His Forsaken Omega, The Alpha King's Ruin

For fifteen years, I was the destined mate of the formidable Alpha, Dustin Powell. He called me his Anchor, the only one who could soothe the beast within him.

But our perfect world shattered when I felt his betrayal through our psychic bond: the scent of another woman, a flash of her red nails on his thigh. My inner wolf howled in agony.

He lied about urgent pack business on my birthday, but I found a single bleached-blonde hair in his car. At the restaurant where we first met, I discovered his secret phone and saw the explicit texts from his assistant, Jami. *“Are you with her now? Is it as boring as you say?”* she taunted.

Then came the picture message: Jami holding a Tiffany's box he’d bought for her. *“Can’t wait for you to put this on me tonight, Alpha.”* The poison of his betrayal made me physically sick.

My pack's Healer confirmed my illness wasn't food poisoning but a "Soul-Rejection"—our bond was so contaminated by his affair that my very soul was rejecting him. That night, Jami sent me a final, vicious psychic attack: a picture of her positive pregnancy test. *“His bloodline belongs to me now. You lose, old woman.”*

I had been his anchor, but an anchor can also choose to let go. I called my lawyer. "I want nothing from him," I said. "Not a cent. I want to be free." This wasn't an escape; it was a carefully planned retreat. His world was about to collapse, and I was going to be the one to light the match.