The White Wolf Heiress: Reborn To Rule

Alea POV:

"Alea, darling, Candida and I are fated mates-chosen by the Moon Goddess herself."

Kirt Bradford's declaration reached me as I stepped onto the second-floor landing of White Pack's great hall.

He stood below with one arm wrapped protectively around his mistress, Candida Cervantes, as though bringing her into my home were an act of courage rather than a calculated humiliation.

Candida wore a simple white dress. Her dark lashes were wet, her makeup remained flawless, and every tear sliding down her cheeks seemed carefully timed.

"According to Pack law," Kirt continued smoothly, "I am asking you to accept Candida as my second mate, with all the status and resources she deserves."

In my last life, Kirt betrayed me. With Candida at his side and my stepmother, Elois Mercado, clearing the way, he stripped me of my inheritance, destroyed my authority as White Pack's first heir, and helped reduce my family to ruin.

Then he and Candida locked me inside a burning room and watched me die.

I lost my name, my future, my pack-and finally, my life.

But the Moon Goddess gave me another chance.

When I opened my eyes that morning, I was twenty years old again, back on the exact day Kirt brought Candida into my home and demanded that I legitimize their affair.

This time, I would make every one of them pay before they could take a single thing from me.

My stepmother, Elois, and my stepsister, Katy, stood nearby. Their faces were masks of fake concern, but their eyes glittered with malicious glee.

Candida lifted her tear-streaked face on cue. "Miss White, I... I truly didn't mean for this to happen. We can't fight destiny..."

"Look at the stupid cow," Katy muttered to Elois, just loud enough for me to hear. "She's going to cry again."

They were all watching me, waiting for the broken, obedient girl they remembered-the girl who would beg Kirt to reconsider and thank Candida for showing her mercy.

That girl had died in the fire.

I said nothing.

I began descending the grand staircase, the heels of my black shoes striking the marble in measured clicks. That morning, I had ignored the delicate white and pink dresses I used to wear for Kirt and chosen a sharply tailored black suit instead.

By the time I reached the final step, the confidence on his face had begun to waver.

"Alea?" Kirt prompted, irritation creeping beneath his practiced tenderness. "Did you hear what I said?"

I didn't look at him. I didn't look at Candida. My gaze went to the family crest on the wall, the White Pack lineage chart displayed beneath it.

My eyes found my parents' names: Garrison White and Clara White. Then, Kirt Bradford's name, listed as "betrothed."

His patience snapped. He grabbed my wrist. "Alea! I'm talking to you!"

I turned my head slowly. For the first time, my eyes met his.

"Mr. Bradford," I said, my voice calm and distant. "Which hand did you just use to touch me?"

He blinked, stunned, and instinctively let go.

A chilling smile touched my lips. "You bring your mistress into my home and demand that I, your betrothed, legitimize your affair?"

The hall fell silent. Even Candida's pathetic sobs stopped.

"What do you think the White Pack is? A shelter where you can house any prostitute you find?"

Kirt's face turned a blotchy, furious red. "Alea White! You've lost your mind! How dare you!"

He raised his hand to strike me.

But I was faster. I was fueled by the memory of fire.

Crack.

The sound of my hand connecting with his cheek echoed through the silent hall.

Kirt stumbled back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I shook my stinging hand, my gaze locked on his.

"That," I said, my voice dangerously soft, "was to teach you respect."