The Unwanted Omega: The Alpha's Late Regret

For five years, I was a ghost in the Spencer Pack, a placeholder wife for an Alpha who couldn't stand the sight of me. I endured the neglect, believing my loyalty would eventually win him over.

But at the Moon Ball, when his mistress mocked my disabled mother and I finally stood up for myself, Easton didn't defend me. Instead, he used his Alpha Command to force me to my knees in front of the entire pack.

"Submit," he growled, stripping away my dignity.

The humiliation didn't end there. He forced me to chauffeur him and his mistress to their romantic getaway. He watched silently as they fed me raw meat like a feral dog. And when his mistress framed me for stealing the Luna necklace, he didn't check the cameras. He looked at me with pure disgust and threw me into the silver cells.

He didn't know I was the "Ghost Designer" behind his company's massive success. He didn't know I had lost our child alone on the bathroom floor three years ago while he was on vacation with her. He only saw a wolfless Omega he could use and discard.

Standing in that cold cell, the love I held for him finally turned to ash. I realized I wasn't waiting for him to love me; I was waiting for permission to leave.

I looked at the man who promised to protect me and spoke the words that would destroy him.

"I, Brooke Rollins, reject you, Easton Spencer."

As he clutched his chest in agony, the bond snapping like a whip, I walked out of the cell and into the arms of the rival Alpha who saw my true worth.

Chapter 1

Brooke POV:

I stared at the document on the mahogany desk. "Dissolution of Marriage Contract." The bold, serif font seemed to mock me. For five years, I had been a ghost in the Spencer Pack, a placeholder wife for an Alpha who couldn't stand the sight of me.

I wasn't a Luna. I was a line item in a ledger.

I smoothed the fabric of my dress- a thrift store find that I'd prayed would pass for vintage -trying to blend into the shadows of the ballroom. Tonight was the Moon Ball. The air was thick with old money, roasted venison, and the heavy, musk-like pheromones of wolves posturing for rank.

"Look who crawled out of the kitchen," a voice sneered behind me.

I didn't need to turn around. Kelly Holland. She smelled like crushed roses and chemical warfare. Kelly was a Beta, but she walked around with the entitlement of a Queen.

"Leave me alone, Kelly," I said, keeping my voice low. As an Omega, my biology screamed at me to bare my neck, but my human pride held my chin up.

Kelly stepped closer, swirling a glass of red wine. "You look like the help, Brooke. But then again, that's all you are. Wolfless trash keeping the bed warm until Easton comes to his senses."

"I am his wife," I said. The words tasted like ash.

"For now," Kelly laughed. "How is your mother? Still rotting away in that wheelchair? I heard the silver poison finally reached her hips. Must smell lovely in that trailer. Like roadkill left out in the sun. "

The world went red. My mother was a victim of the Spencer silver mines, her body destroyed by the very metal that funded this champagne. And there was something else-a suspicion I'd buried deep about the 'accident' that put her there, a nagging voice I usually silenced.

My hand flew out.

Smack!

The sound cracked through the ballroom like a pistol shot, silencing the string quartet. Kelly stumbled back, clutching her cheek. Her eyes went wide, not with pain, but with malicious glee. She deliberately tipped her glass, drenching her white silk gown in burgundy.

"Brooke! How could you?" she shrieked, hitting the floor in a performance worthy of an Oscar.

The temperature in the room plummeted. Gravity seemed to double. Alpha Aura .

"What is the meaning of this?"

Easton Spencer parted the crowd like the Red Sea. Broad shoulders, eyes like stormy seas currently flashing amber.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Even after five years, the biological pull was a riptide. Pine needles and rain. A scent that should have meant home .

"Easton!" Kelly sobbed. "She... she attacked me! I only asked if she needed a drink!"

Easton didn't look at the wine stain. He locked onto me.

"Explain," he growled. The vibration rattled my teeth.

"She insulted my mother," I said, voice trembling. "She mocked her disability."

"Liar!" Kelly cried into her hands.

Easton didn't ask for witnesses. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over Kelly. The tenderness of the action was a physical blow.

He turned back to me, face like granite.

"Submit."

It wasn't a request. It was an Alpha Command . It bypassed my ears and slammed directly into my brain stem.

My knees hit the marble. Hard. My head was forced down, chin to chest. I was a prisoner in my own body.

"You are a disgrace, Brooke," Easton said, voice void of emotion. "Get to the car."

The pressure lifted just enough for me to scramble up. Shame burned hotter than the slap. I ran, Kelly's triumphant sniffling chasing me out into the night.

I sat in the back of the limousine, shivering. Ten minutes later, Easton slid in.

"Drive," he told the driver.

The car glided forward.

"Yesterday was our fifth anniversary," I whispered.

Easton didn't turn. He tossed a black credit card onto my lap.

"Buy yourself something nice," he said, sounding bored. "And learn to control your temper. Kelly is a guest of honor."

"She's a Beta who disrespected your Luna," I argued.

"You are a Luna in name only, Brooke. Do not forget that."

Suddenly, Easton stiffened. Mind-Link .

His expression softened. A look I had starved for.

Easton... it hurts... my face burns... I'm scared...

Easton tapped the partition. "Stop the car."

The driver pulled over on the highway shoulder.

"Get out," Easton said.

"What?"

"Kelly is distressed. She needs the hospital. I'm going back."

"You're leaving me? On the highway?" I asked, incredulous.

"Call a cab. Walk. Maybe the cold will cool off that Omega temper. "

He stepped out into the night. He didn't look back.

As his taillights faded, I felt a strange sensation. Not heartbreak. Something deeper.

Deep inside, a wolf I thought had died years ago let out a low, mournful whimper.

Brooke POV:

I walked.

By the time I reached the estate, my feet were blistered, and the wind had chilled me to the marrow.

My phone buzzed. Easton.

Meet us at the Holland residence. Bring the medical kit from my study. The one with the rare herbs.

I wasn't a wife. I was a glorified TaskRabbit.

I grabbed the kit and drove my beat-up sedan to the Holland estate.

I walked into the living room to find Kelly lounging on a velvet sofa, holding an ice pack to a cheek that wasn't even swollen. Easton was kneeling beside her.

"You're here," Easton said. "Give me the arnica salve."

I handed it over. He applied it gently. In wolf culture, grooming is intimate. It's a claim.

Kelly looked at me, smiled, and rubbed her neck against Easton's wrist. Scent-marking.

Easton didn't pull away.

"Easton," Kelly murmured. "The doctor said I need fresh air. Can we go to the lake house?"

"Of course," Easton said. He stood up. "Brooke, drive us."

I froze. "You want me to chauffeur you and your mistress to your vacation home?"

"She is not my mistress," Easton snapped. "She is a valued member of this pack you assaulted. Make amends."

"I won't."

Easton stepped closer. The air grew heavy. "Do not make me use the Command again. Drive."

The drive was hell. In the rearview mirror, they were a tableau of domestic bliss. Kelly's head on his shoulder, his fingers in her hair.

We arrived at the lake house. The Holland family was waiting on the porch like a welcoming committee.

I stepped out to get my bag.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kelly's mother sneered, blocking my path.

"Inside. It's my husband's house."

"Not tonight," Easton said, Kelly tucked under his arm. "The Hollands are upset. Your presence causes tension. Go back to the city."

"You're kicking me out?"

"I'm managing the peace," he corrected. Then, via Mind-Link :

Go home, Brooke. You're an embarrassment. Don't let your bad luck infect Kelly's recovery.

Bad luck. Is that what he called it? The mines, the poverty, the silent grief I carried?

I got back into the driver's seat. I didn't cry. I just reversed out of the driveway.

My phone pinged.

Mom: "Baby, the silver burn is spreading. Did the Alpha sign the check for the medicine yet?"

Tears finally blurred my vision. I had asked Easton a week ago. He promised. But tonight, he was popping champagne for Kelly while my mother rotted.

I pulled over.

I closed my eyes and found the mental connection to the Spencer Pack. A thick, humming rope.

I found the strand connecting me to Easton. Thin, frayed, cold.

I visualized a steel wall. I pushed against the connection until the hum faded.

For the first time in five years, my mind was quiet.

"No more," I whispered.

Brooke POV:

The silence gave me space to remember.

I thought of my mother. A former warrior, crushed by the Spencer mines. Silver Poisoning-a slow, necrotic rot.

That was why I married Easton. A life for a life.

I remembered high school. Kelly and her friends cornering me in the locker room. Throwing dried Wolfsbane into the vents.

I was choking, dying. Then the door burst open.

Easton Spencer. He carried me out. Pine and rain.

Mate.

But he had just set me down and said, "Be more careful, Rollins."

I clung to that memory. A fool's hope.

Then came the wedding. A political union. Kelly ran away, leaving the Spencers needing a bride. I volunteered for the medical bills.

"This is a business arrangement," he had said. "Do not expect affection. Do not expect a Marking."

I pulled into the villa driveway. Dark. Empty.

I walked past the master bedroom to the guest room. My room.

Six months ago, I overheard Easton talking to his Beta.

"Why don't you mark her?"

"She's a miner's daughter, Mark. An Omega. Her blood is weak. She's just a warm body. She isn't fit to carry my heir. "

My hand drifted to my stomach. A phantom cramp twisted my gut. He didn't know. He didn't know about the winter solstice three years ago. The blood. The tiny life that flickered out because my body was too weak from stress and neglect. I never told him. Why would I? He barely looked at me.

I grabbed a suitcase.

I didn't pack the designer clothes. I packed my worn jeans, sketchbooks, and the wooden wolf carving my father made before his 'accident.' A car crash on a straight road. The brakes failed. The police called it bad luck. I always called it suspicious.

I looked in the mirror. My neck was smooth. No bite mark.

"Thank the Goddess," I whispered.

If he had marked me, leaving would kill me. But an unmarked bond? It would just feel like tearing a muscle.

I zipped the suitcase. The sound was a gavel strike.

But first, one last thing.