The Lycan King's Secret Deal with the Broken Omega
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As a wolfless Omega, I just wanted to be worthy of my Alpha mate, Kael. So when his mother asked me to secretly deliver a classified treaty, I didn't hesitate.
But it was a trap. The room she sent me to held a half-naked Rogue and a forged treaty ceding Pack lands. Kael kicked the door down and caught us.
He didn't listen to my pleas. My best friend stood by and lied, claiming I was planning to fake a pregnancy to trap him.
When I desperately cried out that I was actually two months pregnant with his heir, Kael looked at me with absolute disgust.
"The thought of you carrying anything of mine makes my very soul sick."
He formally rejected me, severed our mate-bond, and banished me to the wild.
That night, a Rogue hired by his mother attacked me in the woods. He kicked my stomach until my baby was gone.
When I woke up in a sterile hospital, I sent Kael one last desperate text about our murdered child.
His reply was cold: "Stop the lies. You are dead to me."
He then used his billionaire influence to blacklist me from every home and job in the city. I was left penniless, bleeding, and hunted by the man who once swore to protect me. My grief calcified into pure, vicious hatred.
With nowhere to go, I risked my life to save an elderly woman in an alley. Her grandson arrived—Declan Kane, a terrifyingly powerful Lycan King whose authority dwarfed any Alpha.
He offered me absolute protection from the Blackwoods if I agreed to a deal.
I took his hand. This time, I would survive, and I would make them all bleed.
The Lycan King's Secret Deal with the Broken Omega Chapter 1
Seraphina POV
The heavy brass '13' on the black door glared at me under the dim lights of the Astoria Hotel's seventh-floor hallway. My fingers trembled as I clutched the sealed leather folder to my chest.
*“Prove your loyalty to the Pack, Seraphina,”* Genevieve Blackwood’s voice echoed in my mind. Her tone on the phone earlier had been uncharacteristically warm. *“Deliver this classified territory agreement to the emissary. Tell no one, not even Kael. Do this right, and perhaps you are worthy of being his Luna.”*
As a wolfless Omega, I was deaf to the Pack's mind-link. I couldn't reach out to my mate, Kael, to verify his mother's orders even if I dared to. I just wanted to be enough for him. I wanted to erase the disappointment I saw in his eyes every time he looked at his wolfless mate.
Taking a deep breath of the hotel's expensive, sterile perfume, I knocked.
The door swung open. The man standing there—Lazar, the supposed emissary—was tall, heavily muscled, and entirely shirtless. He leaned against the doorframe, a lazy smirk on his face. Despite the heavy cologne he wore, my heightened senses caught a faint, underlying scent. Rust and wild dirt.
A Rogue.
Panic flared in my chest. "I... I just need you to sign this," I stammered, holding out the folder and taking a step back.
Lazar didn't take it. Instead, he reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the living room. "What's the rush, sweetheart?"
Before I could scream, the heavy suite door was kicked open with a force that splintered the wood.
The air in the room instantly vanished, replaced by a suffocating, crushing weight. Kael Blackwood stood in the doorway. His Alpha aura rolled off him in violent waves of cedar and winter wind, forcing me to my knees. His cyan eyes, which had once looked at me with fated warmth, were now glacial pools of pure hatred.
"Kael!" I gasped, trying to crawl toward him. "Kael, please, it's not—"
He shoved me back so hard my shoulder slammed into the marble coffee table.
Genevieve stepped into the room from behind him. Before I could process her presence, her hand cracked across my cheek in a vicious slap. The sting blinded me for a second.
"You treasonous whore!" Genevieve shrieked, her voice echoing in the silent suite. "Sneaking around with a filthy Rogue to sell out our Pack's borders!"
"No! You sent me here!" I cried out, looking frantically between them. "Genevieve, tell him! You called me!"
"Lies!" Genevieve spat, snatching the folder from the floor. She ripped it open, tossing the papers at Kael's feet.
Kael picked them up. I saw the color drain from his face. I caught a glimpse of the parchment—it wasn't a standard agreement. It was a forged treaty ceding Blackwood territory, and at the bottom, perfectly replicated, was my signature.
"Kael, look at me," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "You know me. Feel our mate-bond. I would never betray you."
He dropped the papers and closed the distance between us, his large hand gripping my jaw with bruising force. His inner wolf, Fenrir, was practically vibrating beneath his skin, demanding blood.
"Don't taint our bond with your filthy mouth," Kael snarled, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"Please..." I whispered, my heart shattering.
He stood up, towering over me like a god of wrath. The air grew so cold my breath plumed. He looked down at me, and with a voice that echoed with the absolute, terrifying power of an Alpha, he spoke the words that would end my life.
"I, Kael Blackwood, reject you, Seraphina Harmon, as my mate."
The agony was instantaneous. It felt as though a jagged blade had been driven into my chest, violently sawing my soul in half. I screamed, clutching my heart as blood rushed to my ears. The pain demanded the required response, tearing it from my throat against my will.
"I... accept your rejection."
A sickening *snap* echoed in my mind. The warm, golden thread that had connected my soul to his vanished, leaving behind a gaping, bleeding void. I collapsed onto the carpet, gasping for air through the blinding pain.
Kael didn't even flinch. He turned his back on me, looking toward the hallway where heavily armed Pack Warriors were already waiting.
"Take them to the cells," Kael commanded.
Two massive warriors stepped into the room, their hands clamping down on my arms like iron vices, dragging my limp body upward.
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The Lycan King's Secret Deal with the Broken Omega of Contents
New Release Novels
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
9.0
Isolde woke up in a freezing, ruined stone house with a splitting headache and only five percent of her life signs remaining.
Before she could even process the mechanical system voice in her head, a flood of violent memories slammed into her.
She had transmigrated into the body of a cruel noblewoman who mercilessly tortured her beastmen husbands with a barbed whip.
And right now, she was lying in a pool of her own blood, having been shoved against the stone floor by one of them.
Outside the rickety door, her husbands were coldly discussing her death.
"Just go in and finish her. One stab, and we're free."
"If she hit her head and died on her own, then it's an accident. We walk out of here as free males."
To test if she was faking her sudden amnesia, the snake beastman Dangelo even ground his heavy military boot into her injured hand, waiting for her to snap so he could legally end her.
She was poisoned, freezing, and entirely at the mercy of the men who deeply despised her.
She was bearing the deadly consequences of a monster she never was, with a red system warning of imminent death flashing in her mind.
But they didn't know the new Isolde had awakened a survival system and Life Magic.
She swore a blood oath to the Beast God to buy herself three months of time.
Then, she turned her sights to the dying wolf beastman chained in the shed, deciding to pull him back from hell to become her very first shield.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
