Dream,achieve and thrive
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✅️ When Gracia finds out her fiancé actually loves men, her adoptive parents won't let her break the engagement. She goes drinking, and accidentally sleeps with Apollo, who turns out to be her new boss! They decide to fake a relationship, only to be drawn to each other in the cooperation.
✅️https://eng.moboreels.com/WNCj8/990263
🎞Debra, daughter of Alpha of the Silver Ridge Wolf pack, suffered humiliation from her stepmother on the anniversary of her mother's death. She went drinking, but ended up having a one-night stand with Caleb, the Alpha of the Thorn Edge Wolf pack, and found they were each other's destined mate. However, Caleb listened to lies and denied her. She was banished and imprisoned, and had to escape. Five years later, she met Caleb again, and he realized his mistake. It was time for him to win her back.
Next⬇️⬇️
https://eng.moboreader.com/1JdJZ7/ALSR👈👀
🔥Title :Erased From The Frame: Runaway Bride
🔥 Intro:Seven days before I was set to marry the most feared Mafia Don in the country, I was asked to step out of my own wedding photos. Because my shadow was ruining the shot. The photographer then took ninety-nine pictures—of my fiancé and my adopted sister. When I refused to give up the master suite meant for a wife, the man I loved called me ungrateful. He abandoned me at a remote compound to take her to a nail salon. So three days before the ceremony, I returned his keys, his ledgers, and his world. I left a single note: 'Thank you.' Eight years later, I came back home—and found him waiting for me on the same road where he once left me behind. He promised to wait forever. He broke that vow in the worst way possible. And I never even heard the crash.
🔥 Chapter 1
Seven days before I was set to marry the most feared Mafia Don in the country, I was asked to step out of my own wedding photos. Because my shadow was ruining the shot. The photographer then took ninety-nine pictures—of my fiancé and my adopted sister. When I refused to give up the master suite meant for a wife, the man I loved called me ungrateful. He abandoned me at a remote compound to take her to a nail salon. So three days before the ceremony, I returned his keys, his ledgers, and his world. I left a single note: 'Thank you.' Eight years later, I came back home—and found him waiting for me on the same road where he once left me behind. He promised to wait forever. He broke that vow in the worst way possible. And I never even heard the crash.
Chapter 1
Gia POV
Exactly seven days before I was supposed to marry the most terrifying Mafia boss in the country, I stood in the boutique's grand mirror, the weight of the bespoke gown pressing down on my shoulders. I turned my head toward the viewing area, only to find my adopted sister's hands intimately adjusting my fiancé's silk tie.
The official Family photographer snapped their picture and casually asked me to step out of the frame because my shadow was ruining his perfect shot.
I stood there frozen in my heavy, bespoke bridal gown.
The white silk clung to my skin, suddenly feeling less like a celebration and more like a burial shroud.
Dante was the Don of our syndicate.
He was a man who had slaughtered an entire rival cartel at the age of twenty-two just to claim his throne.
He exuded a dark, dangerous energy that made grown men drop their gaze the second he walked into a room.
As soon as he entered a room, even the forty- and fifty-year-old capos would instinctively extinguish their ci**rs and stare down at the toes of their own shoes. His wealth was incalculable, and his possessive nature was a bloody legend in the underworld.
But right now, all of that dark, consuming attention was focused entirely on Sienna.
Sienna smiled up at him, her hands delicately smoothing the lapels of his custom dark suit.
The boutique stylist—a low-level Family associate who was visibly trembling from Dante's overwhelming presence—rushed forward with a velvet tray of diamond cufflinks.
The stylist offered the tray directly to Sienna.
She completely bypassed me as if I didn't even exist.
"Which ones do you prefer for the ceremony, future Queen?" the stylist asked Sienna, her voice shaking with reverence.
Sienna did not correct her.
She simply picked up a pair of onyx cufflinks and held them up to Dante's broad chest.
Dante looked down at Sienna, a slow, indulgent smile touching the corners of his mouth.
It was a smile that used to belong solely to me.
Silvio, a Family Soldier who had grown up with me and was now acting as our official photographer, was entirely consumed by his task. He stepped backward, his shoulder brushing against the heavy tulle of my dress as he fought for a better angle.
The contact was solid, yet he registered nothing, his eye pressed firmly to the viewfinder.
The shutter clicked rapidly.
One. Ten. Fifty. Ninety-nine.
I counted the blinding flashes of light.
Every single shot featured Sienna and Dante.
I was completely erased from the frame of my own life.
The air in my lungs grew thin, and a familiar, dull ache settled behind my ribs.
The scar on my left knee began to throb, a faint, phantom pain from a memory long-since buried. I was seven when I'd shoved her out of the way of a falling vase, taking the shards of porcelain in my own skin. That was the first secret I had swallowed for her. Then came my dolls, my dresses. Now, it was my husband.
Dante finally turned his head and noticed me standing in the shadows of the corner.
His dark eyes swept over my wedding dress, but there was no heat in his gaze.
There was only a cold, detached impatience.
He walked over and casually pulled my bridal bouquet right out of my hands.
"Go review the guest list of Capos and Underbosses," Dante told me, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. "Sienna and I need to finalize the visual archives for the press."
I stared at my empty hands, my fingers still curled around stems that were no longer there.
Silvio lowered his camera and looked at me with a vague, distant air, his focus still on the play of light in the room.
"Apologies, Gia. Could you move a little to the left?" Silvio asked, his tone calibrated only to the needs of his lens. "The way the light falls on them is much better over there."
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.
I was a ghost haunting my own Mafia wedding.
I silently turned around and walked toward the fitting room.
I unzipped the heavy gown myself, my fingers clumsy and numb against the delicate fabric.
I changed back into my everyday jeans and sweater.
I grabbed my purse from the velvet chair and walked toward the heavy glass doors of the heavily guarded boutique.
The security chime rang loudly as I pushed the door open.
I paused on the cold sidewalk.
I waited for Dante's deep voice to call my name.
I waited for Silvio to run out and apologize.
I turned my head and looked through the expansive glass window.
The three of them were laughing.
Sienna was holding my bridal bouquet, posing intimately against Dante's chest, while Silvio adjusted his camera lens.
Then, Sienna turned to the trembling stylist. I could not hear the words, but I saw the imperious gesture, the smooth, commanding shape her mouth made. "Have the bridal gown packed and sent to my penthouse. I will keep it safe."
No one even noticed I was gone.
I climbed into my armored SUV and locked the doors, the heavy click sealing me in.
My phone vibrated in the cup holder.
It was a message from the Consigliere's wedding coordinator.
'Your sister has altered the security detail and the floor plan for the venue. Shall I proceed with her changes? We also need a decision on the invitations.'
Before I could type a response, another text popped up.
'On second thought, perhaps Sienna should make the final selection. Her taste in modern design is so much more refined.'
I stared at the glowing screen, the harsh light burning my tired eyes.
I typed back a single sentence.
'Let her handle it.'
I smiled a bitter, hollow smile, knowing the planner was likely breathing a sigh of relief.
My phone pinged with a notification from our encrypted Family group chat.
Silvio had uploaded the high-resolution photos from the fitting.
I opened the folder.
Image after image of Sienna and Dante filled the screen.
They looked powerful. They looked exactly like the Don and his Queen.
I let out a dry, raspy laugh that scraped against my throat like sandpaper.
I used to dream of this grand Mafia wedding.
I believed our Blood Oath would secure my place in his ruthless world.
I thought my silent loyalty would finally be rewarded with his love.
I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, leaving them behind.
When I walked into my penthouse twenty minutes later, the first thing I saw was the stainless steel refrigerator.
A bright yellow sticky note was pressed against the gleaming door.
'7 Days to the Wedding.'
I reached out, peeled the note from the steel, and dropped it into the kitchen bin. It landed softly on a bed of coffee grounds, its bright yellow a stark contrast to the dark, discarded dregs of the morning.
I stared at the crumpled note lying among the coffee grounds, and for the first time, the countdown did not fill me with anticipation. It filled me with a quiet, unfamiliar dread.
Something inside me had begun to crack—and I did not yet know if I wanted to stop it from shattering.
🔥 Chapter 2
Gia POV
I jolted awake on the couch, pulled from an exhausted sleep by the relentless, angry buzzing of my phone.
The screen glared with 99+ missed notifications in the encrypted wedding prep group chat.
Sienna had tagged me in a voice note.
I pressed play, and her bright, piercingly confident voice vibrated against the glass of the coffee table, shattering the quiet of my living room.
"Gia, I changed the traditional Sicilian wedding march to something a little more upbeat. Your choice was way too depressing for a modern mob wedding."
I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The song she had just casually discarded was the exact melody my parents had danced to the night before they were violently murdered.
I had spent an entire month tracking down the original, scratchy vinyl recording just to feel a piece of them on my wedding day.
Both Dante and Sienna knew exactly what that song meant to me.
I scrolled down to see Dante's response in the chat, my chest tightening.
It was a single word.
'Yeah.'
He had validated her blatant disrespect without a single second thought.
Sienna sent another message to the group.
'Gia doesn't really understand the modern mob aesthetic. Dante and I will handle the big decisions from here on out.'
I stared at Dante's simple message of agreement on the glowing screen.
My agency in this union was officially gone.
I opened my private chat with Dante.
Our last exchange was yesterday morning—a brief, sterile confirmation about a security detail.
He had never even asked why I left the boutique early.
My phone vibrated violently in my hand, startling me.
Sienna was video-calling me.
I swiped to answer, keeping my expression an unreadable mask.
Sienna's face filled the screen, her blonde hair perfectly styled and framing her flawless features.
"I just booked and tested the glam squad for the wedding morning," she announced, flashing a smug, self-satisfied smile. "They are exclusively mine now."
I swallowed the hard, bitter lump in my throat.
"I already arranged my own trusted people," I said quietly.
"Well, cancel them," Sienna demanded without missing a beat. "Mine are better. Besides, you won't need much done anyway."
She ended the call before I could even formulate a reply.
I dropped the phone onto the coffee table, the dull thud echoing in the silence.
Did my desires ever actually matter to them?
I had always yielded.
I had yielded my childhood to protect her from the bloody, merciless reality of the vendetta.
I had watched Silvio favor her at every single Family gathering, showering her with the affection I was denied.
I had watched Dante slowly shift his loyalty, his dark, predatory eyes tracking her reckless movements while completely ignoring my quiet, steadfast devotion.
I had tried to talk to Dante about it once.
I had told him that her constant presence in our private lives was suffocating me.
He had dismissed it with a cold, unforgiving glare.
He had called it 'sisterly bonding' and told me I was being overly sensitive.
He had ended the discussion with a sharp, downward slice of his hand, a gesture that physically cut off my words mid-sentence.
I stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling city.
I remembered cleaning up the broken glass all by myself after Sienna threw tantrums when we were kids.
No one had ever asked if my hands were bleeding.
No one had ever asked if I was tired.
I picked up my phone and dialed my landlord.
"I need to break my lease," I said the split second he answered.
"Miss Gia? But you've lived there for four years," the civilian landlord said, shock coloring his voice.
"I'm leaving the city," I replied, my voice steady, though the tips of my fingers, where they gripped the phone, had begun to spasm, turning the nail beds a dead, bruised blue.
I had rented this specific penthouse because it was exactly three blocks from Dante's legitimate corporate front.
I had been desperate for his proximity.
Desperate for even a fraction of his attention.
I ended the call and started pulling empty suitcases from the hall closet, moving on autopilot.
The front door unlocked with a sharp, invasive click.
Dante and Sienna walked into my penthouse unannounced.
Dante had a key to my home—a mocking symbol of his unrestricted access to my life.
Sienna walked straight into the living room, a wide, entitled smile on her face.
"Dante and I were just at the marital estate," Sienna said, tossing her designer bag carelessly onto my sofa. "I want the master suite."
I froze, my hand gripping the handle of a suitcase so tightly my knuckles turned white.
The master suite in the Don's heavily fortified estate was meant strictly for the Don and his wife.
Dante stood near the doorway, his hands casually tucked in his pockets.
"As long as your sister doesn't mind," Dante said indulgently, his tone sickeningly fond.
He looked at me, completely, arrogantly confident that I would yield.
Because I always yielded.
I let go of the suitcase and stood up straight, squaring my shoulders.
"What if I say I refuse?" I asked, my voice cutting through the quiet room like cracked glass.
Sienna froze.
Her lower lip trembled, and tears immediately welled up in her wide, innocent eyes.
Dante's entire posture shifted.
The relaxed, indulgent man vanished, instantly replaced by the terrifying, ruthless Dark Don.
The thermostat in the room seemed to have failed. I swallowed against a sudden dryness in my throat that felt like it might draw blood.
"It is just a room, Gia," Dante reprimanded, his voice dropping to a low, resonant timber that seemed to suck the warmth from the air. "Do not be petty."
I looked at the man I was supposed to marry in exactly seven days.
"It's the Don's suite," I said, my voice rising with years of suppressed agony. "Is she the one marrying you?"
Dante was momentarily stunned into silence.
His jaw tightened, a dangerous muscle ticking in his cheek.
Sienna let out a soft, broken sob and stepped closer to Dante, seeking his shadow.
"It's fine, Dante," she cried softly. "I won't move in. I don't want to cause trouble."
Dante wrapped a fiercely protective arm around Sienna's waist, pulling her flush against him.
He glared at me, his eyes dark with unjustifiable accusation.
"You are breaking your sister's heart over a meaningless piece of real estate," he said coldly.
"You secured her a lucrative, untouchable position in the Family's legitimate fronts," I pointed out, my hands shaking with adrenaline. "I have nothing. And now you want to give her my bedroom."
Dante's expression turned outright murderous.
He took a menacing step toward me, dropping his arm from Sienna.
"I only protect her because of you," he barked, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Do not be ungrateful, Gia."
Sienna reached out and placed a delicate hand on his chest, and I watched the rigid line of his shoulders lose some of its tension.
Dante's lethal demeanor softened instantly under her touch.
He looked back at me, his decision final.
"Sienna will take the suite," Dante declared, leaving no room for argument.
I stared at them for a long, hollow moment.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I simply nodded, feeling the last thread of my devotion snap.
I turned my back to them and walked over to my suitcase, unzipping it with methodical precision.
"Can I change the curtains to pink?" Sienna asked cheerfully, her dramatic tears instantly gone as if they had never existed.
"Whatever you want," Dante replied, his voice softening just for her.
They left without another word, the door clicking shut behind them. I stood alone in the silence of my half-packed penthouse, staring at the empty suitcase before me.
I had finally said no. And it had cost me everything that was left.
I zipped the suitcase closed. It was time to stop fighting for a place that was never mine to begin with.
🔥 Chapter 3
Gia POV
The heavy glass doors of the Family's legitimate corporate headquarters slid open with a quiet, expensive hiss.
I walked straight to the front desk, the weight of the heavy leather duffel bag biting into my shoulder.
The receptionist, a low-ranking Family Associate, stood up immediately at my approach.
"Miss Gia," she greeted, her tone laced with practiced respect.
I hoisted the bag and dropped it onto the polished marble counter with a heavy, definitive thud that silenced the nearby keyboards.
Inside were the estate access cards, Dante's private vault keys, and the classified syndicate ledgers I had meticulously managed for him over the years.
"Pass this to the Don," I instructed, my voice devoid of any emotion.
"Would you like me to tell him you are here?" she asked, her hand already reaching for the sleek office phone.
"No," I said. "I'm leaving."
I turned on my heel and walked toward the emergency stairwell, desperate to avoid the prying eyes in the main elevators.
As I pushed the heavy metal door open, the sound of familiar voices echoed down from the landing above.
It was Dante and his Underboss, deep in conversation.
"Cancel the three o'clock meeting," Dante ordered, his authoritative voice echoing off the concrete walls. "I have to accompany Sienna to a nail salon."
"Boss, the cartel reps are expecting you," the Underboss hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "And you have a dinner date with Gia at six."
"Reschedule the cartel," Dante commanded coldly. "And I'll handle Gia later. She can wait."
I stood frozen on the cold concrete stairs—our anniversary dinner date had been meticulously planned for two months.
A bitter, hollow smile touched my lips.
I didn't stay to listen to the rest of his dismissive words.
I pushed the stairwell door open, walked blindly out of the building, and got straight into my car.
I drove straight out of the city, watching the neon skyline fade in the rearview mirror as I headed toward my late grandfather's old, fortified compound deep in the countryside.
The next morning, the countryside air was biting and crisp, smelling strongly of pine needles and damp earth.
I was silently wiping years of dust off the old wooden dining table when my Aunt walked through the heavy oak doors.
She was a Capo's wife—a formidable woman hardened by decades of surviving in the mafia.
She looked around the neglected, dusty safehouse, her sharp eyes visibly softening when they finally landed on me.
"Gia," she sighed, crossing the room to pull me into a fiercely tight hug.
"Auntie," I whispered, exhaustion bleeding into my voice as I rested my chin on her shoulder.
She pulled back after a long moment and gently cupped my face.
"I know how hard it has been," she said quietly, her eyes full of understanding. "We all know Sienna's true bloodline. We know you shielded her, that you sacrificed everything to keep the peace within the Family."
I looked down at the dirty dust rag twisted in my hands, unable to meet her gaze.
"You have suffered silently for so long," my Aunt continued, her voice heavy with pity. "But your impending marriage to the Don means you have finally survived the worst of it. Soon, you will be the Queen."
I slowly looked up at her, my resolve hardening.
"I want you to have this compound, Auntie," I said, my voice completely steady.
She laughed softly, affectionately patting my cheek.
"You are just being polite," she smiled warmly. "I know you will come visit this old place after you become the Boss's wife."
"I'm serious," I insisted, pressing the matter. "Take the property."
I knew deep in my hollowed-out heart that I was leaving the underworld for good.
I was never coming back to this life.
By evening, the aggressive sound of heavy tires crunching on gravel shattered the silence of the compound.
Dante and Sienna walked through the front doors together, commanding the space.
They had come to pay traditional pre-wedding respects to my Uncle, the feared Caporegime of this northern territory.
Dante stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw tightening when he saw me standing like a ghost in the dim hallway.
Before he could speak, Sienna quickly looped her arm through mine, a bright, sickeningly fake smile plastered on her face.
"I just tagged along with Dante," Sienna explained breezily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
We moved into the parlor, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.
My Uncle and Dante took the heavy leather armchairs, immediately diving into discussions of Family business and bloody territory disputes.
Sienna happily served the amber drinks, seamlessly chiming in with her uninvited opinions on the southern cartel routes.
Dante actually listened to her, nodding occasionally as if her words held weight.
I sat silently in the corner chair, feeling entirely invisible—just another piece of discarded, antique furniture.
Dante's dark eyes flickered to my corner. His gaze was cold, detached, a silent warning not to interrupt. He did not ask why I had left his territory unannounced. He did not ask how I was. He simply looked at me as if I were a portrait on the wall, and then deliberately turned his attention back to Sienna.
I stared blankly back at him, my fingers numb against the worn velvet of the armrest.
I knew with certainty that his 'business' no longer included me.
As they finally stood up to leave, my Uncle walked them to the grand oak door.
"Remember the old superstition, Don Dante," my Uncle warned, clapping Dante firmly on the broad shoulder. "The Don cannot see his bride three days before the wedding, or it brings bad blood to the Family."
Dante nodded respectfully, ever the traditionalist.
My Uncle then turned his sharp gaze to me.
"Gia, ride back to the city with Dante and Sienna," he instructed with absolute authority. "You need to prepare for the ceremony."
"I'll go get my suitcase," I said quietly, offering no argument.
I turned and walked down the long, shadowed hallway to the back bedroom.
I grabbed the cold handle of my luggage, the wheels clicking loudly against the hardwood as I pulled it behind me.
But by the time I walked out of the heavy iron gates of the compound, the sweeping driveway was entirely empty.
Dante's armored motorcade was completely gone.
Only the gravel dust was left, still settling quietly in the cool, indifferent night air.
My phone chimed in the silence.
'Sienna urgently needed to inspect the floral arrangements at the venue. Drive yourself back.'
I stared at the glowing screen, reading the dismissive text from the man I thought I loved.
Without shedding a single tear, I turned my phone off.
I gripped the handle of my suitcase, walked to the spot beneath the old oak where I had parked my own sedan, and heaved the luggage into the trunk. The gearshift was cold under my palm as I slid into the driver's seat. I started the engine and felt the familiar low rumble, a vibration of my own making, before I drove out of the underworld forever.
I did not look back at the compound in the rearview mirror. I kept my eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, my hands steady on the wheel.
For the first time in my life, I was not waiting for someone to come back for me.
I was simply gone.
📚Full Novel👉👀https://eng.moboreader.com/book/ALSR
![✅️Title: [From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha's Queen]✅️Read⬇️https://eng.moboreader.com/1I1xJd/901607✅️Intro:For thr...](https://img3.foodbevg.com/723/162/122133491307231621.jpg)
✅️Title: [From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha's Queen]
✅️Read⬇️
https://eng.moboreader.com/1I1xJd/901607
✅️Intro:For three years, I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into building Blackwood Group for Alec, my Alpha and the man I thought was my mate.
But on the day of our work anniversary, I stood outside his office door and heard him talking with his Beta, shattering my entire world.
"Kay is just a wolfless Omega, useful for paperwork," Alec sneered coldly.
"The bonding ceremony is just a show for the elders. The real Luna, the one who carries the bloodline that matters, is Breanne. I'm transferring all of Kay's core project files to Breanne tomorrow. Let her take the credit."
He even texted me later, telling me to wear a blue dress to the upcoming gala because it made me look "obedient."
I had turned down a Wharton scholarship for this man. I had spent countless nights fixing his mistakes, building his empire, and giving him my youth.
Yet to him, I was nothing but a disposable placeholder, expected to smile and bow while another woman stole my life's work and my place by his side.
The agonizing pain in my chest didn't break me; it forged me into ice.
I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't beg.
Instead, I wiped his servers clean of every strategy I had ever created, left a wax-sealed resignation on his desk, and accepted a job offer from his most ruthless rival.
📚✅️ Chapter 1
Kay POV:
Three years.
Today marked three years since I'd become the official project lead for Blackwood Group's expansion in Chicago, and unofficially, three years since Alec and I had started acting like the mates we were destined to be.
Actually, we’ve known each other for seven years now.
Yet seven years of effort seem like a joke. I really need to wake up.
After Breanne, Alec’s long-lost love from his youth, returned from abroad with her degree, he first forgot to go with me to try on wedding dresses. Then, without hesitation, he gave Breanne the position of vice president of the company.
Everyone knows what I’ve sacrificed for this company. That position should have been mine.
Right now, I’m standing outside Alec’s office, wanting to find out exactly what’s going on with him.
The two vanilla lattes were still hot.
The steam ghosted against my knuckles. One was for me, one for him. His favorite. Extra vanilla syrup, just how he liked it. A small, stupid detail that felt incredibly important today.
As I neared his office, I saw the door was ajar. Just a crack. A sliver of light and sound escaped into the hallway. I slowed my steps, my ears, sharper than a human's, picking up the low murmur of voices.
I recognized them instantly.
Alec. And his Beta, Ethan Hayes.
I stopped. I shouldn't listen. It was a breach of trust. But something in their tone held me there, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. It wasn't a business discussion. It was serious. Personal.
"Are the preparations for the bonding ceremony finalized?" Ethan's voice was low, laced with a tension I couldn't place.
A sharp, impatient sound. A scoff from Alec.
"It's a formality, Ethan. A show for the elders. You know that."
The cardboard tray in my hands suddenly felt flimsy. My fingers, which had been steady, tightened. The paper cups groaned under the pressure. Hot coffee sloshed, scalding the rim. I barely felt it.
My breath hitched. A formality?
"But Alec," Ethan pressed, his voice dropping even lower, "Kay has been by your side for seven years. She's earned this."
"Earned what?" Alec's voice was laced with a chilling amusement. "The privilege of being my Luna? She's a wolfless Omega, Ethan. She should be grateful I even look at her. Her devotion is expected. It's the least she can do to prove her worth."
The words hit me like a physical blow. A punch to the gut that stole all the air from my lungs. My stomach clenched so violently I thought I might be sick. Wolfless. He'd never said it to my face, not with that kind of venom. It was the pack's dirty little secret about me, the reason I was both pitied and scorned. I had no inner wolf, no ability to shift. A broken thing.
"Her work on the acquisition strategy was brilliant," Ethan argued, a hint of desperation in his voice.
"Her work was adequate," Alec corrected him coldly. "It was a good way for her to contribute, to make up for... other deficiencies."
The world tilted. The vanilla scent of the lattes turned sickly sweet, clogging my throat. My vision swam. For a dizzying moment, all I could see were the endless nights I'd spent poring over financial models, the weekends sacrificed, the dinners with my mother cancelled-all for him. All to make him proud. All to be worthy.
"And now that Breanne is back..." Ethan's voice trailed off.
Breanne Weiss. The name was a whisper of silk and old money. A true-blooded Omega from a European noble line, just returned to the States. I'd seen pictures. She was everything I wasn't: confident, pedigreed, and undoubtedly, whole.
"Breanne is who I want." Alec's voice was raw, stripped of all pretense. It was a confession. "She is the Luna this pack deserves. Her bloodline, her grace... she is my equal."
My equal. The words echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. If she was his equal, what was I?
A placeholder. A tool. A seven-year-long convenience.
"So, the plan is still to reject Kay after the merger is finalized?" Ethan asked.
"I can't risk the instability now." Alec said, his voice hardening again, becoming the Alpha. "We'll go through with the ceremony. It will appease the elders and secure the final votes. Once everything is settled, I'll handle it. She's weak, Ethan. She'll cry, but she won't fight it. Where would she even go?"
A wave of nausea washed over me. My fingers were ice. The coffee felt like it was burning through the cup, through my skin, but the pain was distant. The real pain was a cold, sharp thing twisting in my chest, making it hard to breathe. It felt like my soul was being ripped in two. The mate bond, the one-sided bond I cherished, was screaming in agony.
"And her project? The Phoenix Initiative?"
"I'm giving it to Breanne." Alec said, the casual cruelty of it knocking me back a step. "A welcome home present. Let her put her stamp on it."
My project. My baby. The one I'd built from the ground up. The one I was supposed to present to the board next week.
A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth. It was the taste of betrayal. Of my own foolishness. I had given up a full scholarship to an Ivy League school for him. I had believed his promises, his whispered words in the dark, his assurances that my lack of a wolf didn't matter to him.
Lies. All of it.
"I'll pick Breanne up from the airport this weekend." Alec continued, his voice shifting, becoming lighter. "We'll have dinner."
This weekend. Saturday. My mother's birthday. The one I'd told him about for months, the one he'd promised we'd celebrate together.
My stomach cramped again, a sharp, searing pain. It was over. The perfect, fragile illusion I had built my entire adult life around had just been shattered into a million pieces.
I heard the scrape of a chair inside the office. Footsteps. Ethan was leaving.
My body moved before my mind could catch up. There was no conscious thought, only a primal instinct for survival. I couldn't let him see me. I couldn't let them know I'd heard.
I spun around, my movements swift and silent. The trash receptacle, a sleek stainless steel cylinder, was three feet away. In one fluid, decisive motion, I tipped the tray. The two vanilla lattes, the symbols of my pathetic, hopeful love, dropped into the bin with a soft, final thud.
Not a single drop spilled on the pristine carpet.
I didn't look back. I didn't wait to hear the office door open. I slipped into the adjacent doorway, pushing open the heavy metal door to the fire escape.
It slammed shut behind me, the boom echoing in the concrete stairwell, plunging me into dim, dusty silence.
The sound finally broke my paralysis.
I leaned back against the cold, rough wall, my legs shaking. A ragged gasp tore from my throat. Then another. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the gritty steps, my professional suit jacket bunching around my waist. I buried my face in my hands, but no tears came. There was only a vast, cold emptiness.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with a trembling hand. The screen lit up, showing my wallpaper: a smiling photo of Alec and me from last year's pack gala. His arm was around me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked so happy. He looked like he loved me.
A cold, hard fury, something I hadn't felt in years, began to burn through the shock. It started in my gut and spread through my veins, chasing away the ice.
My fingers moved with a new, chilling precision. I went into my settings and changed the wallpaper to the phone's default, a bland, abstract swirl of blue. The photo of us vanished.
I opened my notes app. I created a new, encrypted file. I titled it: "Extraction Protocol."
Another buzz. An email notification flashed across the top of the screen. It was from HR.
Subject: URGENT: Venue Confirmation for Collins-Silva Bonding Ceremony.
The email asked for my digital signature to confirm the booking.
A laugh escaped my lips. It was a harsh, ugly sound in the quiet stairwell.
I tapped the notification. The email opened. At the bottom were two buttons: "Approve" and "Reject."
My thumb hovered over the screen for a single, heartbeat. Then, I pressed "Reject." A confirmation box popped up. "Are you sure you want to reject this request?"
I pressed "Reject" again.
And then, for good measure, I deleted the email.
I closed my eyes. I didn't pray to the Moon Goddess for strength or guidance. I made her a promise. I would not be the weak, crying Omega Alec expected. I would not accept this sham of a bond. I would not be his fool.
After a few minutes, the shaking stopped. The cold fury settled into a block of ice in my chest. I stood up, brushing the dust from my skirt. I straightened my jacket, smoothing the wrinkles with methodical, detached movements.
I pushed the fire escape door open and stepped back into the plush, silent hallway. The air was no longer filled with promise. It was just recycled, sterile air.
I didn't go back to my desk. I didn't go to the restroom to fix my face.
I walked directly to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.
The polished steel doors slid open, and I stepped inside. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored wall: pale, eyes a little too wide, but my jaw was set. The woman in the mirror was a stranger, but I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would get to know her very well.
The elevator descended. As it passed the lower floors, I made a decision. I wasn't just going to leave. I was going to erase myself from his life and his company so completely that it would be as if I had never existed.
The doors opened onto the lobby. The cold Chicago wind hit me as I pushed through the revolving doors, a blast of reality that felt like a baptism. It didn't make me shiver. It made me feel awake.
I didn't walk to my car. I walked to the curb, raised my hand, and hailed a cab.
As I slid into the back seat, giving the driver my address, I knew exactly what I had to do first.
I was going to draft my formal notice of mate rejection.
---
📚✅️ Chapter 2
Kay POV:
The taxi ride was a blur of gray buildings and traffic noise. I stared out the window, not seeing any of it. My mind was a machine, clicking through a checklist. The emotional storm had passed, leaving behind a terrifying, crystalline calm.
I paid the driver in cash and walked into my apartment building, my steps even and measured. The doorman smiled at me. I smiled back. The mask was already in place.
Inside my apartment, the silence was absolute. I dropped my keys and purse on the console table in the entryway. The sound was jarringly loud. I didn't turn on the lights. I walked straight through the living room to my small home office, the city lights of Chicago painting long stripes across the floor.
I sat down in my ergonomic chair and woke up my MacBook. The screen's blueish light illuminated my face, devoid of any expression.
First things first.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, navigating through firewalls and encrypted servers with a muscle memory honed over seven years. I accessed the Blackwood Group's central database. My database. The one I had designed.
I began the download. Every project file, every financial model, every marketing strategy, every piece of intellectual property I had ever created for them. The ones with my name on them, and more importantly, the ones without. It was a massive amount of data. The progress bar crawled. It would take hours.
My phone, sitting face down on the desk, lit up. It buzzed once. I didn't need to look. I knew it was him. I picked it up anyway.
From: Alec
Don't forget the charity gala tomorrow night. 7 pm. The Vanderbilts will be there. Be ready.
No "hello." No "how was your day." Just a command. The casual entitlement of it, the sheer arrogance, sent a fresh wave of cold fury through me. He was ordering me around while planning my replacement.
I stared at the message, the name "Alec" at the top seeming alien. A corner of my mouth lifted in a sneer. I didn't reply. I just flipped the phone back over, silencing it.
I opened a new Word document. The blank page was a canvas.
The words came easily, stripped of all emotion. It was a legal document, not a breakup letter.
NOTICE OF MATE REJECTION
Pursuant to the sacred laws upheld by the Moon Goddess and recognized by all packs, I, Kay Silva, formally and irrevocably reject you, Alec Collins of the Blackwood Pack, as my fated mate.
This rejection is final and absolute.
Let this document serve as the complete and total severance of the bond between us.
I typed my name at the bottom. As my finger hovered over the last key, a faint, sharp sting pricked the back of my neck, right over the spot where his mark should have been. It was the bond, a phantom limb, protesting its own amputation.
I ignored it and hit "Print."
The whirring of the printer was the only sound in the apartment. It was the sound of a life being unmade. The paper slid out, warm to the touch. I didn't reread it.
To ensure it couldn't be dismissed as a prank or a fit of pique, I found one of the Blackwood Group's official letterhead envelopes I kept for work. It had the embossed wolf seal. I folded the notice, slid it inside, and sealed it with a firm press of my thumb. Official. Undeniable.
I wouldn't give it to him myself. That would lead to a confrontation, to him trying to use his Alpha presence to force me into submission. No. I would give it to Ethan. Let the Beta deliver the news.
With the letter lying on my desk like a verdict, I turned my attention back to the future. I opened my LinkedIn profile. It was painfully out of date. I started drafting a new summary, my mind already shifting from the past to the practicalities of survival.
As I navigated to my inbox to clear out old messages, I saw it. An unread email, sent three days ago. The subject line made my heart skip a beat.
From: Hamilton Jarvis, CEO, Vertex Group
Subject: Strategic Consultant Inquiry
Vertex Group.
The name alone was enough to make any Alpha in the Midwest break a sweat. They were Blackwood's biggest rival on the East Coast, a shadowy, powerful conglomerate run by a man spoken of only in whispers. Hamilton Jarvis. A Lycan. A creature of legend, more powerful, more ancient than any Alpha.
My hand trembled slightly as I clicked the email open.
Ms. Silva,
Your work has come to my attention. Specifically, your unsigned strategic analysis on the Sterling-Cross acquisition and the risk-mitigation model for the Tundra Logistics merger. They were... impressive.
Vertex Group is expanding its operations. We require a strategist with your unique foresight. I am prepared to offer you the position of Chief Strategic Advisor.
The compensation package will be triple your current salary at Blackwood. Relocation to our Manhattan headquarters will be fully covered.
I believe your talents are being wasted. Let's rectify that.
H.J.
A cold shock went through me. He knew. He knew about the projects Alec had taken credit for. His intelligence network had to be terrifyingly efficient to have pierced Blackwood's corporate veil so easily.
But more than the shock, a flicker of something else ignited within me. A feeling I hadn't realized I was starved for.
Validation.
I didn't reply immediately. This could be a trap, a corporate espionage play. I spent the next hour researching Vertex Group's recent market activity, cross-referencing their known holdings with their latest SEC filings. It was all legitimate. They were poised for a massive move into the Midwest. They were coming for Blackwood.
The next evening, I stood in front of my closet. The gala. I had to go. It was the perfect venue to deliver the letter.
I chose a dress I'd bought myself. A simple, severe, black sheath dress. It wasn't designed to attract attention. It was armor.
I drove myself to the hotel. The ballroom was a sea of glittering jewels and fake smiles. I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and found a spot in the shadows, near a towering display of champagne flutes.
My eyes scanned the crowd and found him instantly. Alec. He was in the center of the room, holding court, a king in his castle. And at his side, clinging to his arm, was Breanne Weiss.
She was wearing a blood-red gown that left little to the imagination. She laughed, a high, tinkling sound, and leaned into him, whispering something in his ear. She stumbled, a pathetic, theatrical wobble of her ankle, and collapsed against his chest.
Alec didn't push her away. He smiled, his hand coming up to steady her, his fingers splayed possessively across the small of her back.
I watched them, my hand holding the champagne flute perfectly steady. I felt nothing. No jealousy. No pain. Just a profound, pitying disgust for the woman I used to be, the one who would have been shattered by this sight.
"They look perfect together, don't they?"
I turned. My former best friend, Chloe Sullivan, stood beside me, a malicious glint in her eyes. She followed my gaze to Alec and Breanne.
"A true Alpha and his noble Luna," she said, her voice dripping with faux admiration. "It's what the pack has always needed."
I looked at her. Really looked at her. At the cheap ambition in her eyes, the desperate need to be on the winning side. We had been friends since we were children. She knew everything I had done for him.
A cold, flat calm settled over me.
"You're right," I said, my voice quiet but cutting. "They are a perfect match."
I paused, holding her gaze.
"A bitch and a dog usually are."
Chloe's face went white, then mottled with fury. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She was stunned into silence by the venom in my tone, by the stranger standing in Kay Silva's body.
I didn't wait for her reply. I turned and walked away, leaving her sputtering in my wake.
I navigated the edge of the ballroom, my eyes searching for Ethan. I found him near the restrooms, speaking into his phone, coordinating security. I waited.
When he finished his call and turned, I was there.
He frowned when he saw me. "Kay. You should be with Alec. The Vanderbilts are asking for you."
"I have something for you," I said, my voice devoid of warmth. I held out the thick, sealed envelope.
He looked at it, then at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What's this?"
"Give it to him," I said. It wasn't a request. It was an order. I pushed the envelope against his chest until his fingers automatically closed around it.
Before he could ask another question, I turned and walked toward the exit. I didn't look back.
The cool night air of the city street was a relief. I took a deep breath, the scent of exhaust fumes and damp pavement filling my lungs. It was the smell of freedom.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers no longer trembling. I opened the email from Hamilton Jarvis. My thumb hovered over the reply button.
Then, with a decisive tap, I began to type.
Mr. Jarvis,
I accept your invitation for a meeting.
---
📚✅️ Chapter 3
Kay POV:
The Uber glided through the steel and glass canyons of Manhattan. I watched the city blur past, a stark contrast to the familiar, almost provincial feel of Chicago's business district. Here, ambition was a physical presence, humming in the air.
The car stopped in front of a skyscraper that seemed to scrape the clouds. A single, minimalist silver word was etched into the black marble facade: VERTEX.
I took a deep breath, smoothed the front of my dark blue suit, and pushed through the revolving glass doors.
The lobby was a cathedral of cold, gray minimalism. Polished concrete floors, a massive, raw-stone reception desk, and a ceiling so high it felt like open sky. There was no gold, no mahogany, none of the opulent, almost gaudy luxury that defined the Blackwood Group headquarters. This place wasn't trying to look rich. It just was. It exuded a quiet, terrifying confidence.
"Kay Silva for Hamilton Jarvis," I said to the receptionist, a woman with a severe haircut and an earpiece.
I gave her the appointment code from the email. Her eyes widened fractionally as she scanned it. Her professional demeanor instantly warmed with a deep, ingrained respect.
"Of course, Ms. Silva. Right this way."
She didn't point. She personally escorted me to a private elevator bank, a sleek, unmarked panel that slid open at her approach. Inside, there was no button for the top floor. She pressed her thumb to a biometric scanner.
"Mr. Jarvis will meet you in his office," she said, her voice a respectful murmur. "The elevator will take you directly there."
The doors slid shut, and the elevator ascended with a stomach-dropping speed. A faint sense of pressure built in my ears. I gripped the railing, my knuckles white, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was it. The point of no return. I forced myself to let go, to stand straight, to breathe.
The elevator slowed to a smooth stop. The doors opened not onto a reception area, but a long, wide hallway. At the far end, a single set of massive, dark walnut doors stood closed.
I walked the length of the hall, my footsteps silent on the dark wood floor. I reached the doors and hesitated for a half-second, my hand raised to knock.
Before my knuckles could touch the wood, a soft green light glowed on a panel beside the frame. With a near-silent hiss, the heavy doors slid open, retracting into the walls.
The office was vast. One entire wall was a floor-to-ceiling window offering a breathtaking, god-like view of Manhattan. A man stood with his back to me, his hands clasped behind him, looking out over the city he seemed to own.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a bespoke dark suit that fit him like a second skin. He didn't turn immediately. He let the silence stretch, a subtle assertion of power.
I stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind me.
At the sound of my footsteps, he turned.
The air in the room crackled. It was like a sudden drop in barometric pressure. A wave of pure, undiluted power washed over me, a force so immense it was almost a physical weight. It was the presence of a Lycan. Primal. Ancient. Absolute.
My Omega instincts screamed at me to lower my eyes, to bow my head, to show submission. My knees felt weak.
I locked them. I lifted my chin and met his gaze.
His eyes were a startling shade of gray-blue, the color of a stormy sea. They were deep, intelligent, and held a predatory stillness that sent a shiver down my spine. He wasn't just looking at me; he was dissecting me, seeing through the suit and the carefully constructed composure to the broken, defiant thing underneath.
A flicker of something-surprise? respect?-passed through those cold eyes.
"Ms. Silva," he said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that vibrated in the air. It held no warmth, only a deep, calm authority. "Please, sit."
He gestured to one of the two leather armchairs positioned in front of a massive, clean-lined desk. I walked forward, my back straight, and sat down. The leather was cool against my skin.
He didn't move to sit behind his desk, the throne of his power. Instead, he walked to a discreet wet bar built into the wall.
"Water? Something stronger?"
"Water is fine," I said.
He retrieved a bottle of sparkling water and a glass. He didn't pour it over ice. He poured the room-temperature water into the glass and brought it to me, placing it on the small table beside my chair.
It was a small thing, but it was a calculated one. He had noticed. He had noticed the slight tremor in my hand, the tension in my shoulders. An Omega in distress, especially one who had just severed a mate bond, would be physically and emotionally chilled. Ice water would have been a shock to the system.
This wasn't just a CEO. This was a predator who noticed every detail.
He finally moved to his side of the desk, settling into his large chair. He steepled his long fingers, his gray-blue eyes fixed on me.
"The Sterling-Cross acquisition," he began, dispensing with any pleasantries. "Your strategy was to create a shell corporation to buy up their debt anonymously, forcing them to the negotiating table at a fraction of their market value. Alec Collins took the credit, but the idea was yours."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
"Why are you so interested in a wolfless Omega from a rival pack, Mr. Jarvis?" I asked, my voice steady. I had to know. I had to understand the angle.
A low chuckle, devoid of humor, rumbled in his chest. "I am not interested in your bloodline, Ms. Silva. Or the lack of it. I am interested in results."
He slid a thick file across the polished surface of the desk. It stopped perfectly in front of me.
"Blackwood Group has seen a seventeen percent growth in their portfolio over the last three years," he said. "All of it tied to initiatives that bear the hallmarks of your strategic style: aggressive, unconventional, and meticulously planned. But your name is on none of them."
He leaned forward, his presence intensifying. "I don't care if you're wolfless. I don't care if you're a rogue. I care that you have a mind capable of dismantling my competition from the inside out. And I want that mind working for me."
He laid his cards on the table. "Vertex is preparing a hostile takeover of key territories in the Midwest. Blackwood is the primary obstacle. I need a Chief Strategist who knows their playbook, their weaknesses, their every move. I need you."
This was more than a job offer. It was a declaration of war. And he was handing me the sword.
A part of me, the vengeful, wounded part, wanted to scream yes. But the strategist in me, the part he was hiring, took over.
"I am still, technically, in a separation period with the Blackwood Pack," I said carefully. "There are legal and pack-law sensitivities. A non-compete clause. The mate bond severance isn't finalized until the rejection is formally accepted."
He leaned back, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Vertex Group's legal department is... formidable. They will handle any and all external obstacles. Consider your non-compete clause a historical artifact. As for the rejection... let Mr. Collins worry about that."
His confidence was absolute. He was offering me not just a job, but a shield. A fortress.
I looked into his eyes and saw something I had never, not once, seen in Alec's.
Respect.
He saw me not as a broken Omega, not as a mate or a possession, but as an asset. An equal.
"My terms," I said, my voice gaining strength, "I need one month for the transition, to completely sever my ties. And when I assume the role, I require absolute autonomy on strategic deployment. No interference."
He didn't hesitate. He didn't consult a lawyer or a subordinate. He simply reached for a pen on his desk-a heavy, black Montblanc. He pulled a pre-printed contract from a drawer, uncapped the pen, and signed his name at the bottom with a flourish of sharp, decisive strokes.
He pushed the contract and the pen across the desk to me.
"Welcome to Vertex, Ms. Silva."
I picked up the contract. The terms were even more generous than he had stated in the email. The salary was astronomical. The autonomy I'd requested was spelled out in iron-clad legal terms.
My last shred of doubt evaporated.
I took the pen he offered. My own signature, next to his powerful scrawl, looked almost delicate. But as I signed my name, I felt a lifetime of being underestimated fall away. I was no longer Kay Silva, Alec Collins's wolfless mate.
I was Kay Silva, Chief Strategic Advisor for the Vertex Group.
He stood up, and I followed suit. He extended his hand across the desk. It was a large hand, the fingers long and elegant, the knuckles prominent. A hand that held immense power.
I placed my hand in his.
The moment our skin touched, a jolt, sharp and electric, shot up my arm. It was so intense it made me gasp, a wave of heat washing through my entire body. Sparks seemed to dance on my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs, and for a dizzying second, the world seemed to narrow to the point of contact between our hands.
I saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilating. He felt it too. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, a possessive, instinctual reaction.
Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He masked his reaction, his expression becoming impassive again. He released my hand, his touch lingering like a brand.
"My assistant will show you out," he said, his voice a little rougher than before.
I nodded, unable to speak. I picked up my copy of the contract, my fingers still tingling, and walked out of the office on unsteady legs.
The elevator doors closed, and as I descended from the heavens of his office, I clutched the contract to my chest. I didn't know what that electric shock was. A fluke. Static electricity.
But as I stepped out into the bustling Manhattan streets, I knew one thing for sure.
I had just made a deal with a force of nature. And my old life was already turning to dust.
---
📚continue full story👉https://eng.moboreader.com/book/901607
Dubai
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