The Rejected Substitute: Her Secret White Wolf Identity

For three years, I acted as a substitute for my twin sister, married to the most powerful Alpha on the East Coast. To the world, I was Isabella, the spoiled princess. To my husband, Donovan, I was a nuisance he couldn't wait to divorce.

I counted down the seconds until the contract expired so I could take my money and disappear.

But three days before my freedom, his mistress was kidnapped. The rogues demanded a trade: the wife for the mistress. Donovan didn't hesitate. He dragged me to the warehouse and threw me to the wolves.

To prove he didn't care about me, the rogue handed him a silver dagger.

Donovan looked me in the eye and drove the blade into my thigh.

As I screamed in agony, the smell of burning flesh filling the air, he stepped over my bleeding body to carry his mistress to safety. He left me there to die on the cold concrete, convinced he was punishing a cruel woman.

He didn't know I was the one who had secretly given my rare blood to save that same mistress just a week prior.

He didn't know I wasn't Isabella. He didn't know he had just tortured Ava-his true Fated Mate hiding in plain sight.

When the real Isabella returned to claim the fortune, Donovan finally realized the woman in his house smelled wrong. He tore the world apart to find me, eventually falling to his knees in the rain to beg for a second chance.

But I just looked at him, my hand resting in the grip of a new, kinder Alpha, and whispered:

"I reject you."

Chapter 1

Ava POV:

Only twenty-four hours left.

The voice of my mother, the Luna of the Miller Pack, echoed in my head through the mind-link. It was cold, sharp, and purely transactional. The contract expires tomorrow at midnight, Ava. The fifty million dollars will be transferred, and you will be free. Do not mess this up in the final stretch.

I sat on the edge of the massive, cold bed in the guest wing of the Blackwood Estate. I didn't reply. I just cut the link, silence filling my mind again.

Three years. I had survived three years in this hell.

To the world, I was Isabella Miller, the proud, somewhat spoiled daughter of the Miller Alpha, married to the most powerful man on the East Coast, Alpha Donovan Blackwood. But that was a lie. Isabella had run away with her human lover three days before the wedding. My father, desperate for the Blackwood fortune to save our crumbling pack, had forced me into the white dress.

I was Ava. The "useless" twin. The Omega who couldn't shift, whose wolf was too weak to surface. I was the Shadow Luna.

I walked to the mirror. The woman staring back looked tired. My skin was pale, my eyes hollow. I touched the silver necklace around my throat. It was lined with a thin layer of wolfsbane, just enough to suppress my natural scent, making me smell like nothing. Like a human. Or a weak Omega.

It was necessary. If Donovan smelled my true scent-the scent of a White Wolf, a bloodline thought to be extinct-he would never let me go. And if he smelled that I was his Fated Mate...

No. He wouldn't care.

I remembered the first time we met at the altar. For a split second, his eyes had widened. His nostrils had flared, and I saw his inner wolf push to the surface, confused. But then, Chloe had stepped closer. Chloe, the "friend" of the family, reeking of that sickly sweet perfume that I now knew was laced with dark magic. Donovan's eyes had glazed over, the spark dead before it could ignite.

"Isabella!"

The door slammed open. My heart jumped, a conditioned response of fear.

Alpha Donovan Blackwood stood in the doorway. He was tall, with shoulders that filled the frame and dark hair that fell over eyes as cold as ice. He radiated power-Alpha energy that made the air heavy and hard to breathe.

"Where is the medicine?" he growled.

"I... I asked the maid to bring it," I stammered, lowering my head. An Omega does not look an Alpha in the eye.

"Chloe is in pain," he snapped, stepping into the room. The temperature seemed to drop. "She needs her suppressants. The storm is too heavy for the cars to drive up the hill to the guest house. You will take it to her."

I looked toward the window. Rain was lashing against the glass, thunder shaking the foundations of the manor. "Donovan, it's a hurricane warning. I can't-"

"You will do as I say."

The Alpha Command slammed into me like a physical blow to the chest. My knees buckled. My wolf, Seraphina, whimpered deep inside me, paralyzed by the absolute authority in his voice. I had no choice. My body moved on its own, grabbing the raincoat and the small box of pills.

"Go," he said, disgust dripping from his voice. "And don't come back until she feels better."

I walked out into the storm. The wind tore at my clothes, and the rain soaked me to the bone within seconds. I wasn't strong like a warrior. I was frail. I stumbled through the mud, clutching the medicine for the woman who was sleeping with my husband.

When I finally returned, shivering and blue-lipped, I heard voices in the study.

"She's pathetic, Donovan," a man's voice said. It was his Beta, Marcus. "Why do you keep her?"

"It's a business deal, Marcus," Donovan's voice was low, devoid of emotion. "The Miller Pack needed money; I needed their land rights. Once the contract is done, she is gone. I only pledge loyalty to Chloe. Isabella... she is nothing. Just a placeholder."

I stood frozen in the hallway, water pooling at my feet. I knew this. I had known this for three years. But hearing it aloud still felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

I tried to sneak past the door, but I slipped on the wet marble floor. Crash. A vase shattered.

The study door flew open. Donovan loomed over me. He looked at my drenched form, my shivering hands, and his lip curled.

"Look at you," he sneered. "You smell like a wet dog. A weak, Omega dog."

"I delivered the medicine," I whispered, trying to stand.

"You're making a mess," he said, stepping forward. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "Stop shaking. You are supposed to be a Luna. Act like one."

"I'm cold, Donovan."

"I don't care." He shoved me backward.

It wasn't a hard shove for a wolf, but for me, in my weakened state, it was enough. I stumbled back and fell against the hallway console table. My arm slammed into a decorative silver platter.

Sizzle.

"Ah!" I screamed as the silver burned my skin. Smoke rose from my forearm, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. For werewolves, silver is poison. It burns like acid and heals slowly.

Donovan didn't flinch. He didn't rush to help. He just watched, his eyes devoid of sympathy.

"Clumsy," he muttered. "Clean yourself up. We have guests tomorrow. If you embarrass me, the contract won't be the only thing that ends."

He turned and walked away, leaving me curled on the floor, clutching my burning arm.

I gritted my teeth, tears stinging my eyes. I didn't cry for his love. I didn't cry for the pain. I cried because I was angry.

I placed my hand over my flat stomach. I will never give you an heir, Donovan Blackwood, I thought, the hatred burning hotter than the silver. I don't want your heart. I just want my money, and I want out.

Ava POV:

The wound on my arm was still throbbing the next morning. It was an ugly, angry red, the silver burn refusing to close. As an Omega-or at least, appearing as one-my healing factor was painfully slow. I wrapped it in gauze and pulled on a long-sleeved silk blouse.

"Get down here," Donovan's voice boomed from downstairs. No mind-link. He refused to link with me. He said my mind was too 'quiet' and it annoyed him.

I walked down the grand staircase. Donovan was waiting by the door, tapping his watch. Next to him stood Chloe.

Chloe Sanders was small, blonde, and projected an image of fragility that fooled everyone except me. She was a low-ranked wolf, but she had the ambition of a queen. And she smelled... wrong. Underneath the expensive perfume, there was the metallic tang of dark herbs.

"Isabella," Chloe squeaked, shrinking behind Donovan as I approached. "Oh, Alpha, she looks so angry. Her Luna aura... it scares me."

I almost laughed. I had no aura. I was suppressing everything I had. But Donovan bought it. He always bought it.

"Lower your eyes, Isabella," Donovan growled, stepping between us protectively. "You are frightening her."

My wolf, Seraphina, snarled in the back of my mind. Rip her throat out, she suggested.

Not yet, I told her. Twenty hours. Just twenty hours.

"I apologize, Chloe," I said, my voice flat. I lowered my head, staring at Donovan's polished shoes. "I didn't mean to offend."

"She's hungry," Donovan said, not looking at me. "Make her something. The chefs are busy preparing for the gala."

"Me?" I looked up. "Donovan, I'm the Luna of this pack. You want me to cook?"

"You are a wife," he retorted coldly. "And Chloe is a guest under my protection. A guest you terrified last night by delaying her medicine. Go. Make her a steak. Rare."

Humiliation burned my cheeks. In werewolf culture, preparing raw meat was a task for the lowest Omega servants. He was stripping me of my rank in front of his mistress.

"Yes, Alpha," I whispered.

I went to the kitchen. The pack staff watched me in silence. They didn't respect me-they followed Donovan's lead. If the Alpha treated his mate like trash, the pack treated her like trash.

I seared the steak, the smell of blood making my stomach turn. I placed it on a plate and carried it out to the dining room.

Chloe sat at the head of the table-my seat. Donovan sat beside her, hand resting on her knee.

"Here," I said, placing the plate down.

Chloe looked at the meat, then at me, a smirk playing on her lips. "It looks a bit tough. Did you cut it properly?"

"It's fine, Chloe," Donovan said, but his eyes were on me, narrowing. He looked... uncomfortable. He rubbed his chest, right over his heart.

For a moment, I wondered if his wolf was reacting to the injustice. The Inner Wolf has a moral compass, even if the man doesn't. But then Chloe placed her hand over his, and whatever clarity he had vanished.

"Let's go inspect the borders," Donovan said abruptly, standing up. "You stay here, Isabella. Stay out of sight."

"Gladly," I muttered as they left.

The moment the door closed, I ran upstairs. I pulled a suitcase from under the bed. I didn't pack clothes or jewelry. I packed my documents. My fake passport. The bank account details where the fifty million would land.

Then, I began the cleaning.

I took a bottle of industrial-strength neutralizer spray. I sprayed the bed, the closet, the bathroom. I wiped down every surface I had touched. I wanted to erase myself. When I left tomorrow, I didn't want a single molecule of my scent remaining in this house.

My phone buzzed with a news notification.

"Alpha Donovan Blackwood and Chloe Sanders spotted on luxury yacht. Is a new Luna rising?"

I clicked the link. The photo showed Donovan laughing-actually laughing-holding a glass of champagne, with Chloe draped over his shoulder. The caption speculated that they were preparing for their "pre-heat cycle."

My heart didn't break. It had turned to stone years ago.

I went to the bathroom cabinet and took out a small vial. It was the last dose of the herbal concoction my mother had given me. It tasted like dirt and ash.

I drank it in one gulp.

The potion burned my throat. It locked Seraphina away in a cage of shadows, suppressing the White Wolf blood, suppressing the mate bond, suppressing the pheromones.

I looked at my reflection.

"Goodbye, Isabella," I whispered. "Tomorrow, you die. And Ava will finally breathe."

Ava POV:

The next morning, Donovan was gone. The maids whispered that he had stayed on the yacht with Chloe.

I was summoned to the Council Hall.

The Elders of the Blackwood Pack were old, traditional men who cared only about lineage and power. I walked into the circular room, my head held high despite the fear churning in my gut.

"Where is Alpha Donovan?" Elder Thomas asked, his voice like grinding stones.

"He is... handling border disputes," I lied smoothly.

"Liar!"

The cane struck the table with a crack that made me flinch. It was Donovan's grandfather, the former Alpha, Silas Blackwood. He was a cruel man, the one who had taught Donovan that love was a weakness.

He threw a stack of photos onto the table. They were the pictures from the news-Donovan and Chloe on the yacht.

"The whole world is laughing at us!" Silas roared. "An Alpha who parades his mistress while his Luna sits at home like a useless ornament! You have failed to capture his heart, Isabella. You have failed to give us an heir. You are weak."

"I cannot force him to love me," I said quietly.

"Love?" Silas spat. "I'm talking about duty! If you cannot seduce your husband, you are useless to this pack."

He signaled to the guards. Two large warriors grabbed my arms.

"No!" I struggled, but I was powerless against them. They dragged me toward the back of the hall, toward the 'Correction Room.'

"A lesson," Silas said, following us. "To remind you of your place."

They threw me onto the cold concrete floor. Silas raised his cane. It was made of polished hickory, but I knew the tip was dipped in liquid wolfsbane.

Whack.

The cane struck my back. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I would not scream. I would not give them the satisfaction.

Whack.

The wolfsbane burned through my shirt, sizzling against my skin. My nerves felt like they were on fire. Seraphina howled in agony, but she was too weak to heal me.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

I lost count. Darkness crept into the edges of my vision.

I woke up in my bed at the estate. My back was on fire. Every breath was a struggle.

I turned my head and saw a figure sitting in the armchair. Donovan.

He looked... tired. He was staring at me with a strange expression. Not love, but perhaps curiosity.

"Grandfather told me what happened," he said, his voice low. "He said you didn't scream. Not once."

I tried to sit up, but the pain forced me back down. "I didn't want to give him the pleasure."

Donovan stood up and walked to the bed. He reached out, his hand hovering over my face. "Why do you stay? Why do you endure this? Is it... loyalty?"

For a second, his fingers brushed my cheek. A spark-tiny, weak, but there-jumped between us. His eyes widened. He leaned in closer, inhaling sharply. The scent blocker was wearing off slightly due to the trauma.

"Isabella?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "You smell like..."

Link: Donovan! Help me! My stomach! It hurts!

Chloe's voice screamed through the mind-link, loud enough that even I could sense the distress radiating from him.

Donovan pulled back as if burned. The softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by panic.

"Chloe needs me," he said abruptly. He turned his back on me. "Rest. We have the charity gala tonight. You must attend."

"Donovan," I rasped. "I can't move."

"You will be there," he commanded, walking out the door. "Image is everything."

Three hours later, I was in a car, heavily medicated with painkillers, driven by a driver to a boutique in town. Donovan had ordered a new dress to cover the bandages.

I stepped out of the car, my legs shaking. People on the street stared. I looked like a ghost.

Donovan met me there. He looked guilty, which annoyed me more than his anger. He bought the most expensive silk gown in the shop-a blood-red dress with long sleeves and a high back.

"This will hide the marks," he said, handing the box to the assistant.

We walked out of the shop. Across the street, near a construction site, Chloe was waiting. She saw us, saw the shopping bag, and her face twisted in jealousy.

"Donovan!" she called out, running toward us. She ignored the 'Do Not Enter' signs of the construction zone. "You promised to have lunch with me!"

"Chloe, wait, it's not safe!" Donovan shouted.

She ran into the scaffolding area, playing the damsel. "I'm so dizzy, Donovan!"

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed. A metal clamp high above gave way. A pile of steel pipes and heavy wooden planks began to slide.

Directly above Chloe.

"No!" Donovan roared. He shifted-partially-his claws extending, and he sprinted toward her with supernatural speed.

He tackled her, covering her body with his own just as the debris crashed down.

Dust billowed into the air.

"Donovan!" I screamed, running forward despite my injuries.

The dust settled. Donovan was groaning, a heavy pipe across his legs. But Chloe... Chloe was screaming. A piece of rebar had pierced her side. Blood-bright red and copious-was pooling around her.

"My baby!" she shrieked, though she wasn't pregnant. "I'm dying! Donovan!"

Donovan shoved the pipes off himself, ignoring his own broken leg which was already snapping back into place. He gathered Chloe in his arms.

He looked at me, his eyes wild with panic.

"Call the hospital!" he roared at me. "If she dies, Isabella, I will destroy this entire town!"