Reborn To Reject: The White Wolf's Second Chance

In my previous life, while I was screaming in labor, my Alpha husband was too busy comforting his mistress to answer his phone.

My son died gasping for air.

But Graves didn't grieve. Instead, he dragged me out of my recovery bed because his mistress, Alex, claimed to have "silver poisoning."

He commanded the doctors to cut me open right there.

He watched them harvest my kidney and spinal fluid without anesthesia, just to use my essence as a beauty treatment for the woman who poisoned me.

"It is your duty, Luna," he sneered as I bled out on the table.

I died looking at his cold, hateful eyes, realizing my love had been a death sentence.

But the Moon Goddess has a twisted sense of humor.

I opened my eyes, and the calendar on the wall showed the date from three years ago.

The day he brought Alex home.

I didn't cry. I didn't beg.

I walked straight to the dark clinic with a cooler box in my hand.

"Perform the Bloodline Severing," I told the terrified doctor.

"Extract the fetus and freeze it in magical stasis. I'd rather stop my baby's heart myself than let that monster call him 'son'."

Chapter 1

Kimberly POV:

The pain wasn't new. It was a phantom echo, the memory of my heart bursting in my chest like a ripe fruit. I shot up in bed, gasping, clutching my sternum. The air was frigid, smelling of cedar and rain—Graves. That scent used to be my oxygen. Now, it smelled like a cage.

I scanned the master bedroom of the Kramer Pack penthouse. Sunlight streamed in, mocking me. It was the same light from that day. The day I died.

Or, the day I finally woke up.

My hands shook as I checked the calendar. Today. Three years ago. The Moon Goddess, in her twisted sense of humor, had hit the rewind button.

Kimberly?

The voice in my head was deep, commanding. It triggered a Pavlovian response—my pulse spiked, my wolf whined in submission. I clamped down on that instinct until my mental walls were iron.

I'm coming up, he said. I have a surprise.

I knew the surprise. I knew the parasite clinging to his arm right now.

I didn't cry. I didn't have time for grief. I swung my legs out of bed and marched to the closet safe. My fingers punched the code on autopilot. Inside lay the documents I’d drafted in secret during my previous life—the "nuclear option" I’d been too cowardly to launch.

The Rejection Papers.

The door burst open.

Alpha Graves strode in. He was a masterpiece of genetic engineering—broad shoulders straining a bespoke suit, eyes that could command armies. But right now, those eyes were glazed, slightly unfocused. A subtle haze I’d missed the first time around.

And there she was. Alex.

The stench hit me first. Underneath her bath of synthetic strawberry perfume lay the acrid, metallic tang of decay. It wasn't just a Rogue scent; it was spiritual rot.

"Kimberly," Graves said, his voice flat. "This is Alex. Hunters attacked her near the border. She has nowhere to go."

Same script. Same lie.

"She’s staying here," Graves continued, dragging the girl further into our sanctuary. "The Pack House is full. Do your duty, Luna."

Alex offered a shy, trembling smile, but her eyes were predatory. "I hope I'm not a burden, Luna Kimberly. Your scent... it's very faint. Weak."

She was mocking my suppressed wolf. I’d spent years shrinking myself so Graves could feel big. Never again.

I ignored her, walking to the small sitting table. I picked up the folder.

"Graves," I said. My voice didn't shake. "I don't care where she stays. Because I won't be here."

Graves frowned, a flicker of genuine confusion breaking through his haze. "Stop the drama. It's just a guest."

"She’s a Rogue, and you’re bringing her into our mating chamber." I tossed the folder onto the bed. "Sign these."

He stared at the papers. A low growl vibrated in his chest. "You want to leave? Over a guest? You are my Mate, Kimberly. You don't get to walk away."

"I am the Luna of the Kramer Pack," I corrected, my spine steel. "And I refuse to share my roof with a stray who smells like a decomposing carcass."

"Enough!" Graves roared. The air pressure in the room dropped. The Alpha's Command slammed into me—a psychic hammer designed to force submission.

"I command you to accept her!"

In my past life, I would have been on the floor. But my White Wolf was awake now. She was ancient royalty, not some common bitch. The pressure washed over me, parting like water around a stone.

Graves blinked, stunned. He’d never seen his command fail.

"Your voice doesn't work on me anymore, Graves," I said softly. "Because I don't love you."

I pointed to the papers. "I want the Malibu property. The one you bought for your mistresses. Transfer it, dissolve our pack ties, and I go quietly. Refuse, and I tell the Board you’re harboring a Rogue in the Alpha suite. Watch your stock price crater."

Graves sneered, his ego bruising. He grabbed a pen. "Fine. Throw your tantrum. You’ll be crawling back in a week. No wolf survives the separation pain."

He scribbled his signature. "Take the house. Get out."

I took the papers. I felt the legal tether snap. Only the biological Mate Bond remained—a raw nerve I planned to cauterize soon.

"Don't worry," I said, grabbing my pre-packed bag. I paused at the door. He was already comforting Alex, inhaling her rot disguised as strawberries.

I reached into my mind, found the golden thread linking us, and visualized a pair of shears.

Goodbye, Graves.

I slammed the mental door shut. The silence was deafening. It was perfect.