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Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance.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

The fluorescent lights of Rowan's dorm room buzzed overhead as I shifted uncomfortably in the desk chair. We'd been working on our project for over an hour, and something felt... off. My head was starting to pound, and concentrating on the notes in front of me was becoming increasingly difficult.


"You look tired," Rowan said, his voice sounding strangely distant despite him sitting right across from me. "Want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot."


I rubbed my temples, trying to focus. "Actually, that would be great. Thanks."


He smiled—a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes—and poured me a steaming mug. The coffee smelled different, slightly bitter with an odd aftertaste when I sipped it.


"Is there something in this?" I asked, frowning at the mug.


"Just my special blend," Rowan shrugged casually. "It has cinnamon and a few other spices. Don't you like it?"


I took another hesitant sip. "It tastes... strange."


The Trap Sprung: A Staged Scene of Betrayal