The Rejected Substitute: Her Secret White Wolf Identity

Ava POV:

The wound on my arm was still throbbing the next morning. It was an ugly, angry red, the silver burn refusing to close. As an Omega-or at least, appearing as one-my healing factor was painfully slow. I wrapped it in gauze and pulled on a long-sleeved silk blouse.

"Get down here," Donovan's voice boomed from downstairs. No mind-link. He refused to link with me. He said my mind was too 'quiet' and it annoyed him.

I walked down the grand staircase. Donovan was waiting by the door, tapping his watch. Next to him stood Chloe.

Chloe Sanders was small, blonde, and projected an image of fragility that fooled everyone except me. She was a low-ranked wolf, but she had the ambition of a queen. And she smelled... wrong. Underneath the expensive perfume, there was the metallic tang of dark herbs.

"Isabella," Chloe squeaked, shrinking behind Donovan as I approached. "Oh, Alpha, she looks so angry. Her Luna aura... it scares me."

I almost laughed. I had no aura. I was suppressing everything I had. But Donovan bought it. He always bought it.

"Lower your eyes, Isabella," Donovan growled, stepping between us protectively. "You are frightening her."

My wolf, Seraphina, snarled in the back of my mind. Rip her throat out, she suggested.

Not yet, I told her. Twenty hours. Just twenty hours.

"I apologize, Chloe," I said, my voice flat. I lowered my head, staring at Donovan's polished shoes. "I didn't mean to offend."

"She's hungry," Donovan said, not looking at me. "Make her something. The chefs are busy preparing for the gala."

"Me?" I looked up. "Donovan, I'm the Luna of this pack. You want me to cook?"

"You are a wife," he retorted coldly. "And Chloe is a guest under my protection. A guest you terrified last night by delaying her medicine. Go. Make her a steak. Rare."

Humiliation burned my cheeks. In werewolf culture, preparing raw meat was a task for the lowest Omega servants. He was stripping me of my rank in front of his mistress.

"Yes, Alpha," I whispered.

I went to the kitchen. The pack staff watched me in silence. They didn't respect me-they followed Donovan's lead. If the Alpha treated his mate like trash, the pack treated her like trash.

I seared the steak, the smell of blood making my stomach turn. I placed it on a plate and carried it out to the dining room.

Chloe sat at the head of the table-my seat. Donovan sat beside her, hand resting on her knee.

"Here," I said, placing the plate down.

Chloe looked at the meat, then at me, a smirk playing on her lips. "It looks a bit tough. Did you cut it properly?"

"It's fine, Chloe," Donovan said, but his eyes were on me, narrowing. He looked... uncomfortable. He rubbed his chest, right over his heart.

For a moment, I wondered if his wolf was reacting to the injustice. The Inner Wolf has a moral compass, even if the man doesn't. But then Chloe placed her hand over his, and whatever clarity he had vanished.

"Let's go inspect the borders," Donovan said abruptly, standing up. "You stay here, Isabella. Stay out of sight."

"Gladly," I muttered as they left.

The moment the door closed, I ran upstairs. I pulled a suitcase from under the bed. I didn't pack clothes or jewelry. I packed my documents. My fake passport. The bank account details where the fifty million would land.

Then, I began the cleaning.

I took a bottle of industrial-strength neutralizer spray. I sprayed the bed, the closet, the bathroom. I wiped down every surface I had touched. I wanted to erase myself. When I left tomorrow, I didn't want a single molecule of my scent remaining in this house.

My phone buzzed with a news notification.

"Alpha Donovan Blackwood and Chloe Sanders spotted on luxury yacht. Is a new Luna rising?"

I clicked the link. The photo showed Donovan laughing-actually laughing-holding a glass of champagne, with Chloe draped over his shoulder. The caption speculated that they were preparing for their "pre-heat cycle."

My heart didn't break. It had turned to stone years ago.

I went to the bathroom cabinet and took out a small vial. It was the last dose of the herbal concoction my mother had given me. It tasted like dirt and ash.

I drank it in one gulp.

The potion burned my throat. It locked Seraphina away in a cage of shadows, suppressing the White Wolf blood, suppressing the mate bond, suppressing the pheromones.

I looked at my reflection.

"Goodbye, Isabella," I whispered. "Tomorrow, you die. And Ava will finally breathe."