the wall as his eyes flashed with a dark, predatory gold.
"I don't care what you are, I just want you."
As the cabin doors sealed shut, I realized the real battle for my freedom had just begun.
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Chapter 2
Seraphina POV
The dread that settled in my stomach outside his office didn't dissipate; it only festered as the hours ticked by. At exactly eight o'clock, I stood before the heavy mahogany doors of the Alpha's private study on the top floor.
Taking a shaky breath, I knocked and pushed the door open.
The study was a suffocatingly intimate space. There was no desk to act as a barrier—only a dark leather Chesterfield sofa, a roaring fireplace, and walls lined with towering bookshelves. The air was thick, saturated with Damien's overwhelming scent of sharp cedar, aged whiskey, and biting winter wind. It was the lair of an apex predator.
Damien was standing by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting harsh shadows across his chiseled jaw.
"Sit," he commanded softly.
I perched on the very edge of the sofa, keeping my posture rigid. I needed to maintain the boundary of our transaction. I was an employee, a pawn. Nothing more.
"I will have a gown sent to your room tomorrow for the Gala," Damien stated, not bothering to look at me as he adjusted his cuffs.
"With all due respect, Alpha, I can manage my own attire," I replied quickly, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. "You don't even know my size or my style. I don't want to be dressed up like some Pack doll."
Damien finally turned, his piercing gray eyes locking onto mine. A dark, unsettling smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"Thirty-four, twenty-four, thirty-six," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly timber. His gaze drifted downward, tracing the lines of my body with a terrifying, predatory precision that made my skin prickle. "An Alpha notices everything."
A shiver of pure ice raced down my spine. The sheer possessiveness in his tone felt far too heavy for a simple business arrangement. It felt instinctual. Dangerous.
"You represent the Blackwood Pack now, Seraphina," he continued, the subtle, crushing weight of his Alpha's Command bleeding into his words, forcing my chin up. "You will wear what I provide."
Fighting him on this was useless. To preserve whatever tiny shred of autonomy I had left, I swallowed my pride. "Fine. But I want purple. And the skirt needs to allow me to run. Just in case."
His smirk widened fractionally. "Done."
A soft knock interrupted us as an Omega scurried in, leaving a silver cart of covered dinner plates before practically fleeing the room.
As Damien took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa, the atmosphere shifted, growing darker.
"A simple date won't be enough to break Chloe's ego," Damien said, his tone turning lethal as he stared at the fire. "She prides herself on her pureblood status. To truly humiliate her, she needs to believe she has been entirely replaced by a Rogue."
I frowned, a knot tightening in my chest. "What are you saying?"
"If Chloe, or anyone else, asks at the Gala, we have been seeing each other for weeks," he ordered smoothly. "Secret dates. Late nights. A deep, consuming infatuation."
My eyes widened in horror. I thought I was just playing a plus-one for a few hours. "So, I'm supposed to just admit we're sleeping together?" the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Damien's eyes flashed with a cold, approving glint. "Exactly. You will look at me like I am the center of your universe, and you will let them believe I have claimed you in every way but a mark."
My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn't just a lie; it was a death wish. Pretending to share a bed with the most powerful Alpha in the region would put a target on my back that no amount of pack protection could erase.
"Do we have an understanding, Seraphina?" he pressed, leaning closer.
The sheer force of his will crushed my protests. "Yes," I whispered, my voice trembling. I had agreed to play a game, but I was only just realizing the rules were rigged.
Damien held my gaze for a long, suffocating moment before he abruptly stood up. The muscles in his back were coiled tight, radiating a sudden, restless energy. Without another word, he walked over to the well-stocked home bar nestled in the corner of the room, his hand reaching for a heavy crystal decanter of whiskey.
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7.7
My husband, Bennett, and I were New York's golden couple. But our perfect marriage was a lie, childless because of a rare genetic condition he claimed would kill any woman who carried his baby. When his dying father demanded an heir, Bennett proposed a solution: a surrogate.
The woman he chose, Aria, was a younger, more vibrant version of me. Suddenly, Bennett was always busy, supporting her through "difficult IVF cycles." He missed my birthday. He forgot our anniversary.
I tried to believe him, until I overheard him at a party. He confessed to his friends that his love for me was a "deep connection," but with Aria, it was "fire" and "exhilarating."
He was planning a secret wedding with her in Lake Como, at the same villa he'd promised me for our anniversary.
He was giving her a wedding, a family, a life—all the things he denied me, using a lie about a deadly genetic condition as his excuse. The betrayal was so complete it felt like a physical shock.
When he came home that night, lying about a business trip, I smiled and played the part of the loving wife.
He didn't know I'd heard everything.
He didn't know that while he was planning his new life, I was already planning my escape.
And he certainly didn't know I had just made a call to a service that specialized in one thing: making people disappear.
7.3
Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything.
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
8.9
At my million-dollar wedding to the Hoffman heir, the priest was interrupted by a ringing phone.
My groom, Elijah, didn't silence it. He answered it right at the altar, yanked his arm from my grasp, and walked out because his "true love" Jalyn needed him.
I was left standing alone in front of three hundred elite guests, blinded by mocking camera flashes. My own mother rolled her eyes in disgust, later threatening to freeze my trust fund and sell me to a notorious playboy to recoup her losses. Elijah even had the nerve to call me, demanding I take the blame for the canceled wedding to save his PR, while live news feeds showed him cradling a fragile Jalyn in the hospital.
I had spent two years bending over backward to be his perfect bride, only to be discarded like trash. What made it sicker was finding out that Jalyn's sudden "medical emergency" was actually a ruptured cyst caused by having vigorous sex with Elijah right before he walked down the aisle.
I refused to let them destroy me.
Kicking off my six-inch heels, I stepped down from the altar and walked straight to the back row where Cristian Lowe sat. He was the ruthless iceberg of Wall Street and Elijah's most terrifying rival.
I looked up at his sharp jawline and asked the craziest question of my life.
"Will you marry me?"
He stood up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
"As you wish."
7.3
While I was pregnant, my husband held a party downstairs for another woman's son.
Through a hidden mental link, I overheard my husband, Don Dante Rossi, tell his consigliere he was going to publicly reject me tomorrow. He planned to make his mistress, Serena, his new mate.
An act forbidden by ancient law while I carried his heir.
Later, Serena cornered me, her smile venomous. When Dante appeared, she shrieked, clawing her own arm and blaming me for the attack.
Dante didn't even look at me. He snarled a command that froze my body and stole my voice, ordering me from his sight as he cradled her.
He moved her and her son into our master suite. I was demoted to the guest room at the end of the hall.
Passing her open door, I saw him rocking her baby, humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me.
I heard him promise her, "Soon, my love. I'll sever the bond and give you the life you deserve."
The love I felt for him, the power I'd hidden for four years to protect his fragile ego, all turned to ice.
He thought I was a weak, powerless wife he could discard. He was about to find out that the woman he betrayed was Alessia De Luca, princess of the most powerful family on the continent.
And I was finally going home.
9.7
I died with blood pooling and betrayal.
My fiancé never loved me-he only wanted. My stepsister never saw me as family. And when I discovered I was carrying his child and tried to expose their affair, they shoved me into a shattered glass table and left me to bleed out alone.
But I woke up a year earlier, with my voice miraculously returned and a second chance burning in my chest.
This time, I refuse to be the silent, obedient sacrifice they used and discarded. This time, I'll make them pay. And when a ruthless billionaire offers me an impossible deal-a fake marriage to save his crumbling empire, I accept without hesitation.
They still see me as that broken, voiceless girl who couldn't fight back.
They have no idea I've already won.