After My Alpha’s Betrayal, The Lycan King Claimed Me

The camera flashes were blinding, a relentless storm of lightning that left spots dancing in my vision. I forced the corners of my mouth upward, plastering on the smile I had practiced in the mirror a thousand times. It was the smile of a future Luna—perfect, poised, and completely hollow.

"Closer," a photographer shouted from the press pit.

Alpha Adrian Hayes tightened his grip on my waist. To the world, it looked like a possessive, loving embrace. To me, it was a vice. His fingers dug into the silk of my dress, bruising the skin beneath.

"Smile brighter, Haisley," he hissed in my ear, his voice a low growl only I could hear. "You look like a corpse. Do not embarrass me."

I widened my smile until my cheeks ached. "Yes, Alpha," I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

We were the Silver Moon Pack’s "power couple." The strong, hereditary Alpha and his loyal childhood sweetheart. It was a lie. A beautiful, glittering lie constructed to keep the pack alliances stable while Adrian secured his real future elsewhere. I was just the prop.

"That’s a wrap!" someone yelled.

The moment the cameras cut, Adrian released me as if I burned him. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cold indifference that had defined my life since his wolf awakened and mine... didn't.

"Get out of that dress," he commanded, turning his back on me to check his phone. "It costs more than your life. Don't wrinkle it."

"I—I will, Alpha," I stammered, clutching my side where his fingers had left their mark.

"And report to the Alpha Suite immediately," he added, not looking up. "Jayla says her ankles are swollen again. She needs a massage."

My heart fractured a little more, though I thought there was nothing left to break. "Understood."

Twenty minutes later, the silk gown was back in its garment bag, and I was dressed in my reality: the rough, grey uniform of a servant. I climbed the stairs to the Alpha Suite, my legs heavy. This was the house where my mother had served, where she had been broken by the former Alpha. Now, history was repeating itself.

I knocked softly.

"Enter," Jayla’s voice drawled.

The suite smelled suffocatingly of vanilla and synthetic roses. Jayla Stevens, Adrian’s chosen mate, was lounged on the velvet chaise, rubbing her rounded belly. She looked at me with a smirk that didn't reach her eyes.

"Took you long enough," she snapped. "My feet are killing me. The heir is active today."

I knelt at her feet without a word, pouring oil into my hands. As I began to knead her swollen ankles, Jayla let out a deliberate puff of air, releasing her scent. It was potent, thick with pheromones designed to assert dominance. For a wolf like me—dormant, weak, an Omega in all but name—it was nauseating. It made my head spin with static.

"Careful with those rough hands," Jayla sneered, leaning forward. "I suppose it’s a blessing you’re broken, Haisley. You’ll never have to worry about the toll carrying a powerful Alpha pup takes on a body. You wouldn't survive it."

I bit the inside of my cheek, focusing on the movement of my hands. "I am here to serve, Jayla."

"That you are."

The door opened, and Adrian strode in. The air in the room shifted instantly. He didn't even glance at me kneeling on the floor. He went straight to Jayla, his face softening in a way it never did for me.

"How is he?" Adrian asked, placing a large hand on her stomach.

"Strong," Jayla cooed, shooting a triumphant look over his shoulder at me. "But your little helper is being a bit rough."

Adrian finally looked at me, his eyes cold. "Be gentle, Haisley. If you bruise her, you’ll sleep in the cells."

"Yes, Alpha," I whispered. I was invisible. I was furniture.

I finished the massage in silence, my chest tight, then excused myself. Neither of them watched me leave.

I needed air. I needed to breathe. I ran out the back servants' entrance, past the manicured lawns, and toward the edge of the territory. There was a small, overgrown garden near the stream where my mother used to grow herbs. It was the only place that felt like mine.

The night air was biting, but it felt good against my flushed skin. I collapsed onto a stone bench, my fingers finding the locket around my neck. I popped it open, staring at my mother’s smiling face in the moonlight.

"I can't do this anymore, Mom," I sobbed into the silence. "I'm drowning."

A twig snapped.

I froze, wiping my eyes frantically. "Who's there?"

From the shadows of the tree line, a massive shape emerged. It was a wolf—but not one from our pack. He was gigantic, his fur as black as the void between stars, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. He should have been terrifying. A rogue of that size could tear me apart in seconds.

But I didn't feel fear.

The static noise that usually buzzed in my head—the constant pressure of the pack link and my own dormancy—suddenly went silent. Peace washed over me, cool and absolute.

The wolf lowered his massive head and nudged my hand with a wet nose. I gasped, freezing, but he didn't bite. He whined softly, a sound that vibrated in my chest.

Then, the sound of cracking bones filled the air. I looked away instinctively, and when I looked back, a man stood there. He was tall, radiating a power that made the air crackle, yet he held a simple white handkerchief out to me.

I stared at him, bewildered. "Who... who are you?"

He didn't answer immediately. He just pressed the cloth into my trembling hand, his fingers brushing mine. A spark, like static electricity but warmer, jumped between us.

"Storms don't last forever, little wolf," he said, his voice deep and resonant, like the earth shifting. "Remember that."