The Luna They Scorned, Now Reigns

They call me the "invisible wife," the domestic servant with a title. For eighteen years, I played the role of the weak, submissive Luna to my Alpha husband, Anthony.

But the scent of overripe peaches and another wolf's musk on his custom suit shattered my illusion.

He wasn't just cheating; he was popping illegal Bond-Blockers to numb our sacred connection, hiding his betrayal while I catered to his every whim.

Desperate for the truth, I tracked him to the Moonlight Hotel. I expected to find him in bed with his mistress, Katia.

I didn't expect to hear my own teenage son, Jacob, laughing with them.

"Mom is just a human in a wolf's skin," he sneered through the door. "I'm ashamed she's my mother. Katia is what a real Luna looks like."

His words cut deeper than any blade. They mocked my lack of scent. They called me a defect.

They didn't know the jagged scar on my chest exists because I poured my entire essence into Jacob's dying lungs the night he was born.

I became "weak" solely to keep him alive.

And this is how they repay me? By plotting to replace me with the woman spending my inheritance?

They want a powerful Luna? They're about to get one.

I wiped my tears and looked in the mirror, my hazel eyes flashing a blinding, predatory silver.

The White Wolf has been dormant for sixteen years, but tonight, at the Pack Gala, she wakes up to hunt.

Chapter 1

Alexandra POV:

The suit was expensive. Italian silk, custom-tailored to fit the broad, muscular shoulders of an Alpha.

I smoothed the lapel of my husband's jacket, preparing it for the dry cleaners. It was a mundane task, one fitting for Alexandra Wright, the "weak" Luna of the Silver Moon Pack. That's what they called me. The invisible wife. The domestic servant with a title.

Then, the scent hit me.

It wasn't subtle. It was an assault on my senses.

Buried beneath Anthony's usual cologne-a crisp sandalwood-was something else. It was cloying and sweet, like overripe peaches left to rot in the sun. Mixed with it was the undeniable, biological musk of a female wolf in heat.

My hands froze on the fabric.

Wolves have sensitive noses. Even an "Omega-level" weakling like me could distinguish scents. My chest tightened, an old ache throbbing beneath my sternum-the phantom pain of a sacrifice I made sixteen years ago.

My stomach churned. I dropped the jacket onto the bed as if it were burning.

I needed to sit down. I walked to the vanity, my legs trembling. On the counter sat the family iPad. It wasn't unlocked by mistake; I was the one who managed the pack's cloud synchronization. Anthony was too arrogant to understand how family sharing worked on Apple devices. He thought deleting a text on his phone deleted it everywhere.

I tapped the message icon.

It wasn't a text message. It was a transcription from the encrypted Mind-Link channel that I