The White Wolf Heiress: Reborn To Rule

I was supposed to be celebrating my engagement to Caden Sharpe. My cousin and best friend, Felice, handed me a glass of champagne for a toast. But when I woke up, I was clutching a bloody knife, and Caden's grandfather was dead on the floor. Caden walked in, looked at me with pure disgust, and refused to listen to my pleas. As the police handcuffed me, Felice leaned in close to my ear. "The drug in your champagne was my little gift. Caden is mine now." During my trial, my stepmother testified against me, and the shock caused my father to die of a massive heart attack. I was sentenced to three years in prison, abandoned by everyone. For three years in that cold cell, I watched on the news as Felice launched a couture label using my stolen design sketches and lived the glamorous life that was meant for me. My family was ruined, my father was dead, and my grandmother had mysteriously vanished. The agonizing injustice fueled a seed of pure, unadulterated hate in my heart. The day I walked out of the prison gates, I had absolutely nothing left to lose. I set my sights on Fount Sharpe, the enigmatic billionaire head of the Sharpe family, ready to do whatever it took to destroy them all. But in my desperate attempt to get to him, I accidentally ended up in a contract marriage with his humble driver instead.

I was the biological daughter of the Alpha, but because I was wolfless, my stepmother and half-sister treated me like a filthy stain on our noble bloodline. When they discovered my secret pregnancy, my half-sister Isabell framed me, claiming I was carrying a Rogue's bastard. I desperately begged my fiancé, Preston, to save me, but he just looked at me with cold, clinical disgust. "We're over, Kaela. My mate cannot be a disgraced woman carrying another man's child." He broke our engagement on the spot and announced he was marrying Isabell instead. My own father, the Alpha, signed my exile decree without even hearing my side of the story. My stepmother smiled triumphantly as she forced lethal Wolfsbane down my throat to abort my baby. Then, Isabell took a silver blade, carved my face to the bone, and severed my tendons before dumping my ruined body into the deadly Rogue Barrens. Lying in the freezing mud, bleeding out in the dark, I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could sanction the murder of my child, or how easily the man I loved could throw my life away. But they made one fatal mistake: the poison didn't kill my babies, and the Barrens didn't kill me. Five years later, I returned to Nocturne City as "The Surgeon"—the most exclusive, powerful doctor in the territories. Looking down at Isabell as she begged on her knees for me to cure our stepmother's terminal illness, I smiled behind my silver mask.

Ciara had just found out she was exactly six weeks pregnant. Overjoyed, she immediately dialed her billionaire husband, Alexzander, to share the news. But before she could speak, a chaotic crash echoed through the phone, followed by his raw, panicked roar. "Ellie, hold on!" Stunned by his desperate tone for another woman, Ciara didn't notice the heavy medical cart hurtling towards her until it smashed into her body. Covered in blood and clutching her cramping stomach in the emergency room, she fought to stay conscious. Suddenly, Alexzander rushed past her stretcher. He was frantically carrying Elliana—the heiress he claimed was just a legal obligation. He was so consumed with terror for Elliana that he didn't even glance down to see his own wife lying there, broken and bleeding. When Ciara later demanded a divorce, he trapped her against the sofa, his eyes cold and calculating. "Without my trust fund, you will lose everything. Are you truly prepared to throw away such privilege?" For four years, Ciara had endured the mockery of high society, believing his cold demeanor hid a deep love for her. But as she sat in their massive penthouse with a broken arm, she realized she might just be a cheap placeholder in his golden cage. When he finally returned, swearing on his empire that Ciara and the baby were his only priorities, Ciara stopped fighting. She stroked her stomach and accepted the truce. But the naive, trusting wife was dead. She would stay, but the moment she caught him in another lie, there would be no more tears—only absolute destruction.

My husband Elliott and I were expecting our first child. Then his ex, Kenya, showed up, claiming she was dying and had his secret son. He chose her. I watched him play happy family with her while I sat alone at our baby' s ultrasound. Later, her son pushed me so hard I nearly miscarried. In the hospital, she sent me a picture of my late father' s locket, shattered, with a text saying Elliott called it "junk." When I confronted her, Elliott violently threw me out of her room. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he roared. "She' s fragile!" He was protecting the woman who tried to kill our baby, and calling me the monster. He held me prisoner in our home, parading his new family in public while I was erased. He thought I was too weak to leave, that I' d just accept my new place. The night of their lavish "Welcome Home" party, while the city celebrated his touching love story, I walked out the front door and never looked back.

In the third year of their relationship, Kristian Dobson married the wealthy heiress Laura Clarke behind my back. He told me, "Evelyn, I'm an illegitimate son. Only by marrying her can I gain my father's approval and claim my place in the family." I scoffed inwardly. He was merely making excuses for his ambition. I chose to end things cleanly, but Kristian confined me like a caged bird, hidden from the world. "You live a life of luxury without lifting a finger. What more could you want?" he demanded. Later, to please Laura, he forced me to jump from the seventeenth-floor balcony. They assumed I was powerless, unaware I was the sole heir to the city's richest fortune.

The headline screamed from the society page: CEO Michael Sterling' s Protégé, Chloe Davis, Flaunts Baby Bump. Five years of marriage, yearning for a child, shattered in an instant. Michael, my husband, promised it was a mistake, a drunken night he barely remembered. He knelt, he cried, he pleaded, and I, God help me, chose to believe him. He vanished Chloe Davis from our lives, and for three years, we were happy. Then came the news of a riot, Michael unreachable. I flew halfway across the world, frantic, only to find him in a quiet suburb, holding a child with his dark hair and blue eyes, another clinging to his leg. Standing beside him, heavily pregnant again, was Chloe Davis, looking at him with adoration as he smiled a truly happy smile I hadn' t seen in years. He saw me, his smile vanishing. On the silent ride back, he told me to accept them. His heirs. And since I couldn't give him a child, Chloe would come home, posing as a nanny. My hand instinctively went to my purse, clutching the pregnancy test I' d taken that morning-two pink lines, a miracle I' d been waiting to share. I snapped it in two; he didn' t even ask what it was. At the private terminal, Chloe, feigning terror, shrieked I was trying to harm her and her children. Without explanation, Michael slapped me hard. I stumbled, fell, and felt a warm wetness spread beneath me. Blood. "Michael," I choked, "the baby…our baby…please, help me." He sneered, "You' re pathetic, Olivia. There is no baby." He turned his back, leading his perfect family away, leaving me bleeding on the airport floor. In the hospital, he brought Chloe, ensuring she got the best care, accusing me of faking for attention. When I hemorrhaged, he panicked, but the final blow came when Chloe staged another fall, crying I' d hit her. Michael, already enraged, punched me in the stomach. An explosion of pain, and then, the last bit of warmth left my body. My baby was gone. He had killed it. But what about all the years I' d sacrificed for him, including my first child and my mother?