Desired By The Alpha

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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Solane thought that it was a cosmic joke.

The names in her file mocked her.

Damon Blackthorn, Alpha of Blackthorn Corporation

Lyra Smith, Omega, Actress

Caleb Blackthorn, his son.

All checked into A VIP suite after a crash.

This should be a mistake, there was no chance.

Solane's wolf whimpered. The betrayal was hard, and her intern gushing outside her cabin was not helping at all.

"Did you just see, Damon Blackthorn is here with Lyra Smith?"

"Aww I heard they are childhood sweethearts."

Her intern whispered, starry-eyed, "The Alpha refused discharge just to stay by her side. They say she's his first love. He waited six years for her. Like a tragic romance drama."

Every breath felt like a task to her. Maybe it was all a coincidence, and the people are nothing more than similar names.

Yes. This was what it was.

But the moment she reached the private suite and heard the voices inside, her world shattered.

Her blood froze , chest ached, as if her heart was wretched out of her chest. Their words were like watching her wolf being torn apart. The pain was surreal.

"Aunt Lyra, this photo looks so good. I want to hang it in our penthouse." Caleb's young voice travelled to her.

"Of course, you can sweetheart," Lyra said, her soft words felt like salt to her wounds.

"Let her rest, Caleb." Damon's calm voice washed over her.

"No Damon, it's alright. You know how much I love Caleb. He is my little ray of sunshine." Her voice was soft.

The file said Damon bore only scratches. Caleb had a bruised arm. Lyra, however, had a crack in her bone. No reason to book a whole suite for her, but he did that nonetheless. For what?

Sloane had smiled bitterly at that. Six years she'd stood at his side, not as Luna, not even as wife in name, just the convenient woman who cooked, cleaned, and kept his heir alive while he pined for another.

And for what? So that he can obsess over Omega sprawled in that bed.

Can she even be called a mate, when he never publicly acknowledged her?

She pressed her back to the wall, listening.

"You're the best. I wish you were my mom." Caleb said.

Lyra murmured sweetly, "We can't do that? Can we?"

Damon, calm and unreadable, replied, "He's just a pup. He says what he thinks."

The words sliced through Sloane like silver.

By the time she pushed open the door, she was no longer the Luna, the mate, who hoped. She was the doctor.

The scene mocked her. Caleb clutching a photo, Lyra reclining against Damon's chest, their tableau glowing like the real pack while Sloane stood as the intruder.

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