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I SPENT FIFTEEN YEARS AS HIS LUNA THEN HE CALLED ME USELESS Novel Cover

I SPENT FIFTEEN YEARS AS HIS LUNA THEN HE CALLED ME USELESS

For fifteen years, she endured infertility to lift a curse from her Alpha mate's bloodline, only to be cast aside. When her husband secretly plans a mating ceremony with her own adopted sister—the woman who bore his heir—she realizes his promises were lies. But they do not know her greatest secret: she is the long-lost daughter of New York's wealthiest Lycan King. Discarding her mating ring and filing for a pack rejection, she finally chooses herself and leaves them to face the consequences.
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Chapter 1

Fifteen years ago, I gave up my womb so my mate could become Alpha.

The elders said the curse would follow his bloodline unless a life was offered.

So, I gave up my chance to ever have children.

He swore before the Moon Goddess and the entire Nightshade Pack.

“As long as she lives, my mate will lack nothing.”

Fifteen years passed. I never asked for anything.

Not when I bled for three weeks after the ritual.

Not when I screamed through the night, womb burning with phantom contractions.

Not even when I watched our only child die hours after birth, too little to cry.

But today, I thought maybe it was time for Alpha Edwin to keep his promise.

“It’s our mating anniversary, Edwin.”

He didn’t look up from his tablet. His fingers continued scrolling, flicking through pages of war reports like I wasn’t even speaking.

“We marked. You became Luna. That was the promise.”

I stood there, clutching the delicate bracelet in a velvet pouch—the precious diamond band woven with moonstones and pearls.

I spent my entire Luna salary getting this, I thought it might mean something. To him. To us.

“It’s been fifteen years,” I whispered. “I thought maybe we could visit the Moonstone Sanctum. Just the two of us.”

He scoffed, and then came the laughter, cold and bitter.

“The Sanctum?” he finally looked at me, his eyes empty of warmth. “You want to chase some goddess myth while the pack bleeds?”

His voice sliced through the air, sharp enough to cut bone.

“You want to waste what’s left of our resources on a fantasy trip? While the warriors are starving? While the healers ration herbs? Do you even care?”

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, venom dripping from every syllable.

“Or do you think giving up your womb bought you a lifetime pass to be useless?”

His words didn’t shout—but they thundered.

“I just…” I started, my voice brittle, eyes lowered. “I just wanted something. Anything. For fifteen years, I stayed behind these walls. I gave up everything. We never even had a real mating ceremony. Just the mark, the Luna title, the obligations. I thought maybe now—”

“Selene,” he cut in, voice flat, dead-eyed. “In fifteen years, have you ever lacked anything? Even when you’ve been practically worthless?”

I flinched.

But he wasn’t finished.

“You sit in this house like a piece of furniture. Look at Laura—your adopted sister. Three years younger, already a senior exec, raising a child on her own, glowing like someone with purpose. And you? You’ve gotten fat. You won’t even go to the gym. What exactly do you think you deserve?”

The wineglass trembled in my hand, a fragile echo of the storm inside me.

Then it slipped. Time slowed as it crashed against the marble floor, shards scattering like my shattered hope.

I stood frozen, the cold silence swallowing the room.

The sharp click of heels sliced through the quiet as my mother stormed out from the inner room.

Her eyes, dark and unforgiving, locked onto me like a predator sizing its prey.

“What now?” she snapped, voice thick with contempt. “Is it this barren girl again, begging for attention?”

She glanced down at the broken glass, then back up, her gaze full of disgust and disappointment.

“You can’t give me grandchildren, yet here you are, disturbing my precious son-in-law. God, Selene. Even Laura, your younger sister is smarter, more successful, more beautiful. She has a child. And you? Nothing but an empty womb and a whining mouth.”

Her words hit me like ice shards, slicing through my chest. I wanted to speak, to defend myself, but my throat tightened, burning with tears I refused to shed.

She didn’t relent. Her voice sharpened, cruel and relentless.

“I should’ve let you die when you fell sick as a child. You’ve always been a problem. The biggest regret of my life.”

A dull ache spread in my chest, like a slow poison.

Edwin raised his hand, awkward and unsure. “Mother, please. We’re just having a normal couple disagreement—”

“Normal?” Her laugh was a harsh blade. “There’s nothing normal about a nagging, ungrateful wife. You’ve given her everything, and she’s done nothing but disappoint. Look at her—ugly, unsophisticated, still no child. You should’ve married Laura. She would’ve made you happy.”

My legs weakened. I felt the weight of their words pressing me into the cold floor.

My heart clenched tight, each breath shallow, stinging like a fresh wound.

Not a single word of defense from my mother. Not even a flicker of pity.

Instead, she laughed alongside Edwin, their shared cruelty wrapping around me like a suffocating fog.

Then, sudden, sharp pain exploded through my foot as I stepped on the shattered glass. Warm blood quickly seeped beneath my heel, sticky and spreading like an open wound—both inside and out.

But my mother laughed, cold and cruel, her voice cutting through the air alongside Edwin’s. Neither of them even glanced at me.

“She’s always been clumsy,” my mother sneered, eyes glinting with disdain. “A useless waste of space.”

Edwin’s voice was quiet but filled with venom. “Laura would’ve been a better wife. Selene’s just… available.”

My hands trembled as I sank to my knees, gathering the glass shards. Each movement sent sharp pain through my foot, but I forced myself to move. Red footprints stained the marble as I limped away—unseen and ignored.

No one helped.

In my room, I locked the door and peeled off my bloody sock.

There it was, a cruel shard embedded deep in my flesh.

Gritting my teeth, I yanked it free. Pain exploded through my leg, and I couldn’t stop the scream—yet no one came.

I poured methylated spirits on the wound. The burning made tears fall, but I swallowed them down.

Wrapping the injury with shaking hands, I caught my reflection: dark circles, dull skin, a face worn by years of silent pain. At thirty-five, I looked decades older.

Still, I baked the red velvet cake Edwin once liked.

He took a bite, spat it into the sink, and sneered,

“What is this? Rotten tomatoes? Are you trying to poison me?”

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