FROM REJECTED SLAVE TO MOTHER OF THE ALPHA KING'S HEIRS

The rain came down in sheets, wild and merciless. It howled against the rooftops, hammering like fists upon stone, the wind slicing through the night until every raindrop stung Lois’s skin like needles. She sprinted toward the mansion, soaked to the bone, her dress clinging to her trembling frame as she pushed through the heavy doors. Shivering, teeth chattering, she barely caught her breath before the venom struck.

“Stay right there, wench! Don’t you dare drip your filth across my floor with that drenched, worthless body!” Lady Vetta’s voice cracked like a whip across the grand hall.

Lois froze, clutching the dress box tightly, dripping puddles where she stood.

“What took you so long, you pathetic animal?” Sandra’s shrill voice followed as she snatched the box from Lois’s hands. “I couldn’t wait another second to see my dress!”

Sandra tore open the box with greedy fingers, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, Mother, look at this! What an eye-catching piece. This season, perhaps I’ll finally find my mate.”

Lady Vetta’s gaze softened at her daughter, admiration replacing the cruelty that still lingered for Lois. “Indeed, darling. A gown like this might catch the eye of an Alpha.” She smiled faintly, then dismissed Lois with a cold glance as though she were nothing but a shadow in the room.

Lois stood silently, drenched, her limbs quaking with cold as her stepsister and stepmother admired the gown. She dared not move without permission. Ever since her mother’s death when Lois was only ten, her life had spiraled into torment. Her father’s remarriage to Lady Vetta had brought Sandra into her world—a sister only in name, whose arrogance and spite knew no end. When her father died on a business trip, everything collapsed. The estate, the wealth, the documents—all swallowed up by Lady Vetta, leaving Lois with nothing but chains of servitude.

Her life was reduced to a slave’s existence within her own father’s house, treated with contempt, despised at every turn. Yet even in the darkness, a flicker of hope burned within her. One day my mate will come. One day I’ll leave this nightmare behind.

“This season… this is the one,” Lois told herself in silence, a fragile smile tugging at her lips despite the cold. My mate will come for me, love me when no one else will. I’ll finally be free.

But her reverie shattered at Sandra’s mocking voice.

“Four seasons have passed, and still no mate. Perhaps yours is already dead. Or perhaps you’re mateless altogether.” Sandra smirked, venom dripping from her words.

“Don’t speak such things, darling,” Lady Vetta soothed quickly, though her eyes flickered with calculation. “This season will be different. You’ll see.”

Sandra’s temper flared. “Don’t make me pitiful, Mother! Imagine the shame if Lois—Lois—finds her mate before I do! She’s only eighteen, and I’m twenty-two, yet I remain mateless. How could this be?” Her voice rose, sharp and grating, bouncing off the high ceilings.

Lady Vetta’s face darkened. She turned her fury toward Lois. “Out of my sight, wench! Go!”

Lois didn’t hesitate; she fled upstairs, her heart pounding.

The moment she was gone, Lady Vetta leaned close to Sandra. “I have a plan.”

Sandra’s eyes widened. “What plan?”

“There’s only one option left for us—mate-poaching.”

Sandra gasped. “Mother, that’s a grave offense! They execute people for that!”

Lady Vetta’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Not if it’s done through the Wolf-Brothering ritual. I’ve been feeding that girl wolfsbane for months. Her wolf is weak, ripe for the taking. When the ritual is complete, her wolf will leave her and take root in you. Her mate will never know. He’ll find you instead.”

Sandra’s breath caught. “Her mate? But who—”

“Another surprise.” Lady Vetta’s tone dripped with triumph. “Her late father told me long ago—Lois is betrothed to a prince. He is due to seek her this very season. And we will make sure he claims you.”

Sandra’s eyes gleamed, a wicked grin stretching across her face. “Mother… this is perfect.”

ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ꁞ

The next morning, Lois entered the dining room, startled to see the table filled with lavish dishes. Her pulse spiked with panic—had she overslept? Her stepmother’s wrath would be merciless.

But then—“Sister!” Sandra greeted brightly, smiling as though nothing were amiss. She clutched the very box Lois had retrieved last night.

Lois blinked, utterly confused. “Are… you speaking to me, my lady?”

“Of course,” Sandra cooed sweetly. “You’ll find your mate this season, so I want you to have my dress. You deserve to look your best.”

Lois froze, suspicion stirring. Sandra had never been kind to her.

“Oh darling,” Lady Vetta scoffed from her seat. “This wench isn’t worthy of such a gift.”

Lois shook her head quickly. “She’s right. I couldn’t dare wear something so fine, my lady.”

But Sandra pressed the box into her hands with insistence. “I said take it. Wear it. For me.”

Lady Vetta’s eyes flickered with quiet approval. Their act was convincing. Lois bowed, still puzzled but too afraid to argue, and went upstairs to change.

The moment she left, Sandra whispered eagerly, “Mother, it’s working. The shaman should be here soon.”

Lois returned moments later in Sandra’s gown, the fabric clinging elegantly to her frame. Sandra’s stomach twisted with envy. She loathed how stunning the wench looked in her dress.

“Beautiful,” Sandra forced through clenched teeth. “I even prepared you a meal. Eat.”

Lois hesitated. The food tasted strange, bitter and salty, but she dared not refuse. Moments later, dizziness washed over her. Her vision blurred. Her body went limp.

Sandra wasted no time. Dragging a dress from Lois’s wardrobe, she slipped into it and lay opposite her unconscious sister on ritual racks prepared by the shaman. Dark chants filled the chamber, echoing with sinister energy.

Sandra arched as a jolt of electricity ripped through her body. Her muscles convulsed, her senses exploded, and suddenly—she smelled it. Floral notes of rose and vanilla. Sweet, warm, intoxicating. Lois’s scent was hers now. Her aura shimmered with a new life.

“The ritual is done,” the shaman warned. “Never wear her dress again. When her mate comes, he will see only you. He will be drawn to you and claim you as his.”

Sandra burst into manic laughter. Triumph roared in her chest.

ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ꁞ

When Lois awoke hours later, disoriented and aching, she remembered nothing. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, forcing herself up. “Tonight, I’ll go to the soiree. I’ll find my mate and escape this hell forever.”

But when she rushed into the sitting room, she froze. Sandra stood there, glowing, dressed like royalty.

Then—her senses ignited. A deep, earthy scent swept through her, powerful and dominant, filling her with warmth and weakness. Her wolf stirred violently. Mate.

“My mate… he’s near,” Lois gasped, her voice trembling. Sandra and Lady Vetta’s smiles faltered, panic flashing in their eyes.

The door burst open. A servant bowed deeply. “My lady, Alpha King Karl of the Hale Kingdom is here, bearing an invitation from Lord Marrok’s estate!”

Lois’s heart leapt. Him. He’s the one. He’s mine.

“Let him in!” she blurted without thought, her body trembling with anticipation.

And then—he entered. A towering presence, cold and magnificent. His stride was commanding, his chiseled features set in stone. His eyes—piercing, merciless, divine—locked the room in silence.

Lois’s heart thundered. Every beat sent lightning through her. He’s here. He’s my freedom.

He stopped. His gaze swept over her, then past her… and landed on Sandra.

“Mate,” his voice rumbled like a storm, shaking the air. He strode forward, his hands closing around Sandra’s waist.

Lois froze, the world collapsing.

“My mate,” Alpha Karl declared, crushing Sandra’s lips with his own.

Sandra melted into him with a smile of pure triumph. “Yes,” she whispered breathlessly. “I’m your mate.”

And Lois—her heart shattered. Tears blurred her vision as her hope, her freedom, her very soul—was stolen before her eyes.