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"I thought you were the man who saved me. I didn't know you were the one who set the fire." The day my father gambled away my life was the day I learned that some monsters don't have claws—they wear tailored suits and drink vintage scotch. To the world, Abram is a philanthropist, a billionaire, and the undisputed King of the Lycan Underground. To me, he is the man who bought my freedom for the price of a debt he secretly engineered. He calls me his "Little Wolf." He dresses me in diamonds that feel like cold chains and keeps me in a soundproof penthouse where my screams are just background music to his obsession. He is the Gentle Gaslighter. He whispers that he loves me while he wipes the blood of my past from his hands. He tells me I have nowhere else to go, forgetting that he was the one who burned every bridge behind me. But Abram made one fatal mistake: He taught me how to survive him. Underneath my silk gowns and practiced smiles, the girl he "broke" is dead. In her place is a master manipulator who has learned to weaponize his own obsession against him. I will let him mark me. I will let him believe he won. And when he is at his highest, I will show him that a velvet noose still strangles just as surely as a hemp one. He told me I was his entire world. Now, I’m going to end it. Tropes: * Mafia Alpha x Captive Omega * Age Gap (42 & 20) * He Falls First (Obsession) * Vengeance/Revenge Rebirth * Betrayal & Tragic Twist
View MoreChapter 1
CHAPTER 1
Chapter 1: The Debt
"Please, Dad. Stop. You’re hurting me!"Elara stumbled as her father dragged her down the hallway. His grip on her arm was like a vice, bruising her skin. He didn’t look back. He wouldn't even meet her eyes.
"Shut up, Elara," he snapped, his voice shaky. "Just... shut up and let me fix this."
He kicked open the heavy doors to his study. The room felt freezing, the air-con cranked way too high. Abram Silas was already there, sitting behind her father’s desk like he owned the place. He was nursing a glass of scotch, looking bored and dangerous.
"You’re late, Miller," Abram said. His voice was a low growl that made Elara’s stomach do a somersault.
"I have her," Elara's father panted, shoving her forward.
Elara tripped, her palms slapping hard against the cold floor. "Ow! What the hell, Dad?"
"The northern territory is a total loss, Abram," her father hurried to say, ignoring her. "The bank pulled the loans, the rogue attacks destroyed the crops—I don't have the cash. But we had a deal. A life for the debt."
Elara’s head snapped up. "A life? What are you talking about? What deal?"
Her father finally looked at her, but there was no pity there. Only desperation. Elara felt a cold lump form in her throat. She knew how the pack saw her. She was the fourth daughter. The "wolfless" freak who couldn't shift. Her sisters were all married off to high-ranking Alphas, bringing in money and power. She was the only one left. The spare part.
Abram stood up. He didn't even look at her father. He walked around the desk, his boots clicking slow and heavy on the floor. He stopped right in front of Elara.
He reached down, hooking a finger under her chin to force her to look at him. His eyes were like ice.
"Your father owes me millions," Abram said, his thumb brushing her jaw. "He can't pay. But you? You're a lot more interesting than a bank transfer."
"I'm not a piece of property," Elara gasped, trying to pull away. "Dad, tell him! You can't just give me away!"
"I have to!" her father yelled, his voice cracking. "The pack is broke, Elara! Thousands of people will be homeless. Do you want that? You want your sisters to starve because you’re being selfish?"
The guilt hit her like a punch to the gut. Selfish? He was the one who gambled the pack’s future, and now he was using her lack of a wolf as an excuse to throw her away.
Abram checked his watch. "The sun sets in five minutes, Miller. Either she comes with me, or I sign the eviction papers for the whole territory. Decide. Now."
"Take her," her father whispered. He didn't even hesitate. "Take her and we're even."
He turned and bolted out of the room. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud.
Elara stared at the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was alone with the man they called the Butcher of Blackwood.
Abram grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. He didn't care if she was steady or not; he just held her in place. He leaned in close, smelling like expensive cologne and something sharp, like steel.
"Don't look so scared," he whispered in her ear. "You’re moving into a palace."
He started pulling her toward the back exit. Elara tried to dig her heels in, but it was like trying to stop a freight train.
"Just one thing," he added, his voice dropping to a dark, jagged edge. "The palace doors? They only lock from the outside. You aren't a guest, Elara. You're mine."
Latest chapter
ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter 50
"Pull the net, you lazy bastard! The tide is turning and I’m not losing this haul because you’re staring at the horizon again!" Old Marco spat a glob of brown tobacco juice onto the salt-crusted deck, his eyes like glass shards under a frayed captain’s hat.Abram didn't snap back. He didn't even look up. He hauled the heavy, slime-slicked nylon over the gunwale, his back muscles bunching and rippling under a shirt that had long ago surrendered to the scent of diesel and dead scales. His knuckles were raw, the skin split and scabbed over from months of salt-fretting. He moved like a machine—heavy, deliberate, silent."Yeah, yeah. Just keep the boat steady, Marco," Abram grunted. His voice was a jagged rasp, unused to anything more than three-word sentences. He shoved a crate of silver-bellied sea bass toward the hold, his boots skidding on the fish guts coating the floorboards."You're a weird one, Silas. Or whatever the hell your name is today," Marco muttered, turning the wheel with
Last Updated : 2026-03-14ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter 49
"Get the engine running, Vane! If that patrol boat rounds the cape before we hit deep water, we’re shark bait!" Abram hauled Elara toward the shoreline, his boots skidding on the loose shale. The morning air was sharp, tasting of salt and the lingering metallic tang of the fire they’d left behind.Vane spat a glob of blood into the surf and wrenched at the pull-cord of the battered outboard motor. "I'm on it! Just keep your head down and the kid quiet!"The baby remained eerily still against Abram’s chest, a warm, pulsing weight wrapped in a scorched wool blanket. Abram stopped where the wet sand met the foam. He looked at the horizon. The sun was a jagged red wound opening over the Atlantic, turning the water into a flat, blinding sheet of polished chrome."Abram, move! Why are you stopping?" Elara grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into the muscle. She was limping, her gait uneven from the fresh stitches pulling at her skin. "The boat is right there!"Abram didn't budge. He looked
Last Updated : 2026-03-14ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter 48
"Check the perimeter, Vane. If a single Council drone picks up the heat from this cellar, we’re done before the sun hits the horizon." Abram shoved the heavy stone hatch upward, his shoulder muscles bunching and screaming under the strain. Dust and ash filtered down, coating his sweat-slicked face in a grey mask.Vane didn't move from the shadows. He sat against the damp brick wall, his breath coming in shallow, wet wheezes. He gestured with a blood-stained hand toward the ladder. "I’m not... I’m not checking s**t, Silas. My lungs are half-full of Atlantic salt. You go. Take the girl. Take the brat.""You aren't staying here to rot. Get up!" Abram barked. He grabbed Vane’s collar, hauling him toward the light.They emerged into the ruins of what was once the Silas pride. The estate was a skeleton of charred black timber. Smoke rose in lazy, thin ribbons from the garden where Sloane’s body was currently being reduced to bone meal. The air tasted like burnt plastic and expensive scotch.
Last Updated : 2026-03-13ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter 47
"Don't move, you psychopath! Drop the piece or I'll blow your head across this garden!" Elara’s voice rattled, a wet, jagged sound that tore through the roar of the collapsing roof. She lay in the mud, her lower half a ruin of shredded silk and cooling blood, but her fingers locked around the grip of the Glock Abram had dropped. The weight of the metal was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.Sloane stood ten feet away, silhouetted against the white-hot skeleton of the estate. The laser dot on the infant’s forehead flickered, then died as Sloane’s hand trembled. She stared at the mess of birth and fire, her clinical mask finally cracking. "You... you shouldn't even be breathing, Elara. That much blood... it’s impossible.""I'm a mother, Sloane. 'Impossible' doesn't live here anymore." Elara ground her teeth, her jaw creaking. She didn't look at the baby. She didn't look at Abram. She focused entirely on the center of Sloane’s chest.Abram scrambled through the dirt, his knees di
Last Updated : 2026-03-13
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