Rejected By The Traitor, Claimed By The Lycan

Ayla Davis POV:

My fingers cramped around the leather folder containing my hidden marriage contract, the embossed seal of the werewolf Elders biting into my palm as I waited for the elevator in the Apex Grand Hotel lobby. In our society, genes dictated everything from power to survival, and signing my life away to a notorious playboy was the only way to keep the failing Davis Pack afloat.

The elevator bell chimed. The brass doors slid open, releasing a suffocating wave of cheap, synthetic Omega heat-perfume that made my throat burn and forced me to take a half-step back.

A socialite in a crimson couture gown strolled out, her manicured hand looped around a man's muscular forearm. Her gaze swept over my plain blazer before curling into a sneer.

"Well, look who it is," she drawled, loud enough to echo off the marble pillars. "Isn't this the defective girl from the Davis family? The pathetic wolfless freak born without an inner beast?"

I stiffened, my gaze cutting past her shoulder to the man beside her. Carmel Benton. The most infamous, good-for-nothing heir of the elite Benton Pack-and as of two hours ago, my legal husband.

He wore an unbuttoned black silk shirt, one hand shoved lazily into his pocket. His deep ocean-blue eyes locked onto mine, a faint, unreadable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He made zero move to stop the woman clinging to him.

I straightened my spine and met the woman's mocking stare head-on.

"Being born without a wolf is still better than being a desperate Omega spraying cheap pheromones in a public lobby," I said, my voice flat.

Her face twisted, turning an ugly shade of purple. She yanked her arm free from Carmel and jabbed a crimson nail toward my nose.

"How dare you talk to me like that!" she shrieked. "Do you want me to have an Alpha tear your mouth apart?"

Several low-ranking pack members passing through the lobby halted. They whispered behind their hands, casting pitying glances at me for provoking a high-ranking socialite when I didn't even have claws to defend myself.

I didn't flinch. I shifted my eyes directly to Carmel, waiting to see how my new "husband" would handle his mess.

Carmel finally moved. Keeping one hand in his pocket, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowing with blatant disgust.

"Your perfume is making my wolf gag," Carmel said, his baritone laced with an icy Alpha command that made the air heavy.

The woman froze, her hand dropping as her jaw went slack.

"Young Master Carmel, what did you say?"

He didn't even look at her.

"Get lost."

The sheer genetic dominance in that single phrase hit her like a physical blow. Her face went chalk-white, tears springing to her eyes as she covered her face and bolted out the revolving glass doors.

The onlookers gasped, ducking their heads in submission before scurrying away before Carmel's temper could turn on them.

Carmel took two long strides forward. His towering frame blocked the chandelier light overhead, casting a heavy shadow over me.

I clutched my folder tighter against my chest, keeping my voice even.

"Mr. Benton, our contract doesn't require me to help you clean up your romantic garbage."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Before I could step back, he leaned down, his hot breath brushing against the shell of my ear.

"Ayla, you're my legal wife now."

My stomach knotted. I jerked backward, but his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His palm was scorching hot, radiating the terrifying physical heat of a high-tier Alpha.

"Remember your status," he murmured, a dangerous laziness beneath his tone. "Don't let low-level trash ruin your mood."

I yanked my arm out of his grip and bit my lower lip until it stung.

"Mind your own business. Our agreement is strictly a transaction."

Carmel glanced down at his empty palm and arched a dark eyebrow, a hunter's amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

I spun on my heel and stepped into the open elevator, inhaling sharply to clear the wild, intoxicating scent of cedarwood that clung to my skin. As the brass doors slid shut, I saw him standing motionless in the lobby, watching me through the narrowing gap.

I pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. Pulling out my phone, I checked a new notification showing the first massive wire transfer from the Benton family trust-my bride price. The tension squeezing my lungs eased slightly; the Davis Pack's creditors wouldn't foreclose on our border properties this month.

The elevator stopped on the business level. I walked down the carpeted hallway and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the script distribution conference room. Three male Beta producers sitting around the mahogany table stopped talking, their eyes dripping with disdain as they recognized me.

I pulled out a chair, sat down, and slapped my printed screenplay outline onto the table.

"Gentlemen, let's get straight to the point."

The lead producer scoffed, tapping a pen against the wood.

"Miss Davis, do you really expect us to buy a script about legendary werewolf warriors written by a wolfless girl who has never even experienced the Shift?"

I opened my mouth to fire back when my phone screen lit up on the table, displaying a text from my ex-boyfriend, Bennet Noel: Come back to the villa tonight. I have something to say to you.