Cursed to be my Mate by Kelly Starrz

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Modern Parenting Ex-wife Drama

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Daria's POV

My knuckles were bleeding again.

I slowly wiped them on my training pants, leaving dark smears on the rough fabric. The dust from the training yard stuck to every inch of my sweat-soaked skin. Every breath felt like fire in my lungs, and my ribs still throbbed from the last blow. But I pushed myself up anyway, forcing my shaky legs to hold my weight.

The mocking laughter started before I was even fully standing.

"Look at her. She actually thinks she can be a warrior." Marcus, one of the pack's best fighters, didn't bother lowering his voice. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the fence post, a smirk plastered across his face.

"An orphan omega? Please," his friend scoffed, spitting into the dirt. "She should be in the kitchens where she belongs."

I ignored them. I'd had years of practice ignoring the whispers, the sneers, the way pack members looked through me like I was invisible. My parents had died in the Great War when I was three, so I had no family or status. I was just another mouth to feed, another burden the pack tolerated out of obligation.

But I had a dream. Warriors were respected. Warriors mattered. If I could just prove myself strong enough, maybe someone would finally see me as more than nothing.

"Again." Training Leader Garrett's voice echoed across the yard.

I braced myself and raised my fists even as my tired arms shook. We had been at this for hours, and he had paired me against opponents twice my size, every single time. It didn't matter how hard I trained or how much I improved. To him, I would always be worthless.

The wolf he chose to face me this time was built like a mountain, all muscle and bulk. His fist connected with my jaw before I could even think to dodge, snapping my head back. A sharp pain shot through my skull, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I fell to the ground, dirt in my mouth as my vision blurred. The blow had knocked the wind out of me, and I gasped, trying to pull air back in.

Somewhere above me, Garrett's laughter was cold and heartless.

"Pathetic," he sneered, his boot slamming into my ribs before I could recover.

I gasped as the air was knocked out of me again, curling up in reflex to protect myself from the pain that shot through my side. My wolf whimpered inside me, retreating deeper into my consciousness. She was weak too. We both were.

"You are nothing," Garrett spat, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head up. His face loomed above mine, twisted with disgust. "Just an orphaned omega pretending to be a warrior. You disgust me."

He raised his hand for another strike, and the pack... they just watched. Dozens of wolves were standing in the training yard, and not one of them moved. Not one of them spoke up. They never did. No one ever helped me. No one ever cared.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the blow.

But it never came.

Instead, the atmosphere changed. A strong presence swept through the training yard like a storm, heavy and commanding. It was the kind of power that made every wolf instinctively bare their throats, the kind that demanded submission without a single word spoken.

My eyes snapped open, and I noticed the crowd parting. Wolves stepped back without even thinking about it, bowing their heads and lowering their gazes. And then I saw him.

Alpha Lucius.

He walked forward with the confidence of a man who had never questioned his place in the world. Tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly handsome. His dark hair caught the sunlight, but it was his golden eyes that held me spellbound.

Even through the pain, I couldn't look away.

"What is going on here, Garrett?" His voice was deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that promised violence if the answer wasn't satisfactory.

Garrett's hand dropped from my hair immediately. He straightened, his expression changing from cruel confidence to something resembling nervousness. "Alpha, I was just..."

"You were just what?" Lucius's gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade. "Beating a member of my pack into the dirt for sport?"

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