His Defiant Omega: The Lycan King's Chosen Mate

Isabela POV:

A blinding flash of light cut through the dark.

My throat burned dry and raw. Gardenia scent flooded my lungs—Mother’s favorite flower, one that had disappeared from this house the day she died.

I lifted a hand to shield my eyes.

My skin was pale, smooth, and unmarked. Panic pricked me. I clearly remembered my hands caked with dirt and dried blood, nails broken and bleeding from scraping frantically at frozen earth in my last moments.

A loud, exaggerated sob echoed outside my bedroom door.

I knew that cry well—it was burned into my memory, the very sound that preceded my miserable death.

Georgia. My sister.

“I can’t marry Tristan Beaumont!” she wailed, her tone dripping with feigned despair. “He’s a monster! This marriage will destroy me!”

The words pierced my chest like shards of ice. My blood turned cold in my veins, and my breath caught. Every horrific detail of my past life crashed over me in an instant. This exact scene was where my nightmare had begun.

“Don’t fret, my love,” my stepmother Eleanor cooed, soothing her precious Georgia. “I’ll never force you to marry him.”

Father Alex’s impatient roar cut through her soft voice. “What of the alliance? We need the Beaumont family’s power now more than ever!”

Memories crashed over me unrelentingly.

Being forced to take Georgia’s place in the marriage. Marrying the cruel Tristan. Endless abuse and humiliation at the hands of my new family. Being sent on a deadly, suicidal mission solely for the Carter family’s gain. And finally, being ruthlessly abandoned to the feral wilderness rogues, left to die alone.

I jolted upright in bed, my legs shaking uncontrollably. I stumbled to the vanity, my heart hammering violently in my chest.

The girl staring back at me in the mirror was twenty years old. Wide green eyes swam with shock, quickly hardening into stark disbelief.

It was true. I was alive. I was back.

I brushed my fingers over my left wrist. A jagged, permanent rogue bite scar had marred this skin in my past life. Now, there was nothing but flawless, unbroken skin.

I swore a quiet, unbreakable oath to my reflection. I would never follow their cruel arrangements again.

Voices continued to murmur outside the door, laced with blatant greed and anxiety as the Carters plotted to fix their broken alliance.

I knew exactly what they would do next. They would suddenly “remember” the second Omega in this house—the quiet, obedient, disposable one.

Me. Isabela Carter.

Nausea twisted in my stomach, not from fear, but from burning, unbridled hatred. I dug my nails hard into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me firmly in this second chance at life.

The voices outside fell silent. Slow footsteps approached, stopping directly outside my door.

The doorknob clicked softly.

They’d come to seal my fate once more.

I forced my rigid muscles to relax and drew a slow, steady breath. I smothered the raging fury in my eyes, masking it with a drowsy, confused facade.

The game was starting again. But I would no longer be their helpless pawn.

The door creaked open. Eleanor’s polished face peeked in, plastered with fake concern.

“Isabela, dear, you’re awake? Is your head still sore?” Her voice was sweet, deceptive poison.

My heart turned to solid ice. I remembered this exact gentle tone—the one she’d used to lure me to my destruction in my past life.

I rubbed my temples and let out a vague grunt, playing the oblivious, docile daughter they knew.

Georgia stepped out from behind her mother, her eyes puffy and tear-streaked. When her gaze locked on mine, ugly calculation and contempt flashed clearly across her face.

I read her thoughts instantly. Good. The fool who can take my place and die is awake.

Alex did not bother to enter the room. His cold, commanding voice rang out from the hallway. “Clean yourself up. Come to the study at once. We have an important announcement.”

I bit back a bitter laugh. Important? For them, it was a scheme to secure their power. For me, it was the start of my long-awaited revenge—the prelude to their total ruin.

Eleanor flashed me a false reassuring smile and gently closed the door.

I turned back to the mirror. The timid, soft girl I’d once been was gone for good. Fear had vanished entirely, replaced by the sharp, lethal glint of a blade.

I touched my left wrist once more. The scar was gone, but the agony of being torn apart and left to die was branded forever on my soul.

That pain was my reminder. I would show these people no mercy.

I stood and walked to the closet, ready to don my armor for the farce that awaited me.

I brushed past all the soft, pale, delicate dresses I’d once worn blindly. Instead, I pulled out a sleek, dark, sharply tailored gown.

Today, the gentle, obedient Isabela died forever.