This Time, I Choose The Alpha King Male Lead

MINTHE

Modern 2026

* * *

"FUCK THAT VILLAINESS!"

The comments under the chapter are what finally piss me off.

“Oh my God, Pierre deserves better but the Alpha King and Lyria are soulmates”

“I’d choose Hades too.”

“Minthe deserved to die anyway! Good riddance.”

I stare at my phone screen in the dark, blinking slowly while rain hits my apartment window hard enough to sound violent. Midnight passed an hour ago. My ramen cup sits cold on my bedside table. My blanket is twisted around my legs because I’ve been rage-reading this stupid fucking werewolf novel for six hours straight.

The Crowned Omega.

Worst addiction of my life and a hundred and twenty chapters of bullshit.

Pierre Ashbourne is currently kneeling alone in the snow after watching the heroine run into another man’s arms, and the entire internet thinks this is peak romance.

I scroll further down the comments.

“He’ll always love her.”

“That’s what makes him beautiful.”

“Lyria belongs with the Alpha King.”

“Oh my God the way Pierre LET HER GO—”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “You people need therapy.”

My thumb rubs against my forehead as exhaustion settles behind my eyes. On the screen, Pierre is still kneeling there in the snow like a kicked puppy while the author writes paragraph after paragraph about how noble his suffering is.

Meanwhile, Minthe Vale—the villainess—is getting publicly executed in three chapters for obsessing over the Alpha King.

Which is insane to me because if I looked at one emotionally unavailable man and another man who actually worshipped the ground I walked on, I would choose correctly.

Every time.

I open the comments and start typing.

Actually, scratch that. I start violently typing.

“If I were Minthe Vale, I’d dump the crown-chasing bullshit, grab Pierre by the face, marry him myself, and let the heroine keep her terrifying Alpha King. Y’all keep romanticizing suffering but if a man knelt in the snow for me like that, I’m keeping him.”

I pause.

Then continue.

“Minthe literally died for a man who barely looked at her twice. Embarrassing. Couldn’t be me.”

I hit post.

The second my comment uploads, my screen glitches.

I frown.

“What the fuck?”

The text distorts.

Letters smear across the screen like wet ink. The brightness spikes so suddenly I jerk back, nearly dropping my phone onto my face. The room flashes white.

“Agh!” My ears ring. W-what is happening to me?

For one horrifying second, it feels like the mattress disappears beneath me.

Then—

Pain slams through my body.

I gasp awake so hard my lungs burn.

Voices explode around me.

“My lady—!”

“She’s awake!”

“Quickly, the corset—”

Cold hands grab my arms. I bolt upright instinctively, shoving someone away hard enough that a girl stumbles backward with a shriek.

“W-where am I?” I look around as silk curtains surround me.

Gold.

Velvet.

Candles.

My breathing turns shallow.

No.

No fucking way. I look at my hands, and then the bustling people around serving me. Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A screen suddenly flashes right in front of my face. W-what the hell?

I look around the maids and they don’t seem to see it as I do.

[YOU HAVE TRANSMIGRATED INTO A VILLAINESS FATED TO DIE. CHANGE YOUR FATE AS YOU SAID IN THE COMMENTS, READER!]

What the fuck?

“Is this a joke?”

A maid stares at me wide-eyed while clutching folded fabric to her chest. Another reaches for me cautiously.

“My lady, please calm yourself. We must prepare immediately. His Majesty’s audience begins within the hour.”

I stare at her. Then at myself.

Pale hands.

Long fingers.

A thin gold bracelet around my wrist that is not mine.

Absolutely not fucking mine.

My stomach drops so violently I almost throw up directly onto the expensive sheets.

“No,” I whisper.

The room spins.

I know this room.

I know these curtains.

I know the stupid chandelier hanging overhead because the author described it for three whole paragraphs during Minthe’s introduction chapter.

The Imperial Beta estate.

Minthe Vale’s bedroom.

“Oh, fuck me. No, no, no . . .”

One of the maids gasps so loudly you’d think I stabbed her.

“My lady!”

“No, not you,” I snap automatically, dragging both hands down my face. “Jesus Christ.”

Memory crashes into me all at once—her childhood. Her father. Her friends. Every single thing.

Minthe Vale.

Villainess.

The Villainess.

Daughter of the Imperial Beta House and someone who . . . someone who dies in chapter three!

She’s gonna have a future public execution!

She’s obsessed with the Alpha King.

Humiliates the heroine.

And dies miserably.

I sit there in silence while maids continue preparing clothes around me, my heartbeat pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

This can’t be real. But the mattress underneath me feels real. The perfume in the air feels real.

The weight of panic clawing up my spine definitely feels fucking real. A maid carefully approaches with a silver tray of jewelry.

“The sapphire necklace would best suit His Majesty’s preferences—”

“I don’t care about His Majesty’s preferences.” The words come out sharper than intended and the room goes silent as every maid freezes.

I inhale slowly.

Right.

Threatening nobles. Bad idea.

I close my eyes briefly, forcing myself to think.

Okay.

Okay.

If this follows the novel, today is the day Minthe begins publicly humiliating herself over the Alpha King.

Which eventually leads to her death in . . .

I look at one of the maids, “Hey—” I instinctively call. “Y-yes?” She stutters.

Shit, what was that? I’m not that mean! “I-I mean um . . . what day is it today?” I ask. “Today is the third of May, my lady.” She bows her head and scurries off like I’d bite her.

Third of may . . .

Third of May?!

That’s three days before Minthe—no, I die!

All because she’s obsessed with a man who, according to the entire fucking book, barely speaks.

I open my eyes again.

“Has the carriage been prepared?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“For the palace?”

“Yes.”

I swing my legs off the bed. “No. Change of plans. Screw all of it.” I demand. The maids stare blankly.

I stand, nearly tripping over the ridiculous amount of fabric hanging from the nightgown.

“Prepare the carriage for Ashbourne territory.”

Silence.

One maid blinks. “Ash . . . Ashbourne?”

“Yes.”

“But the Alpha King—”

“Can survive one day without me throwing myself at his boots.” I roll my eyes. Fuck him.

The maids look horrified which honestly? Fair. But I could care less.

I walk toward the mirror and there she is.

Minthe Vale.

Beautiful in that polished noblewoman way with dark hair falling over bare shoulders. Sharp eyes. Soft lips. The kind of face authors give villainesses before ruining their lives for plot development.

I stare at my reflection for a long moment.

Then I point at her.

“We are not dying over a man.”

The reflection, unfortunately, offers no opinion.

I’m not choosing the Alpha King today.

We are not gonna follow the novel!

Give it up for me, Pierre Ashbourne. Here I come!

* * *

The road to Ashbourne territory is hell.

The mud splashes against the carriage wheels while cold wind rattles the windows. By the time we cross into border territory, the scenery changes completely.

If the Imperial Pack was polished marble, then Ashbourne Pack looks half-dead. There are broken fences everywhere. Starving livestock. Thin people walking through the streets with their heads lowered.

The air smells like smoke and wet dirt.

Damn.

The novel really undersold how fucked this place is. It’s different if you actually see it in real life. A sigh leaves my lips and I close the window. I took a carriage because I still don’t know if I even have a wolf! They usually do but I’m scared.

The carriage stops outside the pack manor. But calling it a manor feels generous. The building looks exhausted.

Guards immediately approach with weapons drawn.

“State your business.” He growls. I step out carefully, lifting my skirts. “I’m here to see Alpha Pierre Ashbourne.”

One guard eyes the crest on the carriage and stiffens.

“The Imperial Beta House?”

“Unfortunately.”

His expression twists with confusion, “Wait here.” he says.

I do. Mostly because I don’t think my legs work properly anymore.

Holy shit.

I’m actually doing this.

A few minutes later, the manor doors open.

And Pierre Ashbourne walks out.

Oh.

Oh, the author was fucking evil.

Because no one told me the tragic second male lead looked like that.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair falling over his forehead carelessly.

He looks tired. Dangerous too, but not in the polished terrifying way the Alpha King supposedly does. Pierre looks worn down by responsibility. As if he hasn’t slept in weeks.

His eyes land on me with utter cold suspicion.

“Lady Minthe.” His voice is rough and I quickly swallow.

Right.

Words.

Use words.

“Hi.” I mutter. Excellent start.

Pierre looks unimpressed already. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Straight to business. Makes sense.

I glance at the guards around us.

“C-can we talk privately?”

“No.”

“Okay. Love the trust issues.”

One of the guards coughs to hide a laugh but Pierre’s eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re a noblewoman from the capital who arrived unannounced at my territory. Give me one reason I shouldn’t send you back immediately.” he growls and I grit my teeth.

I can’t tell you.

Because in six months your trade advisor sells your routes to the eastern merchants.

Because one of your elders is stealing tax money.

Because your beta dies protecting you during an ambush.

Because you spend years suffering over a woman who doesn’t choose you.

Instead, I smile faintly.

“Because I know things I shouldn’t.”

That gets his attention.

I watch it happen in real time as I see the the tiny shift in posture. Stillness. Predator.

Pierre steps closer slowly. “What things?”

“The eastern trade route you’ve been trying to negotiate?”

His expression hardens instantly.

“It’s already compromised.” I mutter. Silence engulfs us both. One guard straightens and Pierre’s gaze sharpens on my face.

“How would you know that?”

“Your advisor sold the route information three weeks ago.”

“You’re lying.”

“Check his office.”

Pierre stares at me and I stare back. Rain drips from the manor roof beside us. Finally, he says quietly, “If this is some political game—”

“It’s not.”

“Then what do you want?”

The truth sits right there on my tongue.

Because I know your future.

Because I pitied you.

Because I’d rather survive beside you than die chasing some emotionally constipated king.

Instead, I shrug lightly.

“A deal.”

* * *

Everything changes after the trade documents are found. Pierre doesn’t apologize for doubting me. He just starts looking at me differently.

Less dismissive. More careful.

Which honestly feels worse.

Weeks pass. Then months.

Ashbourne territory slowly crawls back to life.

I stand beside Pierre during council meetings while elderly men glare at me like I personally invented female opinions.

“She’s too young.”

“She’s reckless.”

“She’s right,” Pierre says flatly.

That shuts them up every single time.

The first time one of my predictions saves an entire supply convoy from ambush, Pierre corners me afterward in the hallway.

The manor is freezing.

Candles flicker against stone walls while servants rush past carrying papers and crates.

Pierre plants one hand beside my head against the wall.

“How do you know these things?”

There it is again.

That look.

Suspicion tangled with fascination.

I cross my arms.

“Maybe I’m psychic.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“You’re interrogating me.”

His jaw tightens.

“You appeared out of nowhere and solved problems my council has failed to fix for years.”

“Honestly? Your council is kind of incompetent.”

A laugh almost escapes him.

Almost.

It catches me so off guard I stare.

Pierre notices immediately.

“What?”

“You almost smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You did. That was practically joy.”

His hand slides from the wall. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet you keep letting me stay.”

His eyes hold mine for a second too long. That’s when I realize something dangerous. Pierre Ashbourne is starting to look at me the way he used to look at Lyria in the novel.

Oh.

Oh, this is working.

Months later, Ashbourne Pack finally celebrates its first profitable season in years. The manor is loud tonight.

Music.

Alcohol.

Pack members laughing downstairs.

Pierre sits alone in his office pretending paperwork is more important than the celebration happening for him. I smirk. What a typical emotionally damaged male lead behavior.

I walk in without knocking and Pierre doesn’t look up immediately.

“You should be downstairs.”

“You should stop acting eighty years old.”

That earns me a glance. He leans back in his chair slowly, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair messy from stress.

Goddess, no wonder the comment sections were insane over him.

“You’ve been avoiding the celebration for an hour,” I say.

“I dislike crowds.”

“You are literally an Alpha.”

“And?”

“And aren’t you people supposed to brood dramatically in public?”

Pierre snorts quietly.

Victory.

I walk around the desk and this time, he watches me carefully now.

“What are you doing?”

“Probably something stupid.”

“Minthe.” I stop beside his chair. Then, before my dignity can stop me, I slide directly onto his lap. Pierre goes completely still beneath me.

Oh my God.

Why is he so warm?

One large hand instinctively catches my waist. My heartbeat trips over itself.

Abort mission.

Abort—

“Minthe,” he says again, his voice lower now. But it’s too late. Commit to the bit.

I loop my arms loosely around his shoulders and grin.

“Do you wanna be my mate?”

Fuck, there. I said it.

I grit my teeth as Pierre stares at me.

Then slowly—slowly—a smirk pulls at his mouth.

W-what . . . did I really?

And for the first time since waking up in this world, I think—

Holy shit. I’m finally not going to die.

I’m gonna be Pierre Ashbourne’s Luna!