Elara Veyne

"Ahh!" She writhed in a haze of moans, her body trembling with conflicting sensations. She loathed this man, yet every fiber of her being reacted to his touch. As his hands began to roam along her waist, she sucked in a sharp breath—the sudden pull of her back zipper sent a shiver down her spine. The metal slider halted at the small of her back, and as it opened, her upper back and waist were exposed, baring her skin to the cool air. "D-Don’t—mmph!" Her protest was smothered by the pillow as his fingers caressed her bare spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. With a deep, angry growl, he whispered harshly in her ear, "I'll make you forget every touch, every kiss, every thing about him. From now on, when you're with another man, you'll only see me."

Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance. But beneath her thick glasses lay a hidden crush on Rhys Knight, the pack's future Alpha and a notorious campus playboy. Rhys scoffed at mate bonds, treating relationships as disposable—until Elara's eighteenth birthday, when he publicly rejected her, turning her into the butt of every joke.

Now, Elara returns transformed—glasses discarded, her hair styled sleek and confident—and Rhys can't take his eyes off her. What if her blood holds a sacred heritage chosen by the Moon Goddess? What if the "humiliation" was part of a larger scheme? And when Rhys, the alpha who once dismissed her, kneels before her new love interest, Liam Thorne, begging for a second chance, who will claim victory in this battle of pride and passion?

Rejected by My Alpha Mate

I barely had time to process Rowan's smug expression before a storm of fury burst back through the door. Rhys's eyes blazed crimson as he charged past me, seizing Rowan by the throat and lifting him clean off the floor.


"Get out," he snarled at Rowan, voice barely human. "If I ever see your face again, I'll tear your throat out."


He slammed Rowan against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, then threw him toward the door like he weighed nothing. Rowan scrambled to his feet, clutching his neck, but the smirk never left his face.


"She's not worth it anyway," he wheezed, retreating into the hallway. "Used goods."


The door slammed shut. I stood frozen, relief at Rowan's absence instantly replaced by terror as Rhys turned to face me. His eyes burned like coals in the dim room, his chest heaving with barely contained rage.


"Rhys, please," I whispered. "You have to believe me—"


The Accusation and the Mirror of Shame