My Reborn Husband Didn't Choose Me? I Flash Married a Firefighter!

Elinor POV

The air outside Doctor Elara's office always smelled the same-antiseptic paste, dried sage, and the metallic tang of disappointment. I clutched the paper bag containing yet another blend of "fertility herbs" to my chest, the crinkling sound echoing loudly in the silent corridor of the Silver Moon Pack's medical wing.

Seven years. For seven years, since the day my father betrothed me to Alpha Adrian Sharpe of the Black Creek Pack, I had tried to fulfill my only purpose: to provide an heir that would cement the merger of our two packs. But my womb remained as silent as my soul. I was *wolfless*-a defect, an Omega without an inner wolf to guide me or heal me.

"Poor thing," a hushed voice drifted from around the corner. I froze, pressing myself against the dark wood paneling. It was two of the cleaning staff.

"She still thinks the herbs will work?" the second voice scoffed, low and cruel. "Alpha Adrian has the patience of a saint, pretending to care. Everyone knows he'd never let a wolfless runt carry his pup. It would weaken the bloodline."

"I heard he was with Ariel again last night," the first one whispered. "That's who his wolf truly wants. Not the Ramsey girl."

Ariel.

The name struck me harder than a physical blow. The bag in my hands trembled. Adrian had always been kind, always telling me that my lack of a wolf didn't matter, that we would build a family regardless. Was it all a lie? A political performance to keep my father's loyalists in check until the merger was absolute?

By the time I returned to the Alpha's Wing that evening, the doubt had festered into a poisonous resolve.

The bedroom was bathed in the golden light of early summer, but I felt cold. On the mahogany table sat my nightly bowl of "tonic"-a dark, bitter sludge Adrian insisted I drink for my health. He had just left for his study to handle a pack dispute via Mind-Link, leaving his leather briefcase on the velvet sofa. He never let me touch it.

Trust is the foundation of a pack, he would say. But trust had shattered in that corridor today.

My hands shook as I undid the brass buckles. The leather creaked, a sound like a warning.

The first thing that hit me was a scent that wasn't mine. It was cloying and sweet, like sugared jasmine-a female wolf's scent. It clung to the lining of the bag. My stomach churned.

Digging deeper, my fingers brushed against cold glass. I pulled out a small, unlabeled vial filled with a viscous, dark liquid. I uncorked it and sniffed.

My heart stopped.

It smelled of earth, ash, and a distinct, acrid bitterness. It was the exact same smell that wafted from the bowl of tonic sitting on the table behind me.

This wasn't a fertility aid. I had spent enough time in the library to recognize the scent of concentrated Wolfsbane and suppressants. He