His Defiant Omega's Secret Double Life

Anahi Vargas POV:

"Anahi, the Simon family raised you, and now our Pack is on the verge of bankruptcy. You must go to room 3208 and beg your 'husband', Carson Conley, for his help. I don't care if you have to kneel at his feet, just get his investment! If the Pack falls, the blood is on your hands. Don't be an ungrateful wretch!"

The heavy, guilt-tripping text message from my father, Arthur Simon, glared on my phone screen.

I am Arthur's biological daughter, but my stepmother, Eleanor, despised me. She poured all her love into her own daughter, my stepsister Bridgette, and convinced my father to publicly announce me as a mere adopted orphan to elevate Bridgette's status. Three years ago, terrified of Alpha Carson Conley's ruthless reputation, Bridgette refused their arranged marriage. My family used their so-called "upbringing" to morally blackmail me into taking her place. A secret marking ceremony bound me to a man I never saw again.

Now, they were doing it again. Using the Pack's survival to force me to beg a stranger for mercy.

The metal edge of the keycard dug into my palm. It was cold, unforgiving.

I looked up at the dark, solid wood of the door. Room 3208.

I forced down the humiliation, the resistance coiling in my gut. For the Pack, for the father who only used me, I had no other choice.

I raised my hand and swiped the card.

The lock clicked open with a soft beep.

I pushed the door and stepped inside. The room was pitch black.

A scent hit me like a physical blow.

It was overwhelmingly potent, a dominant Alpha scent that was both sharp and intoxicating. Cedarwood and whiskey. It belonged to Carson Conley, but it was more aggressive than I remembered.

And there was something else woven into it, something unnaturally sweet and scorching hot.

My Omega instincts flared to life. My legs went weak, a fire igniting deep inside me. This wasn't right. The smell was like a chemically induced Heat.

My first instinct was to back out, to run.

But a soft click sounded behind me. The door, caught by a draft, had swung shut and locked.

A tall figure shifted in the darkness, rising unsteadily from a sofa. His breathing was a harsh, ragged sound in the silent room, thick with repressed pain.

He started walking toward me.

Each heavy footstep seemed to land directly on my frantic heartbeat. I could feel his inner wolf, out of control, and it was calling to the Omega in me with a fatal resonance.

"Who?" his voice was a raw rasp, thick and slurred. He was clearly not in his right mind.

Panic seized me. I stumbled backward until my back hit the cold wall. There was nowhere else to go. I couldn't let him know it was me. Our relationship was already fragile. If he found me here, like this, he would see me as nothing more than a despicable tool my father had sent to appease him.

He was in front of me now, his scorching breath fanning across my cheek. His eyes, usually as sharp and piercing as an eagle's, were clouded with a disoriented haze of desire. Ice-blue and lost in a fever.

He didn't recognize me.

Three years, the dim light, and the drugs coursing through his system had completely erased the connection between me and the name on a contract.

My body trembled, caught between fear and the primal pull he was exerting. I lifted my hands to push him away.

The moment my palms made contact with his burning chest, a powerful jolt shot through my entire body. It was the mate bond. My Omega body betrayed my mind instantly. I wanted to resist, to push him away, but his slightest touch sent violent shivers of pleasure down my spine. We were a perfect, terrifying fit.

He let out a low growl, the contact shattering his last thread of resistance. His wolf had taken over.

He lowered his head, not for my lips, but for the curve of my neck. He inhaled my scent, a desperate, frantic action. It was the most primitive way for a wolf to identify its mate.

"Your scent..." he murmured, his voice thick with confusion. "So familiar. Makes me calm."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I was terrified he would recognize me in the next second. I turned my head, trying to bury my face in the shadows, letting my hair fall to hide my profile.

My scent. Jasmine and rain-washed grass.

As his mate, it should have been his antidote. But tonight, it was only fuel for the drug-induced fire.

He stopped speaking. His hot, large hand clamped around the back of my neck, forcing me to bear the weight of his out-of-control kiss.

My mind went blank.

All my struggles were useless against his absolute power and the heightened instincts the drug had unleashed.

His rough hands mapped my curves, and to my absolute horror, I found myself arching into his touch. I was whimpering not just in fear, but in a shameful, intoxicating enjoyment. My body was singing under his possession.

The temperature in the room skyrocketed. Two Heats, both violently forced to their peak, intertwined and burned all reason to ash.

He lifted me into his arms. I could hear his inner wolf let out a satisfied rumble, while mine whimpered in terror and desire.

I gave up.

I closed my eyes as a single tear escaped, disappearing into the darkness.

Only one thought remained.

I had to be gone before sunrise.

He could never know that the star of this humiliating night was his "wife," Anahi Vargas.

As my consciousness blurred, I felt the hard band on his left wrist press against my skin. It was the black wristband that symbolized his supreme, sovereign power.

He seemed to sense my discomfort, even in his haze. With his other hand, he shifted his arm, moving the band away from me.

That small, unconscious act of gentleness made my tense body relax for a fraction of a second.

But that brief moment was swallowed by a more ferocious wave. I lost all control of my own body.

I could only pray. Pray that whoever drugged him would never be found. Because if they were, I would be dragged down with them.

Outside, the city lights sparkled. But inside this presidential suite, a tangled mess of conspiracy and instinct was pushing two people who should have been the closest into a deeper, unknown abyss.

Carson Conley POV:

A sharp, blinding pain lanced through my skull, jerking me awake. A heavy, suffocating hungover feeling pressed down on my chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. I slowly opened my eyes, my vision blurring for a second before coming into focus. The unfamiliar ceiling and the all-too-familiar, ostentatious layout of the Hilton presidential suite made me frown deeply.

Last night's memories were a chaotic mess of shattered glass, flashing in disjointed fragments.

I remembered sitting in the VIP lounge, drinking a glass of vintage bourbon with Rick Tucker, the VP from Apex Industries. Then, an unnatural, scorching heat had suddenly consumed my body, burning through my veins like liquid fire.

I was drugged.

The realization turned my gaze to absolute ice. My inner wolf snarled violently in my head, pacing back and forth, completely enraged at the humiliation of being fooled by a cheap chemical aphrodisiac. As the most powerful Alpha in Silver Creek City, no one dared to pull such a suicidal stunt on me.

I sat up, the heavy duvet falling away. The other side of the king-sized bed was empty, but the deeply rumpled sheets and a faint, lingering scent proved someone else had been here. It was a vague, calming scent I couldn't quite place, something fresh, yet drowned out by the sterile smell of the hotel and the lingering metallic tang of the drug. It brought a strange, fleeting sense of peace to my wolf, a peace that was instantly obliterated by the fury of being manipulated.

A sharp knock sounded at the heavy oak door. I pulled on a dark silk bathrobe, tying it loosely around my waist, and stalked over, opening the door just a crack. My Beta, Gideon Hayes, stood outside, his expression dead serious.

"Alpha," Gideon's voice was respectful but taut with tension. "I have locked down the entire hotel. My men are currently investigating the security footage to find out who dared to drug you. Also... Arthur Simon is waiting in the lobby downstairs. He has been pacing for an hour, begging for an audience with you. Do you want to see him?"

"Arthur Simon?" I frowned, the name feeling distant before the memory of that pathetic, greedy man surfaced. I let out a cold, mocking sneer that echoed in the quiet room. "That bloodsucking parasite. He used a life-saving favor to sell his daughter to me three years ago, and now he wants to sell her again to fix his current financial mess? How huge does he think his face is, assuming I will tolerate his endless greed? Or does he think his precious daughter is made of gold and can always fetch a good price?"

I ran a hand through my messy hair, my voice dripping with absolute disgust. "Tell him to get lost. I am not a charity, nor am I a recycling bin for his worthless daughter. I won't see him. If he doesn't leave, throw him out."

"Yes, Alpha," Gideon nodded immediately, stepping back to execute the order.

I shut the door with a loud thud and walked into the luxurious marble bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the freezing cold water stream down my tense muscles to clear the remaining fog in my head. But damn it, as the water cascaded over me, my traitorous mind shamefully replayed the feeling of the woman beneath me last night.

I remembered the soft, flawless texture of her skin, her tight, yielding body, the way she perfectly molded to my every aggressive thrust, and her silent, trembling tears. She had felt incredibly, frustratingly perfect. The memory sent a sudden, unwanted surge of heat straight to my groin. It left me thoroughly frustrated and enraged. Whoever she was, a spy, a cheap escort, or a trap set by Rick Tucker, I would find her and make her pay for playing me.

Anahi Vargas POV:

I lay completely frozen under the heavy duvet in the bedroom, my face draining of all color. I had woken up before him, my entire body aching as if I had been repeatedly run over by a truck. My thighs were sore, and my neck burned where his possessive lips had claimed me. But I was trapped by my own physical exhaustion, pretending to be asleep when he got up.

Hearing his cruel, mocking words through the slightly open bathroom door felt like a brutal physical blow to my chest.

"Worthless daughter." "Recycling bin." "Sell."

Every single word he spat out was a poisoned dagger. If he found out that the daughter being "sold" was currently lying naked in his bed, bearing his marks, the word "sell" in his mouth would be infinitely more sarcastic and humiliating.

For a second, the naive Omega inside me whimpered in pain, hurt by the rejection of her Mate. But that weakness was instantly incinerated by a roaring fire of humiliation and rage. In his eyes, I wasn't even a human being; I was nothing but a transactional object, a cheap pawn.

I forced my aching muscles to move, pushing past the pain. I slipped into my torn dress, my hands trembling, not from fear, but from pure, unadulterated fury. My eyes, usually calm, were now blazing with a cold fire.

I grabbed my purse from the floor. He thought I was a cheap whore sent to crawl into his bed? Fine.

I pulled out a crisp, new hundred-dollar bill. But just leaving the money wasn't enough to quell the anger boiling in my blood. I noticed a hotel notepad and a pen on the bedside table. I grabbed the pen and quickly scribbled a line across the paper in bold, elegant cursive.

"Mediocre performance. Here's a tip for your effort. Don't flatter yourself, Alpha."

I slammed the notepad onto the bedside table and slapped the hundred-dollar bill right on top of it, placing it exactly where he would see it the moment he walked out of the bathroom.

Let him see how it felt to be treated like a cheap, unsatisfactory gigolo.

I walked to the window. We were on the 32nd floor, but for a werewolf, that height was nothing. A werewolf's body possesses extraordinary physical capabilities, far exceeding human limits in strength, speed, and agility.

I slid the heavy glass window open. The cold morning wind whipped against my hot cheeks, clearing my mind completely. I was Anahi Vargas, the top hacker "Hawkeye" of the Eagle's Nest, a top-tier designer, and a survivor. I didn't need his pity, and I certainly didn't need his arrogant judgment.

Suddenly, the sound of running water in the bathroom stopped. A sharp click echoed as the door handle began to turn.

He was coming out. There was no time to hesitate.

I grabbed the window frame and vaulted over the edge just as the bathroom door swung open. My hands gripped the cold concrete sill as my body hung suspended thirty-two stories above the ground.

Carson Conley POV:

I stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, the freezing water having finally cleared the last of the drug-induced fog from my mind. As the door swung open, my sharp Alpha hearing caught the distinct sound of the heavy balcony glass door sliding, accompanied by a rush of cold wind.

My eyes instantly zeroed in on the balcony. My heart gave a violent jolt.

A slender pair of hands, gripping the edge of the window sill, slipped from view. Someone had just dropped out of the window. From the thirty-second floor.

"Stop right there!" I roared, my Alpha aura exploding out of me instinctively. I lunged forward, crossing the room in a blur of speed, and grabbed the window frame, leaning halfway out.

She wasn't falling to her death. Using the building's ledges and an agility that was breathtaking to watch, a woman in a torn dress was moving down the sheer wall like a ghost. She was already two floors below me.

Sensing my intense gaze, she paused her descent in mid-air. She tilted her head up, giving me a side profile shrouded in the morning shadows. Her eyes, cold and filled with utter contempt, met mine directly. Then, with a sheer audacity that left me stunned, she freed one hand and elegantly pointed a finger back toward the room behind me.

Before I could process the gesture, she let go, continuing her rapid descent and quickly disappearing into the dawn shadows of the city below.

She escaped. Right under my nose, with a parting provocation.

An unprecedented rage, mixed with a dark, thrilling sense of being challenged, surged through my veins. I pulled myself back inside, my chest heaving, and walked over to the bedside table she had pointed at.

There, illuminated by the morning light, was a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Beneath it was a hotel notepad.

I picked it up, my eyes narrowing dangerously at the bold, elegant cursive.

"Mediocre performance. Here's a tip for your effort. Don't flatter yourself, Alpha."

I stared at the words, the sheer insult of them burning into my retinas. She paid me? She treated the most powerful Alpha in Silver Creek City like a cheap, unsatisfactory gigolo?

I let out a dark, furious laugh, my fingers crushing the edge of the wooden bedside table until it splintered.

"Gideon, I commanded my Beta through our mind-link, my voice vibrating with ice-cold fury. Use every resource. Find the woman who just climbed down from my balcony. I want her brought to me. Now."

Anahi Vargas POV:

I was in my friend Maya's apartment, my fingers flying across her laptop keyboard.

The security system topology of the Hilton Hotel was laid out on the screen. To Hawkeye of the Eagle's Nest, their firewalls were a joke.

I expertly bypassed several layers of defense and found all the surveillance footage from the corridor to the elevators from last night.

My objective: erase my presence.

With precision, I cut out every clip that showed my face or figure, replacing them with a seamless loop of an empty hallway.

Only after I was done did I let out a breath of relief. Now, at least through conventional means, Carson Conley wouldn't find me.

"Anahi, you look terrible," Maya said, walking over with a cup of hot cocoa. Her face was etched with worry. "Are you really okay? Who did you meet last night?"

I shook my head, taking the cup. "A business client. It wasn't pleasant. Thanks for letting me stay, Maya." I couldn't tell her the truth. It would only drag her into my mess.

The hot cocoa warmed me, restoring some of my strength. I had to see someone. My father, Arthur Simon.

I left Maya's apartment and took a cab back to the Simon estate.

I stormed directly into my father's study. When he saw my disheveled state and torn dress, a flicker of shock crossed his face, but it was instantly replaced by cold calculation.

"Did you drug him?" I asked, my voice trembling with cold rage. I glared at the man who was supposed to protect me.

Arthur didn't even flinch. He leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes scanning my ruined dress with blatant disappointment. "Drug him? I heard Rick Tucker from Apex Industries was planning to use some dirty tricks to get close to Conley, but I didn't interfere."

He sneered, his voice completely devoid of fatherly affection. "It was the perfect setup! A drugged Alpha, a locked room... it was a golden opportunity for you to finally make yourself useful to this family! But looking at your pathetic state, you blew the chance, didn't you? You couldn't even keep a drugged Alpha in bed long enough to get a signature! You useless girl!"

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. He knew. He knew it was a trap, and he eagerly pushed me into it, hoping to profit from my violation. He didn't care about my dignity or my safety; he only cared about the investment.

"I am not your disposable tool," I said, my voice dropping to a deadly calm. The last shred of hope I had for this family shattered into dust. "I hope you enjoy watching your precious Pack burn."

I turned on my heel and left the study, ignoring his angry shouts behind me.

Walking down the hall, I ran right into my stepsister, Bridgette.

She saw my wretched state, and a flash of glee crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it with a look of concern. "Sister, what happened to you? You didn't come back last night. We were all so worried."

I ignored her fake sympathy and walked past her, heading to my room.

I couldn't stand being in this house a moment longer.

I opened my closet and started packing my few belongings. The villa, the one stipulated in the marriage contract as mine, it was time to move in.