The Lycan King's Secret Deal with the Broken Omega
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.
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Chapter 10
Kael POV
The amber liquid burned down my throat, but it did absolutely nothing to numb the agonizing void in my chest.
The Alpha’s Den was suffocatingly thick with the smell of expensive cigars and heavy testosterone, yet I felt entirely hollow. Tearing the mate-bond had been like ripping out my own ribs with my bare hands. Every breath I took without Seraphina in our territory felt like inhaling shattered glass.
"To finally being rid of that wolfless parasite," Caleb, one of my highest-ranking Warriors, slurred, raising his glass.
I froze, the crystal tumbler halfway to my lips.
"Good riddance," Caleb continued, emboldened by the liquor. "A Rogue's whore. That's all she ever was. Her filthy bloodline tainted this Pack the moment she stepped foot—"
*Rip his throat out!* Fenrir, my inner wolf, roared so violently against my skull that my vision flashed red. My hand tightened around my glass. The crystal groaned, spiderweb cracks forming under my grip.
"Watch your damn mouth, Caleb," Garrick, my Beta, snapped. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
"Why?" Caleb scoffed. "She betrayed our Alpha. She proved she belongs in the dirt with the rest of the Rogues."
I didn't say a word. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth, Fenrir would take over and slaughter him. Instead, I downed the rest of my whiskey, the glass splintering slightly against my teeth, and reached for the bottle again.
Garrick’s hand clamped over my wrist, snatching the bottle away. "That's enough, Kael."
"Give it back," I growled, letting a fraction of my Alpha’s Command bleed into the air.
Caleb snickered. "Let the Alpha do what he wants, Garrick."
Garrick ignored him, his eyes locked onto mine, completely unfazed by my aura. He was my best friend, the only one who dared to defy me when I was spiraling. "You're done for the night. I'm taking you home."
He hauled me to my feet. The room spun, the heavy intoxication finally hitting my system. As Garrick threw my arm over his shoulder, a pathetic, broken whisper escaped my lips.
"Her scent... it's gone." I squeezed my eyes shut, the silence in my mind deafening. "The bond... it's so quiet, Garrick."
Deep down, buried beneath the betrayal and the rage, a pathetic truth festered: if she had just stayed in that hotel room, if she had just fallen to her knees and begged for my forgiveness... Fenrir would have forced me to give it to her.
The drive back to the Pack House was a blur. When Garrick and Caleb finally dragged me through the grand double doors of the foyer, Isabelle was already waiting at the bottom of the staircase.
"Goddess, how could you let your Alpha get into this state?" Isabelle scolded, her voice dripping with exaggerated concern as she rushed forward to touch my chest.
Garrick stiffened. *She's a damn vulture, Kael,* his voice echoed in my mind through our Mind-Link, laced with pure disgust.
I was too exhausted to reply.
"That's enough, Isabelle," my mother, Genevieve, said smoothly, stepping out from the parlor. "Garrick, Caleb, take him up to his suite. He needs rest."
As they dragged me up the stairs, my heightened hearing caught the faint, chilling whisper my mother directed at Isabelle: "You know what to do."
Isabelle’s heartbeat spiked with anticipation.
Minutes later, I was alone in my suite. The silence of the massive room was a physical weight. I stumbled toward the corner bar, my hands shaking as I blindly reached for a decanter.
The bedroom door clicked shut.
"Get out," I muttered, not turning around.
"You shouldn't be alone tonight, Kael," Isabelle whispered, her footsteps soft against the hardwood.
She stepped into my personal space. The cloying, artificial sweetness of her floral perfume assaulted my senses, a sickening contrast to the rain and cedar scent I was desperately craving.
"I said leave," I warned, my voice a dangerous, guttural rasp.
"Let me help you forget her," she murmured.
I turned around just as the sound of a zipper echoed in the quiet room. The silk of her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before me in nothing but sheer lace.
In my mind, Fenrir didn't purr with desire. He lunged against the bars of my subconscious, his fangs bared, his roar shaking my very soul.
*Not her! Not our Mate! Filth!*
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8.7
Ada was eight months pregnant, sitting peacefully in her husband's Manhattan estate, looking at a baby nursery catalog.
Suddenly, her husband's mistress, Jacklyn, walked in, threw an ultrasound photo on the table, and locked the door.
Before Ada could process the betrayal, Jacklyn dragged her to the top of the marble staircase and threw herself backward just as Desmond walked through the front doors.
"She pushed me, Desmond! She tried to kill our baby!"
Desmond looked at Ada with absolute hatred.
He ignored Ada's breaking water and her agonizing screams for help, leaving her to miscarry on the freezing floor while he rushed Jacklyn to the hospital.
He sent Ada to a brutal federal prison for three years, where she was tortured and left with a body covered in horrific scars, mourning the baby she was told died at birth.
When Ada was finally released, Desmond destroyed her cousin's company to force her back to his estate as a lowly maid.
But when Ada saw Jacklyn's three-year-old son, her world stopped.
Right in the center of the little boy's palm was a faint crescent moon birthmark.
It was the exact same mark Ada had kissed on her own lifeless baby's tiny hand before the doctors took his body away.
How did her dead child become Jacklyn's little prince?
Looking at the woman who stole her life and the husband who threw her in hell, Ada clenched her scarred hands and swore she would tear their world apart to get her son back.
9.0
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
8.5
Cecile jolted awake from months of prescription haze, only to realize she was trapped in a live reality show designed to destroy her.
Her billionaire husband had orchestrated the broadcast to publicly humiliate her and elevate his own PR image. He ordered her to follow a degrading script. What was worse, her five-year-old son, Damien, was genuinely terrified of her. When an empty wine bottle rolled across the floor, the tiny boy instantly threw his arms over his head, bracing for a hit.
The production crew shoved microphones into the trembling child's face, trying to trigger his trauma for ratings. The live chat cursed Cecile as a toxic abuser. The show's golden girl maliciously tried to poach Damien on camera to prove Cecile was an unfit mother. The crew even rigged the game, forcing Cecile and her son into a freezing, rotting mud shack with a collapsed roof. They were all just waiting for her to break down and beg.
"A toxic woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother."
The crew read the hateful comments aloud, expecting a hysterical meltdown. The realization that she had been manipulated into destroying her own child hit Cecile like a physical blow. How could a father subject his own son to this public cruelty?
The weak, easily manipulated Cecile was dead. She threw the PR script away, rolled up her sleeves, and picked up a rusted hammer. This time, she would protect her son and tear down anyone who stood in her way.
7.1
To save my family from ruin, I remarried my billionaire ex-husband, Jaxon Lowe. He held my late mother' s locket hostage, forcing me back into a gilded cage where I endured his cold contempt and his very public affair. I played the part of the silent, obedient wife he demanded, building a wall of ice around my heart just to survive.
But my obedience didn't protect me. He abandoned me in a torrential downpour to rescue his mistress, Ivory.
Then, he broke his one promise. He let Ivory have my mother's locket pulled from auction, the very reason for my sacrifice, simply because she found it "unlucky."
That final betrayal led me straight into the hands of his business rival, where I was tortured and left for dead.
But I survived.
Four months later, Jaxon found me. He stood before me, tears streaming down his face, holding the now-repaired locket and begging for forgiveness.
I took back what was mine.
"I want a divorce," I said, my voice calm and final. "And I never want to see you again."
7.5
Julianna was drowning in a corporate warzone, fighting a massive department deficit while fending off her mother’s relentless matchmaking.
Then, a ghost from her past returned to shatter her reality.
Eight years ago, Aidan Caldwell walked out of her life without a word. Now, he was back in New York as a ruthless billionaire, and a pitch-black Maybach started stalking her in the dim underground garage.
She had no idea the driver hiding behind the obsidian-tinted glass was Aidan.
She didn't know he had just choked a confession out of an executive, discovering that her "betrayal" eight years ago was a complete lie.
"Stay away from her. The rules are mine now."
Aidan had warned his rivals, his sanity tearing at the seams as he watched from the shadows while a creepy coworker put an arm around her shoulder.
He shattered glasses and crushed her favorite white flowers in his penthouse, driven by a lethal, obsessive jealousy seeing other men touch what belonged to him.
Julianna was completely in the dark, feeling only a heavy, predatory stare pinning her to the cold concrete.
When a sudden, heartbreaking scent of cedarwood rolled out of the cracked car window, her brain short-circuited.
Why was this terrifying stranger stalking her in the shadows?
Desperate to save her career, Julianna recklessly agreed to fake an engagement with a wealthy heir this weekend.
But she had no idea Aidan had already rigged her company's crisis, and the predator was about to tear her world apart to claim her back.