The Alpha's Blind Luna Is The Secret White Wolf

I woke up in a Swiss clinic with severe amnesia, having survived a three-week coma from a terrible skiing accident. That was when I found out I was married to a ruthless billionaire named Holt Farmer. But instead of a loving husband, I was greeted by a monster who looked at me with pure hatred. Because of my accident, his fragile mistress was being painted as a homewrecker by the media. To save a corporate merger, my own family dragged me out of the hospital in a wheelchair, forcing me to attend a high-society gala to publicly apologize to the mistress. When I refused and demanded a divorce in front of the cameras instead, my brother violently shoved my wheelchair into a marble pillar, fracturing my spine. When I finally made it back to my parents with a broken body, they didn't even ask if I was hurt. "A PR disaster. That's what you are." My father looked at me coldly, only worried about the failing stock price, while my mother told me to take the settlement money and disappear forever. I finally understood that to my husband and my blood relatives, my life was worth less than a corporate contract. I didn't shed a single tear. Sitting alone in the dark, I dialed the number of the most feared divorce attorney in New York. "I don't want his money. I want to dismantle them all."

On the anniversary of her son's death, Audrey stood in the freezing cemetery for two hours, waiting for her husband. Instead, his best friend showed up, claiming her husband was tied up with their daughter's emergency. But on her way home, Audrey caught sight of her husband, their daughter Willow, and another woman walking together. She followed them to a luxury apartment that perfectly replicated her and her husband's humble first home. Through a crack in the door, she watched her husband passionately kiss the woman. She watched his best friend hand the mistress expensive gifts. And she watched her own daughter happily eat cake and say, "Thank you, Mommy Kelsey." When Audrey returned to her empty mansion, her daughter threw a massive tantrum, screaming that she wished Kelsey was her real mom. The cruelest part was realizing the mistress was using Audrey's joint credit card to buy Willow's affection. Her husband, her daughter, and her trusted friend had formed a flawless circle of betrayal. They were playing a happy family while she mourned her dead child alone. She had signed a brutal prenuptial agreement giving up everything for love, only to be treated like a pathetic joke. But they didn't know the quiet, accommodating housewife was actually the hidden heir to the thirty-billion-dollar Carlisle empire. Audrey left her diamond ring on the counter alongside a divorce settlement, activated her inheritance, and walked out. "First step," she told her proxy. "We bleed his stock dry, and we dismantle his legacy piece by piece."

I was gasping for air on the cold marble floor of the Syndicate Ball, my lungs seizing in a familiar, lethal rhythm. My inhaler was just five feet away, but it might as well have been miles. Dante Moretti, the man who bought my life with his blood eight years ago, looked right at me. He saw my panic. He saw the weakness he despised. Then, he turned his back on me to continue waltzing with his mistress. That betrayal was just the beginning. When the elevator trapped us days later, the lights flickering and the air growing thin, Dante didn't hesitate. He pried the doors open and carried Sofia out like a fragile bride. He left me—his wife with a diagnosed respiratory condition—alone in the suffocating dark to die. He missed my birthday dinner to comfort her on a Ferris Wheel, leaving me to celebrate with a single candle on a slice of toast. I finally realized that to him, I wasn't a wife to be cherished. I was just property to be owned. Something inside me didn't just break; it clicked into place. I stopped waiting for him to come home. I left my wedding ring on the table, blocked his number, and walked out into the night. Now, Dante is tearing the city apart to find me, claiming he realizes his mistake. But he's too late. Because the man standing beside me now isn't offering me a diamond ring or empty promises. He just handed me a loaded Glock and asked if I wanted to be his Queen.

I gave my fiancée my kidney to save her father's life. Two days later, she dumped me in my hospital bed, calling me a "convenient organ donor" before running back to her wealthy ex. But their cruelty was just beginning. After her ex hit my sister in a hit-and-run, my fiancée launched a vicious online smear campaign to protect him. Her lies inspired a stranger to walk into my sister's hospital room and murder her. The woman I had sacrificed a part of my body for had taken everything from me. Now, I will take everything from them.

I thought my five-year marriage to tech CEO Emilio was perfect. I was the architect of our beautiful life, putting my own prestigious career on hold to support his rise to the top. That illusion shattered when an email flashed on his screen: an invitation to the christening of his son. A son I never knew existed, with a social media influencer as the mother. The affair became public at a gala thrown in my honor. The little boy ran to Emilio, calling him "Daddy" and accusing me of trying to steal him away. To protect his son, Emilio shoved me. I fell, hit my head, and woke up in a hospital bed to the news that I had miscarried the baby I had just discovered I was carrying. He never came. He left me bleeding on the floor to comfort his son and mistress, abandoning me, our marriage, and the child we lost without a second glance. Days later, his mistress sent men to finish the job. They pushed me from a cliff into the churning water below. But I survived. I let the world believe I was dead as I accepted a prestigious architectural fellowship in Zurich. It was time for Elana Thomas to die, so I could finally live.

My 22nd birthday was supposed to be perfect, the night I finally confessed my love to Ethan Vance, my guardian and the only family I had left. I found him in his study, surrounded by the familiar scent of old books and leather, but his smile vanished as I told him, "I want you, Ethan. Not as a guardian. Not as a father figure. I'm in love with you." His words, sharp and dismissive, cut me deeper than any knife: "Don't be ridiculous, Ava. You're my ward. You're a child. I raised you! To even think of me that way is… inappropriate. It's wrong." He then called in his fiancée, Brittany, a woman who seemed to glide in on a cloud of malice, and announced their engagement, telling me, "Brittany's room has the best morning light. I'm sure Ava won't mind moving to one of the guest suites." My sanctuary, my home where I poured my dreams into jewelry designs, was being given away, just like that. How could the man who promised to protect me, who cheered my every success, betray me so cruelly? Left with nothing but the echoes of his rejection, fueled by humiliation and a desperate need for escape, I pulled out my phone and texted a man I barely knew: "Mr. Hayes, is your offer for a contract marriage still on the table? I'm ready."