Reborn As The Alpha’s Ex-Wife

Chapter 4

"She couldn't have vanished!" Damon snarls, pacing back and forth across the plush Persian rug. His tie is undone, his hair disheveled, and his grey eyes are bloodshot with rage and an underlying, gnawing anxiety he refuses to name.

His phone keeps buzzing on the nightstand. Every notification is a disaster message from his financial directors:

ALERT: European logistics board has suspended Vance shipping permits pending debt review.

ALERT: Shareholder panic rising. Morning market open projected at -25%.

"Damon, please, sit down. You're scaring me," Chloe whines from the edge of the king-sized bed, clutching a cashmere blanket around her shoulders. "It's just a market fluctuation. Your pack has billions in land assets. You can easily buy back those debt bonds tomorrow."

Damon turns his terrifying gaze onto Chloe. For the first time since they reunited, there is no affection in his eyes. Only sharp, irritated disgust.

"Shut up, Chloe," Damon snaps coldly.

Chloe blinks, her face going pale. "W-what?"

"You said she was useless," Damon growls, stepping closer to her, his towering form casting a dark shadow over her. "You said she was just a pathetic human leech who lived off my generosity. But the second she leaves this house, my entire financial architecture collapses! Do you have any idea who managed our European audits for the last three years? She did!"

"Damon! I am your fated mate!" Chloe shrieks, tears welling up in her eyes as she tries to leverage her pack status. "How can you speak to me like this over a human servant? I am the daughter of Alpha Hector! I bring you political alliances!"

"Your father’s pack is broke!" Damon shouts back, slamming his fist onto the mahogany dresser, cracking the wood right down the middle. "The only reason your father’s alliance mattered was because Lyra restructured his pack's debt last year! I thought I was doing it! I thought my board was handling it! But every single file had her digital signature stamped on the archive!"

A suffocating silence falls over the bedroom.

Damon breathes heavily, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror.

He remembers the way Lyra used to sit at her desk until three in the morning, quietly reviewing spreadsheets while he was out attending pack galas with Chloe. He remembered how he used to brush her off when she tried to hand him financial summaries, telling her to 'leave the serious business to the real wolves.'

She hadn't been leaving it to him. She had been carrying him on her back.

And he had just thrown her out into the rain.

"Damon..." Chloe stammers, her voice trembling with genuine fear as she sees the look of sheer, terrifying realization creeping into his eyes. "You... you don't actually regret divorcing her, do you?"

Damon doesn't answer. He turns away from her, picking up his phone and dialing his head of security once more.

"Get my velvet tuxedo prepped for tomorrow night," Damon commands, his voice raspy and tight. "We are going to the Royal Sovereign Auction. I’m securing the European Patent, and then I’m tracking down whoever is funding Valkyrie Holdings."

He grips the phone so hard the metal casing groans beneath his Alpha strength.

‘Lyra,’ he thinks, his chest tightening with a strange, agonizing ache he refuses to acknowledge as regret. ‘Where the hell are you?’

The next evening arrives with a dark, velvet sky clear of rain, illuminated by a brilliant, full silver moon.

Outside the grand marble plaza of the Royal Crown Hotel, hundreds of luxury vehicles pull up along the crimson carpet.

Paparazzi flashes illuminate the night, but the guards at the entrance are armed with heavy military gear—this is no ordinary human party.

This is the Royal Sovereign Auction, an event where the continent’s shadow elite buy territories, corporate empires, and ancient shifter artifacts.

A sleek midnight-black Maybach pulls up to the curb.

Damon Vance steps out, looking sharp and commanding in a tailored black suit, though the faint dark circles under his grey eyes betray his lack of sleep. Chloe walks beside him, wearing a glittering gold dress, clinging tightly to his arm in an attempt to project power to the gathering news crews.

"Alpha Vance," a reporter thrusts a microphone forward. "Is it true Vance Enterprises lost controlling interest in its northern supply lines overnight?"

"Vance Enterprises is stronger than ever," Damon lies smoothly, stepping past the reporters with an icy glare. "Tonight, we are expanding our dominance into the European sector."

They pass through the heavy gold doors into the grand ballroom. The room is breathtaking—soaring arched ceilings, crystal chandeliers casting warm light over silver tables, and balconies reserved for the Royal Lycan Court.

As Damon scans the VIP tables, searching for key investors, a sudden, absolute silence falls over the entire grand hall.

The heavy conversations, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the ambient music instantly die down.

Damon frowns, turning toward the main grand staircase.

Descending the white marble steps is a woman who commands the attention of every Alpha, King, and billionaire in the room.

She wears a floor-length, backless gown made of liquid silver silk that catches the light like moonlight on water.

Her dark hair is swept up in an elegant, modern crown, exposing the long, delicate line of her neck. Her skin glows with an impossible, luminous purity, and her posture is that of an absolute monarch.

She doesn't look like a human. She looks like a goddess who descended from the heavens to judge the room.

Damon’s heart skips a violent beat. His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing shock.

"No..." Damon whispers, his voice barely a rasp. "No... that's impossible..."

Chloe gasps beside him, clutching his arm so hard her manicured nails bite through his jacket. "D-Damon... is that... is that Lyra?"

It is.

Lyra walks down the stairs with effortless grace, flanked by four towering Royal Lycan guards who bow their heads to her with profound, reverent respect.

She doesn't look sad. She doesn't look broken.

She glides across the polished floor, completely ignoring the stunned, gaping stares of the high-society crowd. Her eyes—flashing a subtle, luminous silver under the crystal lights—sweep across the room until they land directly on Damon.

She doesn't flinch. She gives him a slow, cold, utterly indifferent smile, as if looking at a stranger she barely remembers.

Before Damon can even process the shock, the heavy double doors of the Royal Balcony swing open above them.

King Alexander steps out onto the golden mezzanine, his towering, lethal frame radiating supreme power. The entire room immediately drops to their knees in respect—except for Lyra, who remains standing tall at the center of the floor.

Alexander’s dark-gold eyes scan the room, passing right over Damon like he is an insect, before locking onto Lyra.

A slow, possessive smirk curves the King's dark lips.

"Welcome to my court, Lady Valkyrie," Alexander's deep, velvety voice booms through the hall, carrying authority that makes every wolf's instincts bow. "Your seat is right beside mine."

His Aura slams on everyone downwards.