Rejected Luna Becomes the Supreme Alpha

I stared at the papers scattered across my kitchen table, the words blurring together through the haze of disbelief. The courier envelope lay crumpled on the floor where I'd dropped it, its official seal torn open like a wound.

"A nobody Omega isn't worthy of an Alpha."

The words were printed in cold, clinical font, but I could feel the indentations where the lawyer's pen had pressed too hard against the carbon paper beneath. Five years of marriage reduced to a single, brutal sentence. I traced my finger along the embossed letterhead—Dominic's new legal team, no doubt funded by his recent "success."

I pushed back from the secondhand table, its legs wobbling slightly on the uneven floorboards. Everything in this cabin was carefully chosen—cheap furniture from estate sales, threadbare curtains from discount stores, a life meticulously crafted to appear struggling. The performance of poverty had become second nature, each prop selected to maintain the illusion of Sera the powerless Omega.

But as I moved through the cramped space, my fingers automatically checked the hidden panel behind the refrigerator where I kept my encrypted phones. If Dominic only knew that his "nobody Omega" had been the invisible hand guiding his empire. Every Alpha training session, every territorial expansion, every war fund—all of it traced back to accounts bearing names he'd never recognize.

I settled back at the table, studying the divorce papers with the same analytical precision I once used to review military contracts. Dominic's lawyers were efficient, I'd give them that. They'd divided our "meager" shared assets with surgical precision, allocating me exactly what a discarded Omega deserved. The documents made no mention of the late-night calls to Swiss banks, the shell companies that had quietly funded his rise to power, or the woman who had burned every bridge to build his future.

A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts—aggressive, demanding. I didn't need to check the peephole to know who it was. Only one person knocked with that particular brand of entitled impatience.

Eleanor Mills pushed through the door before I could fully open it, her designer heels clicking against my worn linoleum. Dominic's mother surveyed the cabin with undisguised contempt, her lip curling as she took in the secondhand furniture and faded wallpaper.

"Caroline," she said, using the false name I'd adopted for this charade. "I need to ensure you understand the situation."

Her gaze swept the room like a predator marking territory. "This is what you used to trap him? This... hovel?"

I remained silent, watching her perform her ritual of superiority. Eleanor had always been a master of psychological warfare, wielding her status like a blade.

"You're a parasite," she continued, her voice gaining momentum. "You latched onto him during a vulnerable period, dragging him down to your level." She gestured dismissively at our modest surroundings. "A real mate would elevate him, not trap him in this kind of... existence."

The words should have stung. Once, they might have. But something cold and calculating had settled in