The Unwanted Omega's Rise From Ashes
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As an Omega, finding out the powerful Alpha Ryker was my fated mate should have been a blessing. But he only loved my stepsister, Nora.
To protect her, he treated me like dirt. Yet, pressured by the pack Elders, he violently claimed me during my first heat, calling Nora's name the entire time.
When he saw the virgin blood on the sheets, he threw cash at my face and accused me of faking it with a cheap trick.
His mother forced me to drink wolfsbane tea and poured the burning poison over my skin just for breathing the same air as her son.
I gave up on the bond and traded my Luna title for a lowly archivist job just to survive. But Nora wouldn't even let me have that.
She cornered me in the basement, slashed her own arm to the bone with a silver blade, and screamed for help.
Ryker burst in, his eyes blazing with murderous rage as he held her bleeding body.
"I will hate you until the day I die."
He swore the Alpha vow, the psychic curse tearing my soul apart. He didn't ask for the truth. He just condemned me.
My heart shattered under the weight of his absolute, venomous disgust, but the tears wouldn't come.
I calmly picked up my employment paper from the blood-stained floor.
I didn't want his love anymore. This time, I was going to live for myself.
The Unwanted Omega's Rise From Ashes Chapter 1
Elara Vance's POV:
The worn, handwritten job application felt flimsy in my grasp, a stark contrast to the thorny confidence of the rose garden I was navigating. As an Omega, I'd learned early that survival was a thing you built yourself, never a gift you waited for. Even now, with the empty title of "future Luna" hanging over my head, old habits clung to me like a second skin. I just needed to find the Beta's office. I just needed a purpose.
A sudden scent on the evening air—rain-soaked forest and worn leather—stopped me dead. It was his scent. Ryker's. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of hope and fear. My inner wolf, a creature far less guarded than I, whimpered with a desperate, instinctual yearning.
I followed the scent with my eyes, my breath catching. There he was, Alpha Ryker Thorne, his back to me as he stood before a bush of white roses. The fading sunlight caught in his dark hair, outlining a silhouette of pure power. He was my mate.
Then, a smaller figure moved into the frame. Nora Crestfall, my stepsister, the woman he truly loved. She rose on her tiptoes, her movements fluid and intimate as she adjusted the collar of his shirt.
Ryker's head dipped, and his expression, when he looked down at her, was one of such profound tenderness it stole the air from my lungs. A soft smile touched his lips, a smile I had never, not once, been the cause of.
A cold hand squeezed my heart, and I took an involuntary step back. A dry twig snapped under my heel.
*Crack.*
The sound was a gunshot in the quiet garden. Ryker's head whipped around, the tenderness on his face vanishing as if it had never been, replaced by a mask of glacial disgust. Nora, ever the startled fawn, flinched and immediately tucked herself behind his broad shoulder, peering at me with wide, innocent eyes.
He strode toward me, each step a hammer blow of Alpha dominance that pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. "What are you doing?" His voice was ice. "Spying on me?"
The sheer force of his presence stole my words. I could only shake my head, clutching the crumpled application like a shield. "I... I was looking for the Beta," I managed to whisper. "I wanted to apply for a job."
His gaze dropped to the paper in my hand, and a short, sharp laugh escaped his lips. It was a sound full of pure contempt. "A job? The Omega who schemed her way into the future Luna's position now wants to play at being humble?"
From behind him, Nora's soft voice floated out. "Ryker, don't be so harsh. Maybe my sister just got lost."
The word "sister" was a needle prick to my soul. It was a lie, a performance for his benefit.
Ryker's expression softened for a fraction of a second as he glanced at Nora, but when his eyes returned to me, they were colder than before. "I don't care what your game is," he snarled, closing the last bit of distance between us until his face was inches from mine. The intoxicating scent of him was no longer a promise but a threat, a suffocating wave that made my wolf cower and crave in the same breath.
*Stay away from her.*
The command wasn't spoken. It slammed directly into my mind, an Alpha's Command, raw and irresistible. It was a violation, a psychic shackle that forced my muscles to obey. My legs trembled, already trying to move back, to flee.
My face went white. He was using his ultimate authority on me, his fated mate, to protect another woman.
He watched my submission, his eyes devoid of pity, holding only the cold satisfaction of a victor. "Get out of my sight," he said, his spoken voice dripping with the same commanding force.
Humiliation burned in my throat. Biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, I turned and fled. The job application, my small beacon of hope, was crushed into a useless ball in my trembling fist.
Behind me, I heard Nora's soothing murmur and Ryker's low, comforting response. Every syllable was a lash against my already broken heart.
I broke into a run, tears blurring the path ahead. I wouldn't let them fall. Not here. Not now. But inside my head, my wolf threw her head back and howled, a long, keening cry of a creature whose other half had just ripped its soul to shreds.
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The Unwanted Omega's Rise From Ashes of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.9
Allyson was the most hated actress in Hollywood, forced to wear a cheap, tearing gown after America's sweetheart, Joanne, stole her S-tier role.
During a red carpet disaster, Allyson tripped and fell—straight into the arms of the untouchable megastar, Byron Estes.
The internet exploded, accusing Allyson of faking the fall to seduce him. Drowning in bad press and desperate to pay her agency's termination fee, she signed a reality TV contract. She was forced to play the desperate, clingy villain, acting as a pathetic stepping stone for Joanne and Byron's highly anticipated on-screen romance.
"You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed," Joanne mocked.
What Joanne and the furious public didn't know was that three years ago, when Byron was in a horrific crash, Joanne had abandoned him. It was Allyson who stayed.
Even more absurd? Allyson and Byron were actually secretly married, bound by a multi-million dollar NDA.
Determined to play her villainous role and get paid, Allyson memorized a book of cringe-inducing pickup lines, ready to disgust her secret husband on live television.
"The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."
She expected the ice-cold superstar to push her away in disgust. Instead, when another male guest got too close to her, Byron completely shattered his untouchable facade, his eyes burning with a lethal, undeniable possessiveness that sent the internet into absolute chaos.
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
9.0
Allegra woke up in a sterile alien hospital with no memory, no ID chip, and a terrifying snow leopard General claiming responsibility for her crash.
But a routine ID scan at a local boutique shattered her fragile cover.
The machine shrieked, flashing a fatal red warning: NO NEURAL LINK DETECTED.
She was a "Ghost"—an illegal, unregistered biological entity in a ruthless Hybrid Empire.
The boutique locked down instantly. Heavily armed police swarmed the plaza, laser sights painting her chest red.
She was dragged into a subterranean military black site, where a manic geneticist tested her blood and discovered the impossible truth.
She wasn't a Hybrid. She was a pure Homo Sapiens—an extinct race whose mere presence could cure the Hybrids' fatal Psyche collapse.
To keep her all to himself, the scientist lied to the General, branding her a toxic, mutating bio-weapon.
Forced by Imperial law, the General abandoned her to the scientist's cruel custody.
Allegra was locked inside a reinforced glass cage in the deepest isolation ward, waiting to be dissected.
She huddled on the floor, trembling in absolute despair.
She didn't belong in this nightmare world. Why was she being treated like a monster? Why did this madman look at her like a prize to be torn apart?
Watching the scientist's fox ears twitch in manic stress outside the glass, her human empathy momentarily overrode her terror.
She stood up and pressed her palm against the glass, perfectly aligning it with his.
"Don't be so nervous, Mr. Fox."
Instantly, an invisible wave of human resonance flooded his core, shattering his genetic madness.
The terrifying predator was reduced to a whimpering, devoted puppy, pressing himself against the window in absolute submission.
Allegra slowly pulled her hand back, her heart skipping a beat.
Well, she thought, that changes things.
8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
9.8
Erica Murphy had spent three years rotting in a freezing prison cell.
She thought she was serving time for a tragic accident, but the truth was much darker. Her husband, Colten, had framed her for his mistress's drunk hit-and-run, stolen her fortune, and left her to take the fall.
The day Erica was finally released, a speeding car intentionally slammed into her, shattering her spine. As she lay dying on the emergency room table, flatlining on the monitor, Colten and his pregnant mistress didn't come to save her. Instead, they tossed a stack of divorce papers onto her bloody hospital blanket. They wanted her to sign away her last remaining shares and take on thirty million dollars of toxic corporate debt.
"Sign it," Colten demanded coldly, looking at her crushed body with utter disgust. "Consider this the last bit of dignity I'm giving you."
The original Erica died right there, suffocating in despair and betrayal, unable to understand how the man she loved could be so monstrous.
But when the flatline on the monitor suddenly spiked and her eyes snapped open, the traumatized victim was gone.
Replaced by the cold, calculating consciousness of a future special ops commander. With microscopic nanobots rapidly fusing her shattered bones together, Erica picked up the pen, preparing to burn Colten's entire empire to ashes.
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.
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