Claimed By The Possessive Twin Generals

My family arranged my marriage to Silas Thorne, a Wall Street titan. There was just one problem: everyone, including my powerful new husband, believed I was a crippled, helpless girl from the countryside. On the day of my physical therapy, my father called, not to ask how I was, but to demand I give up the marriage for his illegitimate daughter, Chloe. "You can barely walk without a limp," he sneered. "You are going to embarrass the Vance family." My new husband treated me with cold duty, carrying me like a fragile doll but refusing to share a bed, citing my ‘soft tissue injury’ as a pathetic excuse. The rejection was humiliating. To make matters worse, Chloe tracked me down while I was shopping, eager to mock me in public. "Silas doesn't value you," she said, flashing a cheap ring from my father. "You’re just a crippled placeholder." They all saw a weak girl they could push around, completely blind to the fact that my limp was a carefully crafted lie. So I took the unlimited black card Silas gave me and bought a fifty-seven-million-dollar pink diamond, crushing her in front of New York’s elite. When I returned to our penthouse, Silas was waiting for me, a dangerous smirk on his face. "I heard," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that you bought a star with my money today?"

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

I was the pathetic, clumsy, wolfless stain on the Blair Pack. My family treated me like an abomination, a shameful secret they desperately needed to erase. To finally get rid of me, my stepmother and sister orchestrated a brutal ambush. They sent me to an isolated highway overpass in the freezing rain, trapping me in a car surrounded by six massive, feral rogues. Their goal was to completely break my spirit before shipping me off to an asylum. While I was supposedly being tortured in the mud, my sister stood at our pack's grand gala in a stunning red gown, weeping perfectly timed fake tears. "My poor, wolfless sister couldn't handle the pressure of our world. She ran away tonight and has become a Rogue." She publicly announced my death sentence while my Alpha father stood beside her, silently endorsing the lie that stripped away my identity and branded me a target to be hunted by neighboring packs. They thought they had flawlessly disposed of their dirty little secret. They truly believed I was just a defenseless, broken doll crying in the backseat, ready to die quietly and take their sins to the grave. But they had no idea what they had actually unleashed. I wasn't a fragile Omega; I was a highly trained, lethal cleaner. And as I crashed their perfect ballroom alongside the terrifyingly powerful Lycan King of the Graves Dominion, I was ready to burn their entire world to the ground.

I took a silver bullet for my fated mate, Derek, and fell into a coma for five years. When I finally opened my eyes, I wasn't greeted as a hero. I was handed a deportation order. Because I had burned out my wolf spirit to save his life, I was now "human" and useless to the pack. My marriage had been annulled years ago without my consent. I dragged my atrophied body to our home, only to find Derek with Anjelica, a woman I once called a friend. She was wearing my jewelry and carrying his heir. But the knife in my heart wasn't seeing them together. It was my son. My five-year-old boy, Errol, didn't run to me. He screamed in terror and sprayed me with a bottle of liquid he had been hiding. It hissed against my skin. Wolfsbane. "Go away, monster!" he sobbed, pointing the bottle at me like a weapon. "Mommy Anjelica said this burns the bad things!" I had lost my wolf, my husband, and my child. But they weren't done taking from me. When Anjelica faked a medical emergency, Derek signed a general proxy form. I was dragged into surgery, not as a patient, but as a harvest. I heard the doctor whisper, "She wants her dry." They thought draining my blood would kill me. They didn't know that my "human" shell was just a cocoon for something ancient. I escaped the hospital that night. Standing by the ocean, I threw my wedding ring into the waves. "I, Catherine, reject the bond." Miles away, Derek fell to his knees, vomiting blood as the connection snapped. He thought I was dead. He didn't know the White Wolf had just awakened.

I returned to the manor after four years, handing Marcus Thorne an invitation to my wedding. He looked at me with cold eyes, his arm around his fiancée, Chloe—the woman I was molded to look like. But the real blow came at lunch. A waiter tripped, sending three mugs of scalding coffee flying toward us. Marcus didn't move to protect me. He lunged to grab his phone from the table because Chloe’s face was on the screen. The boiling liquid splashed across my chest, burning my skin instantly. While I screamed in agony, Marcus simply checked his notifications. "I have to go," he said, stepping over me as my fiancé, David, desperately poured ice water on my burns. "Chloe broke a nail. She's hysterical." He walked out of the restaurant without looking back, leaving me writhing in pain. At the hospital, the doctor dropped another bombshell: I was pregnant. Marcus didn't know. He didn't know I was carrying another man's child. Just like he didn't know about the baby of his I had lost three years ago—the one I miscarried while he ignored my calls to close a business deal. I wiped my tears and looked at David. "Get the plane ready," I whispered. "We leave tonight." When Marcus finally came looking for me, all he found was a medical report of the child he killed with his neglect, and a note saying I was gone forever.

The bomb strapped to my chest had less than a minute on the timer. I called my husband, begging him to save me. "Kevin, please. This is real. I'm going to die." But Kevin just sighed, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Stop the drama, Michelle. Violet is having a panic attack because her cat is stuck in a tree. I don't have time for your jealousy games." He hung up. Moments later, the warehouse exploded, and I was gone. But I didn't cross over. My spirit was tethered to Kevin, an invisible spectator to his life. I watched him roll his eyes at my mother’s frantic calls. I watched him perform the autopsy on my charred body, convinced I was actually hiding in a hotel to punish him. It wasn't until he returned to the blast site and found my wedding ring in the ash that he finally broke. He fell to his knees, screaming my name. I thought his remorse would free me. But then he discovered the truth: Violet had orchestrated my murder. He cornered her, his grief mutating into a violent, obsidian hatred. I tried to drift away, but the invisible chain binding me to him suddenly tightened, crushing my soul. I realized with absolute horror that the truth hadn't set me free. His hatred was an anchor, heavier than his love ever was. I wasn't just a ghost anymore. I was his haunting, and I was never leaving.