Claimed by the Alpha King: His Secret White Wolf

Caroline POV:

The rich, buttery scent of puff pastry and savory mushrooms filled the kitchen. I slid the final Wellington beef onto a warm plate, its golden-brown crust a perfect shield for the tender filet mignon within. Three years. Three years I'd spent perfecting this life, this home, this role as the supportive partner to a rising star. Tonight was our anniversary, and everything had to be perfect.

The soft chime of the electronic lock echoed from the foyer. A surge of warmth spread through my chest. My husband-Colten was home. I quickly untied the apron from around my waist, tossing it onto the marble island and smoothing down my silk dress. My heart hammered against my ribs in a familiar, happy rhythm.

I walked towards the entrance hall, a smile already blooming on my face.

The heavy oak door swung inward.

And my smile froze, cracking like thin ice.

It wasn't just Colten. Standing beside him, her lips curled in a permanent sneer, was his mother, Meredith. She clutched a ridiculously expensive designer handbag like a weapon.

"Good heavens, what is that smell?" Meredith's voice, sharp and grating, cut through the warm air. She scanned our meticulously decorated Beverly Hills home as if it were a roadside motel.

The warmth in my chest turned to a cold, sinking stone. I forced my feet to move, taking her ridiculously heavy cashmere coat. "Hello, Meredith. It's the Wellington beef. Colten's favorite."

Colten avoided my eyes. He brushed past me when I reached for an embrace, his body stiff. "Long day, Caroline. I need a drink."

He headed straight for the crystal decanters on the bar cart, his back a rigid wall between us. The distance was a physical thing, a cold draft in our warm house. As he passed, a scent wafted from the collar of his shirt. It was subtle, expensive, and floral. It was not my perfume.

A knot of ice formed in my stomach.

Meredith settled onto the cream-colored sofa, running a gloved finger over the armrest as if checking for dust. "Caroline, dear," she said, her tone anything but dear, "we need to talk about your position."

"My position?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Colten is an A-list star now," she declared, her eyes sweeping over me with disdain. "He has a brand to maintain. An image. He needs a partner who complements that image. Someone with... standing."

The implication hung in the air, thick and suffocating. A girl with no family name, no pack of influence, was no longer suitable. I looked to Colten, my silent plea screaming across the room. Say something. Defend me. Defend us.

He just swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the clinking of ice the only sound he offered. His silence was louder than her insults. It was an agreement.

My throat felt tight, as if a hand were squeezing it. "I'll just get the decanter for the wine," I managed to say, my voice a strained whisper. I needed to escape their dual gaze, to breathe air that wasn't poisoned with contempt.

I turned and walked back toward the kitchen, my steps feeling heavy and loud on the polished hardwood floors. The magnificent dinner I'd prepared now seemed like a monument to my own foolishness.

In the relative shadow of the kitchen entryway, I reached for the heavy crystal decanter. My hands were trembling.

That's when I heard Meredith's voice, lowered to a conspiratorial hiss. "You have to get rid of her, Colten. And you have to do it cleanly. Before she gets any ideas about your earnings."

I froze, my fingers gripping the decanter so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Then came Colten's voice, stripped of all the warmth and affection I knew. It was cold, clinical, and utterly detached. "I'm already having the lawyers draft the agreement, Mother. She won't get a dime of what I've made since the new film deal. I'll make sure of it."

A tremor shot through my arm. The heavy decanter slipped, its base cracking against the edge of the marble island with a sharp, sickening clink.

The sound exposed me instantly.

The hissing from the living room stopped. A dead, heavy silence fell over the house. I couldn't hide. I couldn't pretend I hadn't heard.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, I forced myself to walk back out, the decanter held in my white-knuckled grip. I placed it on the coffee table with a deliberate, firm thud. My eyes locked onto Colten's.

"Explain what you just said."

He had the audacity to look surprised, but there was no panic in his eyes. He set his glass down. The mask of the loving partner dissolved, replaced by the cool, calculated expression of a businessman closing a deal.

"It's over, Caroline," he said, his voice flat.

He reached into the leather briefcase he'd dropped by the sofa and pulled out a sheaf of papers bound in a crisp blue cover. He tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed next to the decanter, a declaration of war.

DIVORCE AGREEMENT. The words were stamped across the front, each letter a separate stab to my heart. The air left my lungs in a rush, leaving me gasping, drowning in my own living room.

"You should be grateful," Meredith sneered from the sofa, a triumphant smirk on her face. "He's offering you a severance package. More than a girl like you deserves."

I ignored her. My entire world had narrowed to the man I had loved, the man I had supported, the man who was now a complete stranger. "The perfume," I heard myself say, the words tasting like ash. "On your collar. Is it Sloane Sterling's?"

Colten's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something-annoyance? guilt?-crossed his face before it was gone. "Yes," he admitted, his voice devoid of remorse. "Sloane understands my world. She can help my career. She's my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word, once ours, was now a weapon he used to execute me. The past three years of my life, every sacrifice, every late night I'd spent supporting his dreams while putting mine on hold, every ounce of love I'd poured into him-it all curdled into a giant, bitter joke.

He took a step closer, his face softening into that familiar, practiced look of sincerity. The one he used on camera. "Caroline, listen. This doesn't have to be ugly. I need you to be smart about this."

He was trying to use his actor's charm on me. The thought was so repulsive it made my stomach churn.

"I'm proposing a public relations divorce," he continued, his tone now gentle, persuasive. "We release a joint statement. 'Amicable split.' We're seen having coffee next week. We support each other on social media. It protects my image. When my new movie comes out, you can even come to the premiere. It will be good for both of us."

I stared at the face I once adored, a face I now wanted to claw. The sheer, unmitigated selfishness of his request was breathtaking. He hadn't just cheated and left me; he wanted to use our breakup as a prop for his career.

A guttural sound, something between a gasp and a laugh, escaped my lips. I pushed him, hard. The shove was so unexpected he stumbled back a step.

His mask of civility finally dropped. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Don't be a fool, Caroline! What are you without me? You're nothing! A failed artist living off my success!"

A cold, sharp anger sliced through the pain. "A parasite?" I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. "Who was it that begged their art school contacts to get you your first three auditions, Colten? Who stayed up all night running lines with you when you were just another wannabe actor?"

"You ungrateful bitch!" Meredith shrieked, rising from the sofa. "Don't you dare speak to my son that way! Our lawyers will bury you!"

My eyes fell to the divorce agreement on the table. That hateful blue folder. Without another thought, I snatched it up. I didn't open it. I didn't care what was inside.

My hands found the center of the thick stack of paper. With a strength born of pure rage, I ripped it in half.

RRRRIP.

The sound was violent, final. It echoed in the pristine, silent living room.

Colten and Meredith stared, their mouths agape in stunned disbelief.

I threw the two halves of the shredded agreement at Colten's chest. The papers fluttered and scattered at his feet.

"You can have your divorce," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "But I will not be a part of your goddamn show."

I turned my back on them, on the ruins of my life, and walked toward the grand staircase. Each step was a deliberate, defiant act. My spine was a rod of steel. I would not let them see me crumble.

Not yet.

Caroline POV:

I walked to the bedroom. I slammed the heavy bedroom door shut, the sound echoing the violent closing of a chapter in my life. The lock clicked into place, a flimsy barrier against the storm raging downstairs. I leaned my forehead against the cool, smooth wood, my body trembling with a fury so potent it felt like a fever.

Colten's muffled shouts came from the other side. "Caroline! Open this door! We need to talk about the other copy!"

His voice was the imperious command of a man used to getting his way.

I heard the doorknob rattle violently. He was trying to force it. Then came the heavy thud of his fist against the wood. Once. Twice.

"Don't be a child, Caroline! Sign the papers and you can walk away with something!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the sound of his voice. I walked on shaky legs toward the walk-in closet, a space bigger than my first apartment. One side was a meticulously organized collection of designer suits and custom-made shoes. another side was more modest.

My eyes landed on my oldest, most battered suitcase, tucked away on a high shelf. I dragged it down, the wheels rattling on the hardwood floor. With a cold, methodical efficiency, I began to pack. Only my things. The clothes I'd bought with my own money before he'd made it big. My worn-out sketchbooks. My collection of art history books.

In my jewelry box, nestled amongst the few nice pieces he'd bought me, was the engagement ring. It wasn't a diamond. It was a small, cheap moonstone we'd bought from a street vendor on our first trip together. He'd sworn one day he'd replace it with a rock that would blind people. He never did.

I picked it up, the moonstone cool against my skin. For a moment, a wave of grief so powerful it stole my breath washed over me. The memory of his proposal, his earnest eyes, his promises of forever. It was all a lie.

Without another thought, I turned and dropped the ring into the wastebasket beside the vanity. It landed with a soft, insignificant clink.

The pounding on the door had stopped. I heard his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall, followed by the distant roar of his sports car's engine as he peeled out of the driveway. He was gone. Good.

With my suitcase packed, I turned to the one place in this house that was truly mine. Connected to the master bedroom was my private art studio. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar scent of turpentine and oil paints a comforting balm to my frayed nerves.

I pulled the heavy blackout curtains closed, plunging the room into near darkness. The only light came from the soft glow of my computer monitor on the large drafting table. This wasn't just any computer. It was a custom-built, encrypted machine, connected to a secure, untraceable network.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in a long, complex password. The screen flickered to life, revealing an email inbox. It was not Caroline Dickson's inbox. This one belonged to "Argent"-my other identity.

The inbox was flooded with unread messages from agents, publishers, and studios, all clamoring for a piece of Argent, the anonymous, enigmatic comic artist whose latest series had become a cultural phenomenon.

I clicked on the most recent, top-pinned email. The sender was Robert Miller, the CEO of Momentum Studios. His message was practically begging. He was offering an obscene amount of money for the film adaptation rights to my latest work, "The Crimson Pact."

A bitter, ironic laugh escaped my lips. Just two weeks ago, Colten had been preening at a dinner party, bragging to his friends. "If I can just land the lead in 'The Crimson Pact' adaptation," he'd said, his eyes gleaming with ambition, "I'll be set for life. It's the role that will make me a legend."

He had no idea he was talking about my work. He thought I just dabbled in pretty landscapes. He thought my art was a "cute hobby."

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The grief was gone, replaced by a shard of ice in my veins. There was no hesitation now.

With quick, precise strokes, I typed out a reply. My tone was cold, imperious, exactly what the world expected from the mysterious Argent.

Mr. Miller,

Thank you for your generous offer. However, I am declining to sell the adaptation rights to 'The Crimson Pact.'

Furthermore, to be clear, I will never, under any circumstances, allow my work to be associated with any project involving the actor Colten Alvarez. Consider him permanently blacklisted from any and all things related to my intellectual property.

Argent.

I hit "send." The confirmation message flashed on the screen. A deep, satisfying breath left my lungs. It was a small act of revenge, but it was a start. I had just taken his dream and crushed it in my fist. I had reclaimed a piece of my power.

Just then, my phone, which I'd placed on the desk, buzzed. A New York number I didn't recognize. I answered, my voice wary. "Hello?"

"Is this Ms. Caroline Dickson?" a crisp, professional female voice asked.

"It is."

"This is Sarah from Mr. Hayes's office. You submitted an online inquiry with our firm last month regarding divorce counsel. Mr. Hayes has reviewed your preliminary information and would like to know if you are ready to formally retain our services and proceed."

The inquiry I'd made weeks ago, in a moment of doubt I had quickly suppressed. It seemed my subconscious had known what was coming.

"Yes," I said, my voice clear and steady. "I am. And tell Mr. Hayes I want him to find everything. Every hidden account, every offshore investment. Everything."

"He'll be pleased to hear that, Ms. Dickson. We'll be in touch."

She hung up. I looked around the studio, at the canvases leaning against the walls, at the life I had put on hold for him. There was no sadness, no regret. Only a cold, hard resolve.

I powered down the computer, then used a small screwdriver to open the casing. I carefully removed the solid-state drive, my entire life's work, my secret identity, contained on that small black rectangle. I slipped it into an anti-static bag and tucked it deep into my handbag. He would find nothing.

I zipped up my suitcase and walked out of the studio, out of the bedroom, and down the grand staircase.

Meredith was in the foyer, directing a maid to clean up the scattered pieces of the agreement. She saw me and my luggage, and a cruel, triumphant smile spread across her face.

"Leaving so soon?" she mocked. "Make sure you don't take anything that belongs to the Alvarez family. Not so much as a single pin."

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. My gaze swept slowly across the opulent foyer, lingering on the custom Italian chandelier, the antique Persian rug, the oversized abstract painting on the wall.

"Funny," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "I seem to recall paying the deposit for that chandelier with my first big commission check. And that rug? I bought it with the advance from my first graphic novel. In fact, most of the furniture in this house was purchased with my money, back when your son was still waiting tables and dreaming of his big break."

Meredith's face went from smug to slack-jawed. Her skin turned a blotchy, furious red. She was speechless.

I didn't wait for a reply. I walked to the front door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the blinding California sun. It felt like stepping into a new world.

A rideshare I'd ordered was already waiting at the curb. I put my suitcase in the trunk, slid into the back seat, and didn't look back. The house, the life, the man-they were all in my rearview mirror, shrinking until they were gone.

Caroline POV:

The car moved through the glittering, indifferent streets of Los Angeles. Each traffic light, each palm tree, was a landmark in a city that no longer felt like home. I gave the driver the address to a luxury apartment building in West Hollywood, a place I knew as well as my own.

A few minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb. I got out, retrieved my single suitcase, and walked into the marble-floored lobby. The doorman nodded at me with a familiar smile.

Upstairs, I stood before Hailee's door, my finger hovering over the doorbell. For the first time since leaving the house, a wave of exhaustion and vulnerability washed over me. I just needed a safe place to land. I just needed my best friend.

I pressed the button.

The door was thrown open almost immediately. Hailee stood there, wrapped in a pink silk robe, her blonde hair piled messily on her head. Her eyes widened in theatrical shock.

"Cara! Oh my god, what happened?" She pulled me into a tight, suffocating hug that smelled of expensive lotion.

She ushered me inside, taking my suitcase and rolling it into the living room. Her apartment was immaculate, all white furniture and gold accents. "Sit, sit," she insisted, pushing me gently onto a plush velvet sofa. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

As she bustled around making tea, I told her everything. The story spilled out of me-Colten's coldness, Meredith's cruelty, the other woman's perfume, the divorce papers, the demand for a fake, public breakup.

Hailee listened, her face a perfect mask of horrified sympathy. When I finished, she slammed her hand down on the coffee table.

"That absolute bastard!" she seethed, her eyes blazing with what looked like righteous fury. "That manipulative, cheating, soulless piece of trash! After everything you've done for him! I could kill him!"

Her anger was a balm. It validated my own. I felt a sliver of the tension in my shoulders release. See? I wasn't alone.

But then I told her about my next step. "I've already contacted a lawyer in New York," I said, taking a sip of the hot tea. "I'm going to fight him for everything he's hidden from me."

Hailee's furious movements stilled. Just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes before it was replaced by a look of deep concern.

She sat down next to me, taking my hand in hers. Her grip was a little too tight. "Cara, honey, are you sure that's a good idea?" she said, her voice soft and reasonable. "The Alvarezes... they're powerful. A big, messy court battle... it will be exhausting. The press will tear you apart. Are you sure you want to go through that?"

Her words were logical. They were sensible. But they felt wrong.

"He can't just get away with it, Hailee," I said, a new chill seeping into my bones.

"I know, I know," she soothed. "But maybe... maybe it's better to just take the settlement he's offering. Take the money, start fresh, and leave all this ugliness behind you. It's not worth the fight."

I pulled my hand away gently. Something about her eagerness for me to surrender felt off. It was more than just a friend's concern for my well-being.

Sensing my withdrawal, she quickly changed the subject. "Look, don't worry about any of that right now. You're safe here. And guess what? I have some news that might cheer you up." She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've been spending time with some people... some very important people. From the Lawson Pack. On the East Coast."

She flashed a brand-new Cartier bracelet on her wrist. "Things are about to change for me, Cara. I'm about to enter a whole new league."

I didn't care about her social climbing. Not now. A headache was beginning to pound behind my eyes. "Hailee, I'm just... I'm really tired. Can I just lie down for a bit?"

"Of course, of course," she said, her enthusiasm instantly replaced with solicitous concern. She showed me to her guest room, a pristine white space that felt as sterile as a hotel. "You get some rest. And please," she added, pausing at the door, "promise me you won't do anything rash. Don't call that lawyer back just yet. Let's talk it through in the morning."

I nodded, just to make her leave. The door clicked shut, and I collapsed onto the bed, the unfamiliar sheets cool against my skin. Sleep felt a million miles away. My mind kept replaying her words, her strange insistence that I back down. It felt less like advice and more like a warning.

My phone, which I'd left on the nightstand, began to vibrate violently. Colten's name flashed on the screen. I stabbed the decline button and immediately blocked his number.

A second later, a barrage of text messages began. It was Meredith. You will regret this. We will ruin you. If you don't cooperate, every dirty secret you have will be on the front page of every tabloid.

I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. I took screenshots of every single message. Evidence. Then I turned the phone off completely and tossed it onto the bed.

In the silence of the apartment, a faint sound reached me. Hailee's voice, low and muffled. She was on the phone. My werewolf hearing, a trait I usually ignored, sharpened the sound, pulling words from the murmur.

"...yes, she's here with me... No, she hasn't signed anything yet... Don't worry, I'll talk her around..."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. My entire body went rigid. There was only one person she could be talking to.

Slowly, silently, I slid off the bed. I crept to the door, my heart pounding a slow, heavy drum of dread against my ribs. I pressed my ear to the wood, then dared to peek through the tiny crack between the door and the frame.

Hailee was on her balcony, her back to me. Her posture wasn't that of a concerned friend. It was intimate, relaxed. She laughed softly, a flirtatious, cooing sound that made my stomach clench. She was talking to him. To Colten.

My best friend. My sister. She was in on it.

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. The urge to storm out there, to scream, to rip the phone from her hand, was overwhelming. But I crushed it. I was in her apartment. I was vulnerable. A public confrontation would solve nothing.

I backed away from the door, my movements stiff and robotic. I had escaped one viper's nest only to walk directly into another. The crushing weight of this second betrayal was almost too much to bear. There was no one. No one I could trust.

Except... maybe one person.

I grabbed my phone and turned it back on, my fingers fumbling with the buttons. I ignored the new flood of messages from unknown numbers. I went to my contacts and found her name.

Janae.

My fingers flew across the screen, typing out a single, desperate message.

I'm in trouble. I need you.

I hit send. The reply came back almost instantly.

Location. I'm on my way.

Relief, sharp and painful, lanced through me. I sent her my current location. Then, with a new, cold clarity, I walked over to my suitcase, which Hailee had so thoughtfully left in the corner of the room.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the darkness, my suitcase at my feet, and waited. The girl who had arrived here an hour ago seeking comfort was gone. In her place was someone I didn't recognize. Someone with eyes as hard and cold as stone.