The Hockey King's Coveted Billionaire Heiress

I was born without an Inner Wolf. To the highborn Hopkins Pack, that made me a genetic defect, so my biological mother abandoned me in the lawless borderlands for eighteen years. But suddenly, she sent an elite hit squad to drag me back. She demanded I take my precious sister's place in a mating alliance with a notorious, deformed monster from Shadow Ridge. When I refused to be their sacrificial lamb, they decided to break me. They threatened my adoptive mother, the only person who ever truly cared for me. They even delivered a severed female hand in a bloody wooden box to my doorstep, warning me that if I didn't submit to the beast and act as their spy, my mother would be butchered piece by piece. They thought my lack of fangs and claws made me weak, a pathetic stray they could manipulate at will. They had no idea that in the black markets, I was known as the Phantom Healer—a ghost who traded miraculous cures and lethal neurotoxins. "I told you if you touched her, I would burn this pack to the ground." I whispered those words as I splashed bone-melting acid across their chief enforcer's face. Instead of running from the monster Alpha, I cured his lethal poisoning and struck a fake marriage deal with him. Because beneath his terrifying iron mask, he wasn't a cripple at all, but a devastatingly handsome apex predator who was more than happy to help me slaughter my old pack.

For eight years, I lived in a freezing, unheated apartment, washing the bloodstains out of my mob enforcer boyfriend's suits every day. He strictly gave me two thousand dollars a month, saying we had to live frugally and save up enough money to escape this dark world. But when I was washing his clothes, I found a receipt for a custom engagement ring worth sixty-eight thousand dollars. That ring wasn't for me, but for his secret lover, Mia. I cracked the password on his encrypted laptop and uncovered his three-year-long double life. He wasn't a bottom-tier thug struggling to survive in a dangerous game at all. He embezzled forty-eight thousand dollars from his mob boss's accounts every month to buy Mia diamonds, cars, and a luxury apartment in Manhattan. And meanwhile, I was drinking watery porridge just to save a little on the electricity bill. When I confronted him, he didn't show a single ounce of guilt, accusing me instead: "You're too heavy. Being around you suffocates me." He thought I was a pathetic parasite who couldn't survive without his protection. But what he didn't know was that I had already quietly earned over a million dollars through legitimate antique painting restoration work. I packed my bags. It was time to let the mob know who was really stealing their money.

Seraphina was locked in a sterile psychiatric facility, treated as a compliant, living blood bag for her husband's mistress, Lila. But today, Lila walked in with a Cartier bracelet and a newspaper, revealing that Slade had orchestrated the complete ruin of Seraphina's family. Slade had used Seraphina's pillow talk to bankrupt her father's company. He tampered with her brother's brakes, framed her other brother for insider trading, and arranged the fatal car crash that killed her mother. Their entire marriage was a meticulously crafted lie to harvest her rare Rh-negative O-type blood to keep Lila and her unborn baby healthy. When Seraphina lunged at her in agonizing realization, Lila simply smiled and staged a fake attack. She watched helplessly as the nurses rushed in and injected her with a lethal sedative. As her heart monitor flatlined, she stared at the white ceiling, her soul consumed by regret and pure hatred. She had defied her loving family for a monster who slaughtered them all. She vowed to the darkness that if there was any justice, she would strip them of everything and make them beg for a death that would never come. Gasping for air, Seraphina opened her eyes. She was back ten years ago, sitting in a luxury hospital room, right as the nurse approached with a needle for Lila's very first blood donation. This time, she smashed the tray to the floor. "Under federal law, drawing my blood without explicit consent is assault." In this life, she would be the butcher.

I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters. When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love. Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess. The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open. "Get out of my house!" My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home. In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me. But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them. I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx. Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate. As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower. Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle. "I want him to be my new guardian."

For seven years, Hayden Simmons lived in the sprawling Forbes Estate, trading her journalism dreams to pay for her younger sister's ICU bills. But her sacrifice meant nothing when billionaire August Forbes planned his engagement to Bridget Blake—the same cruel heiress who had maliciously crushed Hayden's mother's only keepsake under her heel while August defended her. When Hayden finally packed her battered suitcase to leave, August didn't apologize. Instead, he brutally froze the trust account funding her dying sister's life-saving cancer treatments. He cornered her, pinning her against the wall, and ordered his security to lock her inside the estate to force her submission. "You don't get to decide when we are done." He thought she would crawl back to him, crying and begging on her knees. He truly believed he could publicly marry another woman while keeping Hayden trapped in his shadow forever, assuming her desperation made her weak. Instead of begging, Hayden left his limitless black card and Cartier diamonds on the vanity. She walked out the iron gates, went straight to his biggest rival's media empire, and published a viral, front-page exposé tearing his pristine merger to shreds. This time, she wasn't going to hide. She was going to burn his world to the ground.

For nine hundred and eighty-six nights, I was exiled to the guest room while my husband, Alpha Corbett, let his dead wife’s sister sleep in our master suite. He claimed Ivana needed his pheromones to sleep. I was just the glorified janitor in my own pack. But the breaking point wasn't the neglect. It was the macaron. "Eat it," Corbett ordered, holding out the green cookie. "Show me you accept my apology." "I'm allergic to pistachios," I whispered. "I'll die." He didn't listen. His eyes flashed red. "Eat it." The Alpha Command seized my motor functions. My hand moved against my will, shoving the poison into my mouth. As my throat instantly swelled, I tasted the metallic tang of Wolfsbane. Ivana hadn't just ignored my allergy; she had laced it. I collapsed on the kitchen tiles, clawing at my windpipe, turning purple. From the living room, Ivana let out a fake, high-pitched shriek. "Corbett! My anxiety! It's coming back!" Corbett looked down at me, convulsing and suffocating on the floor. Then he looked toward the living room. The choice took him less than a second. He physically stepped over my dying body. "Hold on, Ivana! I'm coming!" he cooed, leaving me to die alone on the cold grout. I managed to jam an EpiPen into my thigh, gasping as air forced its way back into my lungs. As I lay there shivering, I didn't feel sadness. I felt clarity. I dragged myself to my studio, packed my research, and sent a single email. To: The Royal Lycan King. Subject: I accept. By the time Corbett realized Ivana was a fraud pregnant with another man's child, I was already gone. And when he finally came begging on his knees, he found me in the arms of a King who would burn the world before he let me bow.