Claimed By The Coldhearted Billionaire Alpha

For four years, I secretly cared for my fated mate, Alpha Gideon. I spent my days as a lowly Omega scrubbing floors, but my nights were spent digging for rare healing herbs to sneak into his meals. But when the noblewoman he intended to marry publicly accused me of using dark witchcraft to seduce him, Gideon said absolutely nothing. He let the angry mob drag me into a freezing, damp basement to scrub iron pots. He let the Elders forge my evaluations to banish me to the deadly Northern Border wasteland. Even when they publicly stripped me of my pack mark and condemned me to freeze to death as a hunted Rogue, the great Alpha just stood there in silence. "She is nothing but dirt," the nobles laughed, while he turned a blind eye to protect his reputation. I didn't understand. I had ruined my hands in the dangerous woods just to keep his food perfectly clean of the silver that burned our kind. Why was I just his dirty secret? How could the strongest warrior in the North be too cowardly to defend his mate in the light? Looking at his golden eyes one last time, the bone-deep bond in my chest finally snapped. "I, Sophia, reject you, Gideon, as my mate." I wiped my tears, packed my frayed linen bag, and walked out into the winter snow. This time, I chose to live for myself.

For five years, I was Jameson Blair's fiancée. For five years, my brothers finally treated me like a sister they loved. Then my twin, Haleigh-the one who left him at the altar-returned with a fake cancer story. In five minutes, he married her. They believed her every lie. When she tried to poison me with a venomous spider, they called me dramatic. When she framed me for ruining her party, my brothers whipped me until I bled. They called me a worthless substitute, a placeholder with her face. The final straw came when they tied me to a rope and left me dangling over a cliff to die. But I didn't die. I climbed back up, faked my death, and disappeared. They wanted a ghost. I decided to give them one.

I was the perfect fiancée, engaged to Carter Sterling to save my family's failing finances. It was supposed to be the merger of the decade. But the day after our lavish engagement party, an anonymous text shattered my illusion. It was a photo of my fiancé passionately kissing my childhood best friend, Paige, in a hotel room. When I went to catch them, my world crumbled further. Instead of supporting me, my father threw a stack of my sick mother's medical bills on his desk. "You will not jeopardize this merger. Do not break this engagement." He threatened to cut off her life-saving care if I ruined the deal. I was forced to smile and play the devoted fiancée. To make matters worse, the stranger who sent me the photo—and whom I had just slept with in a moment of blind revenge—turned out to be Julian Sinclair, Carter's ruthless cousin. I was surrounded by liars and manipulators. My father traded my mother's life for money, my fiancé treated me like a fool, and Julian used me as a pawn in his own twisted games. How could they all just use me and expect me to stay quiet? As Paige tried to publicly humiliate me at Julian's welcome-home party, offering a toxic toast to our friendship, something inside me finally snapped. I wasn't just going to survive this gilded cage anymore. I was going to burn their whole rotten world to the ground.

My husband Adam and I built our empire on a vow made in blood: "Till death do us part." For fifteen years, that promise was our foundation. Then I found the photos of his mistress. He refused a divorce, trapping me with our vow while she called to announce her pregnancy. He chose her, even hitting me to protect her. At their wedding, I played a recording of him calling me "damaged goods" and "barren." "What use is a wife who can't give you an heir?" he'd asked her. But his mistress had sent me a little wedding gift: a file detailing the kidnapping I'd suffered years ago. It wasn't a random attack. Adam had planned it. He orchestrated it to break me, and in the process, he caused the miscarriage of our only child. The final report in the file was his own medical records. I wasn't the one who was barren. He was. And her baby wasn't his.

I pulled my fiancé from a car wreck just seconds before it exploded. The fire left my back covered in hideous scars, but I saved his life. For the four years he was in a coma, I gave up everything to be his caretaker. Six months after he woke up, he stood on stage at his comeback press conference. He was supposed to thank me. Instead, he made a grand, romantic declaration to Estelle, his childhood sweetheart, who was smiling from the audience. His family and Estelle then made my life a living hell. They humiliated me at a gala, ripping my dress to expose my scars. When I was beaten in an alley by thugs Estelle hired, Julian accused me of making it up to get attention. I lay in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, while he rushed to Estelle’s side because she was "scared." I overheard him tell her he loved her and that I, his fiancée, didn't matter. All my sacrifice, my pain, my unwavering love—it meant nothing. To him, I was just a debt he had to repay out of pity. On our wedding day, he kicked me out of the limo and left me on the side of the highway, still in my gown, because Estelle faked a stomach ache. I watched his car disappear. Then I hailed a taxi. "The airport," I said. "And step on it."

My phone buzzed, revealing a text about a reservation at the city' s most exclusive restaurant. I thought my husband, David, was surprising me with a romantic dinner to celebrate my career success. Instead, I walked into a party celebrating his ex-girlfriend, Jessica Lee, who was glowing and visibly pregnant. My daughter, Lily, stood by their side, looking at me with pure annoyance as David announced, "Anything for you, Jess. And for our baby." Then, Lily chimed in, "Dad even got rid of that stupid dog you hated. He said the special stew for your pregnancy cravings needed a very special ingredient." My beloved champion show dog, Buster, was the "special ingredient." The room went silent as I screamed, "You killed my dog, didn' t you? You killed Buster." David callously admitted it, saying, "It was just a dog, Sarah. A damn dog. It was for Jessica' s health." To my horror, Lily confirmed she had helped him, describing it as a mundane chore. Overwhelmed, my world shattered. David then offered me money: "Go buy yourself a new one. A puppy. You' ll forget all about Buster in a week." The insult, so profound, jolted me into clarity. I pushed his hand away, the money fluttering to the floor, and declared, "I want a divorce, David."