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;