Chapter 1

Evelyn’s POV 

I was never meant to be an orphan omega. 

I, Evelyn Voss, daughter of Lycan King Alaric Voss— was born to rule, not to be claimed by an Alpha. 

So how did I end up as Evelyn Reed Thorne, wife of Alexander Thorne, Luna of the Shadowfang pack? 

Well, it all started seven years ago, Alexander and I were dating, I’d hidden my true identity and lied to him that I was an orphan; because Lycans and other wolves don’t mix, and my father did not approve of our union, so I ran away, took my late mother’s last name as mine, and married Alexander against my father’s wish.

So for seven long years, I buried that truth deep inside me, suppressing my strength with a moonstone necklace, my wolf, Veyra, my royal blood—all for him. All to stand by Alexander Thorne’s side as his quiet, unassuming wife. 

But today, that ends. He’s brought his mistress into our home, into our pack. Scarlett Hale, the spoiled daughter of the Crimson Ridge Alpha. And now, I’m done begging for scraps of his attention. 

I’m going to make him sign the divorce papers. One way or another. 

I pushed open the heavy oak door to Alexander’s office in the Shadowfang pack’s towering headquarters. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and coffee, and something else that made my stomach twist. 

He sat behind his massive desk, broad shoulders hunched slightly under the weight of exhaustion. 

Alexander Thorne was still devastatingly handsome, even after a red-eye flight: dark hair tousled, sharp jaw shadowed with stubble, those piercing gray eyes framed by the faint lines of fatigue. He’d just returned from a “business trip” to the city—I’d booked the plane tickets myself. Two tickets. Two hotel suites for two persons. And the name of the second person hadn’t been Evelyn Reed Thorne. It had been Scarlett Hale. 

“Here,” I said calmly, placing a thick stack of documents in front of him. “I need you to sign these.” 

He didn’t even glance up fully, just flicked his gaze over the top page before grabbing his pen. 

Wherever I pointed—initial here, signature there—he scrawled his name without question. Trusting me, as always. Or perhaps just too distracted to care. 

My wolf stirred inside me, a low growl rumbling in my mind. *His scent… it’s tainted. That woman’s perfume clings to him like a parasite.*

I forced a smile, shoving her down. *Not now. Soon, it won’t matter.*

And it really won’t. Soon, I will be free from all this. 

He finished the last page and slid the stack back to me. “Anything else?” 

I tucked the papers against my chest, my eyes lingering on him. A wave of bitterness surged through me then. Seven years of memories flashed before my eyes: his gentle touch in the early days, the way he’d pull me close under the moonlight, whispering promises of forever. 

But forever had expired the moment he chose her. 

“Oh,” he added casually, reaching into his drawer. He pulled out a neatly folded shopping list and a sleek black card, handing them over. “Pick up these things for me, would you? And get something nice for yourself too.” 

I glanced at the list. New-season luxury items—designer dresses, heels, lingerie. All in sizes that would drape perfectly over Scarlett’s curvaceous figure. Not mine. 

A sneer curled inside me, hidden behind my polite nod. The mistress gets thoughtful, curated gifts. His wife? A perfunctory card and an afterthought. 

My gaze drifted to his desk. A tube of crimson lipstick rolled slightly as he shifted papers. A delicate perfume bottle—half empty—sat beside his laptop. A silk scarf draped over the arm of his chair. Women’s things. Not mine. 

He’d brought her here. To his office.

The realization hit like a slap. I imagined that on this very desk—where we’d once spread out pack maps and dreamed of a future together—he’d had her. I imagined Scarlett sprawled across the mahogany, legs wrapped around him, her manicured nails digging into the back of his neck while she took what was supposed to be mine.  

The lipstick smear on the edge of the coffee mug wasn’t accidental. 

The faint indentations on the leather blotter weren’t from paperwork. 

The lingering trace of her perfume wasn’t from a casual visit. 

Heat surged through me, hot and vicious. Veyra rose up, fangs bared, howling in my mind: *He betrayed us! Rip his throat out. Burn this place down. Show him who we really are.*

For one dangerous second, I wanted to let her. I wanted to slam my palms on the desk, let the full force of my Lycan strength crack the wood in half, let my eyes bleed silver and watch the fear finally break through his exhausted mask. I wanted to scream every betrayal, every lie, every night I’d spent pretending to be less so he could feel more. 

My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails biting crescents into my palms. The air around me thickened, charged with the power I’d suppressed for seven years. 

*Do it,* Veyra snarled. *Make him bleed for what he’s done.*

No.

I dragged in a heavy breath through my nose, forcing the rage back down into the cage I’d built for it. If I exploded now—if I gave him even a glimpse of the truth—he’d never let me go. 

Alexander Thorne didn’t lose. He didn’t sign away anything he considered his without a fight.

I couldn’t risk it. Not when freedom was this close.

I smoothed the anger from my face, locked it behind the practiced mask of the quiet, compliant omega he believed me to be. My heart still hammered, but my voice came out steady, soft, perfectly controlled. 

“Will you be home for dinner tonight?” I asked, smile plastered on. 

He rubbed his temple, eyes avoiding mine. “No. I’ve got… things to handle.” 

Of course. Things named Scarlett. 

I nodded once and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind me, and the smile disappeared. My face went cold, blank. 

In the empty hallway, I flipped through the documents, pulling out the one clipped discreetly in the middle: the divorce agreement. His bold signature stared back at me—Alexander Thorne, in black ink. 

Memories flooded in despite my resolve. Our wedding under the full moon, his eyes burning with possession as he marked me. 

“Evelyn,” he’d whispered, thumb brushing over the fresh mark, “you are mine now. Forever. I will build an empire for us—for you. No one will ever take you from me. I’ll protect you, cherish you, put you above everything else. You’re my Luna, my heart, my only. I swear it on my life, on this bond, on the moon herself.”

I had believed him. Every word.

The way he had once looked at me, like I was his anchor, his everything. I truly believed he had loved me. 

But love, I realized now, could fade. 

My father’s warning from all those years ago echoed like thunder in my mind: *Evelyn, a Voss does not lower herself for anyone. Especially not for a werewolf Alpha chasing power.*

I’d ignored him. Run away. Hidden my true name, my strength, my crown. All for love. 

What a fool I’d been. 

I snapped photos of the signed pages with my phone and submitted them digitally to the City’s Werewolf Committee. Application for divorce: approved for review. 

Since his love only lasted seven years, then mine ends here too. 

One month. Thirty days until it’s final.

Then Alexander Thorne will be free of his “orphan omega” wife. 

And I, Evelyn Voss, will return to my throne. 

No more humiliation. No more compromise. 

This is my dignity—as a woman, as a Lycan princess.