Rejected By The Traitor, Claimed By The Lycan

Ayla Davis POV:

My fingers cramped around the leather folder containing my hidden marriage contract, the embossed seal of the werewolf Elders biting into my palm as I waited for the elevator in the Apex Grand Hotel lobby. In our society, genes dictated everything from power to survival, and signing my life away to a notorious playboy was the only way to keep the failing Davis Pack afloat.

The elevator bell chimed. The brass doors slid open, releasing a suffocating wave of cheap, synthetic Omega heat-perfume that made my throat burn and forced me to take a half-step back.

A socialite in a crimson couture gown strolled out, her manicured hand looped around a man's muscular forearm. Her gaze swept over my plain blazer before curling into a sneer.

"Well, look who it is," she drawled, loud enough to echo off the marble pillars. "Isn't this the defective girl from the Davis family? The pathetic wolfless freak born without an inner beast?"

I stiffened, my gaze cutting past her shoulder to the man beside her. Carmel Benton. The most infamous, good-for-nothing heir of the elite Benton Pack-and as of two hours ago, my legal husband.

He wore an unbuttoned black silk shirt, one hand shoved lazily into his pocket. His deep ocean-blue eyes locked onto mine, a faint, unreadable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He made zero move to stop the woman clinging to him.

I straightened my spine and met the woman's mocking stare head-on.

"Being born without a wolf is still better than being a desperate Omega spraying cheap pheromones in a public lobby," I said, my voice flat.

Her face twisted, turning an ugly shade of purple. She yanked her arm free from Carmel and jabbed a crimson nail toward my nose.

"How dare you talk to me like that!" she shrieked. "Do you want me to have an Alpha tear your mouth apart?"

Several low-ranking pack members passing through the lobby halted. They whispered behind their hands, casting pitying glances at me for provoking a high-ranking socialite when I didn't even have claws to defend myself.

I didn't flinch. I shifted my eyes directly to Carmel, waiting to see how my new "husband" would handle his mess.

Carmel finally moved. Keeping one hand in his pocket, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowing with blatant disgust.

"Your perfume is making my wolf gag," Carmel said, his baritone laced with an icy Alpha command that made the air heavy.

The woman froze, her hand dropping as her jaw went slack.

"Young Master Carmel, what did you say?"

He didn't even look at her.

"Get lost."

The sheer genetic dominance in that single phrase hit her like a physical blow. Her face went chalk-white, tears springing to her eyes as she covered her face and bolted out the revolving glass doors.

The onlookers gasped, ducking their heads in submission before scurrying away before Carmel's temper could turn on them.

Carmel took two long strides forward. His towering frame blocked the chandelier light overhead, casting a heavy shadow over me.

I clutched my folder tighter against my chest, keeping my voice even.

"Mr. Benton, our contract doesn't require me to help you clean up your romantic garbage."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Before I could step back, he leaned down, his hot breath brushing against the shell of my ear.

"Ayla, you're my legal wife now."

My stomach knotted. I jerked backward, but his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His palm was scorching hot, radiating the terrifying physical heat of a high-tier Alpha.

"Remember your status," he murmured, a dangerous laziness beneath his tone. "Don't let low-level trash ruin your mood."

I yanked my arm out of his grip and bit my lower lip until it stung.

"Mind your own business. Our agreement is strictly a transaction."

Carmel glanced down at his empty palm and arched a dark eyebrow, a hunter's amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

I spun on my heel and stepped into the open elevator, inhaling sharply to clear the wild, intoxicating scent of cedarwood that clung to my skin. As the brass doors slid shut, I saw him standing motionless in the lobby, watching me through the narrowing gap.

I pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. Pulling out my phone, I checked a new notification showing the first massive wire transfer from the Benton family trust-my bride price. The tension squeezing my lungs eased slightly; the Davis Pack's creditors wouldn't foreclose on our border properties this month.

The elevator stopped on the business level. I walked down the carpeted hallway and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the script distribution conference room. Three male Beta producers sitting around the mahogany table stopped talking, their eyes dripping with disdain as they recognized me.

I pulled out a chair, sat down, and slapped my printed screenplay outline onto the table.

"Gentlemen, let's get straight to the point."

The lead producer scoffed, tapping a pen against the wood.

"Miss Davis, do you really expect us to buy a script about legendary werewolf warriors written by a wolfless girl who has never even experienced the Shift?"

I opened my mouth to fire back when my phone screen lit up on the table, displaying a text from my ex-boyfriend, Bennet Noel: Come back to the villa tonight. I have something to say to you.

Ayla Davis POV:

Staring at Bennet's name on the glowing screen, I swiped left to delete the message without a second thought, then raised my chin to look coldly at the lead producer across the conference table.

"The value of a script lies in the core of its story, not the genetic rank of the writer," I said.

For the next hour, I defended every plot point until they reluctantly agreed to review the draft. Exhausted, I packed my bag, took the elevator down, and pushed through the front doors of the building into the cool evening air.

A sleek black van idled by the curb. The passenger window rolled down, revealing my best friend, Harper Hayes, an independent Beta actress who refused to bow to any pack's Alpha.

"Get in, hurry!" Harper called out, waving a hand. "We're going to be late for the charity banquet!"

I pulled the door open and climbed into the passenger seat. Harper hit the gas, merging into the heavy Silvercrest City traffic while shooting me a sidelong glance.

"The executive investors from Apex 101 Holdings are attending tonight," Harper warned in a low voice. "They control half the city's entertainment capital. You need to stay sharp."

I nodded, watching the neon city lights blur past the window, my stomach tightening at the thought of being trapped in a room full of arrogant, high-ranking Alphas.

Ten minutes later, the van pulled up before a five-star dining hall. We stepped out, smoothed our evening dresses, and walked down the red carpet into the glittering ballroom. Knowing my place at the bottom of the pack hierarchy, I found an inconspicuous seat at the very end of the long banquet table.

Just as I folded my napkin, the heavy double doors at the entrance were shoved open.

An invisible, suffocating wave of Alpha dominion crashed through the hall. The lively chatter died instantly. Around the tables, lower-ranking Betas and Omegas instinctively bowed their heads, baring their necks in genetic submission.

I looked toward the entrance and froze. It was Carmel Benton.

Dressed in a bespoke black three-piece suit, he strolled in flanked by four burly bodyguards. Despite his reputation as a useless prodigal son who only survived because his grandparents doted on him, the sheer pressure radiating from his frame made the crystal glasses on the table vibrate.

I dropped my gaze to my empty plate, shrinking my shoulders and praying he would walk right past me toward the VIP stage.

Instead, his footsteps slowed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his gaze sweep the room before locking directly onto the top of my head, a playful smirk curving his lips.

Bypassing the main host table entirely, Carmel strode down the aisle, pulled out the empty chair right next to mine, and sat down.

Dead silence fell over the hall. Every pair of eyes hit us like spotlights. Across the table, Harper kicked my shin repeatedly under the tablecloth, her wide eyes screaming a silent question.

I bit my lower lip, staring hard at my water glass while trying to ignore the scorching body heat radiating from the man beside me.

Waiters hurried over and served plates of rare Wagyu steak-essential high-protein fuel for a werewolf's rapid metabolism. Because silver is lethal poison that burns our kind to the bone, the tables were set exclusively with heavy brushed-steel cutlery.

Carmel picked up his steel knife and fork, effortlessly slicing the tenderest center piece of his steak. Then, in front of two hundred stunned elites, he leaned over and placed the meat onto my plate.

"You're too thin," his deep voice carried clearly through the pin-drop silence. "Eat more, Ayla."

Sharp intakes of breath echoed around us. Several pack heiresses glared at me as if trying to set my hair on fire.

My fingers trembled around my fork. Leaning in slightly, I hissed under my breath.

"Are you crazy? You're drawing everyone's attention to us."

Carmel tilted his head, his ocean-blue eyes pinning me in place.

"Which pack law says I can't feed my own wife?"

He spoke so softly that even a werewolf's enhanced hearing three feet away couldn't catch it, yet my heart skipped a violent beat against my ribs.

Down the table, Preston Stone-the arrogant heir of the mid-tier Stone Pack-let out a nasty laugh. Carrying a glass of bourbon, he sauntered over, his lecherous eyes raking over my collarbone.

"Young Master Benton really has an exotic appetite tonight," Preston sneered, loud enough for the whole table to hear. "Slumming it with a defective, wolfless leftover from the Davis family?"

My knuckles turned white as I balled my fists, ready to throw my water in his face. Beside me, the air temperature dropped twenty degrees.

Carmel stood up slowly. In his right hand, the solid steel steak knife groaned, the thick metal bending ninety degrees under his bare fingers with a sickening screech.

He looked down at Preston as if looking at a rotting corpse.

"What did you just say?" Carmel asked softly.

Preston stumbled back half a step, his face paling under the sudden spike of predatory aura, though he forced a stiff sneer.

"I'm just stating a genetic fact-"

Sensing blood, Harper shot up from her chair, lunged around the table, and grabbed my wrist.

"Ayla, come with me to the restroom right now!"

She yanked me out of my seat and dragged me toward the side exit. The moment the heavy wooden doors swung shut behind us in the quiet corridor, a deafening crash erupted from inside the banquet hall, followed by the splintering of tables and shrill screams.

Ayla Davis POV:

The violent boom shook the crystal sconces along the corridor wall. Harper gripped my upper arm so tightly her nails left crescents in my skin, her face drained of blood.

"What the hell is happening in there?" she whispered.

Without hesitating, I wrenched my arm free, turned back, and shoved the heavy wooden doors open.

The banquet hall looked like a war zone. The thirty-foot mahogany table had been flipped entirely onto its side, littering the carpet with shattered porcelain and dark pools of spilled red wine. The air reeked of copper blood and the suffocating, feral pheromones of an enraged predator.

Preston lay crumpled in the wreckage like a broken doll, blood gushing from his shattered nose as he whimpered on the floor.

Carmel stood over him. He had tossed his suit jacket aside and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, revealing corded forearms speckled with Preston's blood. Along the walls, the wealthy pack elites huddled together, trembling violently and unable to lift their heads against the crushing weight of Carmel's dominance.

Preston spat out a mouthful of blood and a broken tooth, his eyes bulging with humiliation.

"Benton, you lunatic!" Preston wheezed. "You dare beat me over a worthless wolfless bitch? My father's pack won't let you walk out of here!"

A terrifying, dark golden light flared in the depths of Carmel's eyes-a color far more ancient and lethal than an ordinary Alpha's red glow. He took a single step forward and planted his Italian leather shoe squarely on Preston's chest.

A sickening crack of snapping ribs echoed through the hall. Preston let out a bloodcurdling shriek before his eyes rolled back, passing out cold.

Carmel didn't even breathe heavily. Pulling a white silk handkerchief from his trousers, he wiped the blood from his knuckles with slow, deliberate strokes, as if he had merely squashed a cockroach.

Then, he turned his head. Cutting through the terrified crowd, his dark golden gaze locked straight onto me standing by the doorway.

For a fraction of a second, the murderous violence in his eyes receded, replaced by a suffocating, possessive heat that made my throat go dry.

Harper yanked me behind a marble pillar, her shoulders shaking.

"God, he's a complete monster," she gasped into my ear. "Did you see that? He nearly killed the Stone heir just because Preston scared that pretty Omega sitting next to him!"

I followed Harper's pointing finger. Ten feet away from Preston's unconscious body, a delicate socialite who had been sitting near Carmel's original VIP seat was sobbing on the floor, clutching her torn dress.

A strange, cold heaviness settled in the pit of my stomach. Of course. He hadn't lost control because Preston insulted me; he had gone berserk because Preston's commotion had frightened his latest conquest.

I lowered my lashes, swallowing the absurd tightness in my throat.

"Let's go," I said quietly, tugging Harper's sleeve. "It's not safe here."

Using the chaos as cover, we slipped out the side service exit. The chilly night air hit my flushed cheeks as we hurried across the asphalt parking lot.

"Stay as far away from Carmel as humanly possible, Ayla," Harper warned, patting her chest as she unlocked her van. "The rumors about him being a weak playboy are bullshit. That man is a tyrant."

I offered a stiff, bitter smile, unable to tell her that my name was already bound to his on a marriage contract.

After waving goodbye to Harper, I climbed into my battered secondhand sedan and drove toward the upscale western district of Silvercrest City. Bennet's earlier text had reminded me of one thing: my late mother's notebooks and my backup script manuscripts were still in his villa. I needed to get them back tonight while he was likely out partying with his new fiancée, Daniela.

I parked outside the familiar iron gates. Five years of devotion to Bennet felt like a sick joke now. Using my spare key, I unlocked the front door. The living room was pitch-black, silver moonlight spilling across the plush rug.

I walked straight up the stairs to the second-floor master bedroom, pulled a small suitcase from the closet, and stuffed my remaining clothes and handwritten drafts inside. At the very bottom of the nightstand drawer, my fingers brushed against cold metal.

It was a delicate laurel-leaf bracelet. Three years ago, Bennet had given it to me for my birthday, claiming its pure silver links would ward off evil spirits since I had no inner wolf to be burned by the metal.

Staring at it now, my chest ached with disgust. I snatched the bracelet and shoved it deep into my coat pocket, planning to sell it at a pawnshop tomorrow.

As I zipped my suitcase and turned toward the bedroom door, the violent, deafening roar of a twin-turbo V12 engine tore through the quiet neighborhood.

Tires screeched against the pavement outside. My heart leaped into my throat. I walked to the window and parted the blinds.

Down on the street, a matte-black Aston Martin sat angled across the driveway like a crouching beast. The driver's door was kicked open, and Carmel stepped out into the moonlight, radiating a terrifying, suffocating aura of pure rage.

He tilted his head back, his glowing eyes locking onto me through the second-floor glass as if he were about to tear the entire house down with his bare hands.