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Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance.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—I didn't mean to—" I stammered, frantically grabbing napkins from the table to dab at the crimson stain spreading across Rhys's expensive shirt. My hands trembled as I tried to undo the damage, acutely aware I was still perched on his lap.


His dark eyes bored into me, unreadable but intense. The silence in the VIP room was deafening—every businessman, every staff member watching our interaction with bated breath.


"Let me help," I whispered, my voice shaking as I continued dabbing at his chest. The wine had soaked through completely, turning the black fabric a wet, glistening burgundy. "I can fix this—"


I felt his muscles tense beneath me, a split second before his hands moved from my waist. In one violent motion, he shoved me off his lap with such force that I flew backward, crashing onto the hard floor several feet away.


Public Humiliation, A Witch's Retort