The Contract Bride's Vengeance

The rejection burned like acid. Seraphina Blackwood stood at the center of the Moonstone Ceremony hall, her bare feet freezing on the marble floor, and watched Damon Cross's eyes slide off her like she was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "I, Damon Cross, future Alpha of the Cross Pack, reject you, Seraphina Blackwood, as my mate." The words echoed. The crowd murmured. Isabella—her perfect, pure-blooded half-sister—pressed a manicured hand to her lips like she was shocked, but Sera could see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. This is it. She knew what came next. She'd lived it. The rejection would break her wolf. The pack would cast her out. Isabella would take Damon, take the inheritance, take everything. And Sera—weak, unwanted, omega Sera—would end up in a gutter somewhere, bleeding out because she had nothing left to live for. She could still feel the cold of that gutter. The rats. Isabella's face leaning over her, whispering "You were never supposed to exist." And then— Nothing. Until now. Until she was standing here again, eighteen years old, in the same freezing hall, with the same acid burn eating through her chest. I'm back. The realization hit her like a physical blow. Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the edge of the ceremonial altar, her fingers scraping against the cold stone. The crowd murmured louder. Damon frowned. "Seraphina? Do you accept the rejection?" Do you accept the rejection. Those five words. Last time, she'd whispered "I accept" through tears and run out like the wounded animal everyone thought she was. Not this time. Sera lifted her head. The hall went quiet. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Maybe it was the way she stood—straight, unbowed, like the rejection hadn't even touched her. Or maybe it was the smile that curved her lips, slow and sharp and nothing like the omega they all knew. "Accept?" she said. Her voice was steady. Steadier than it had ever been. "Why would I accept a rejection from a man who isn't even worth my time?" A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Damon's face went red. "What did you just say?" "I said," Sera took a step forward, her bare feet slapping against the marble, "you aren't worth my time, Damon Cross. You think I wanted to be your mate? You think I've been pining after you since we were kids?" She laughed. It was a cold sound. "Please. I'd rather mate a feral rogue than spend one more minute pretending you're something special." Isabella's smile froze. Damon looked like he was about to explode. "You—you—" "Me, what?" Sera tilted her head. "Omega's not allowed to have standards? Just because I was born with a silver spoon up my sister's ass doesn't mean I have to settle for the first Alpha who looks at me." That got a laugh. Someone in the back snorted. An elder woman Sera didn't recognize actually clapped once. The tension in the hall shifted. It wasn't pity anymore. It was curiosity. Damon's jaw clenched. "You're making a fool of yourself, Seraphina." "Am I?" Sera turned to face the crowd. She let her gaze sweep over them—the Blackwoods, the Crosses, the various pack members and hangers-on who'd come to watch the private omega get rejected. "Let me ask you all something. How many of you knew Damon was sleeping with my sister behind my back?" Dead silence. Isabella went white. Damon sputtered. "That's—that's a lie—" "Is it?" Sera pulled her phone out of the pocket of her ceremonial robe. She'd had the foresight, in this second life, to install a recording app before the ceremony. Thank you, future knowledge. She held the phone up, tapped the screen, and Damon's voice filled the hall. "—can't wait until this rejection is over, Bella. Then I can finally be with you publicly. Sera's just a formality—" Sera tapped the screen again. The recording cut off. The hall erupted. Someone shouted. Damon lunged for her. Isabella grabbed his arm, hissing something Sera couldn't hear. A pack elder stood up, knocking over his chair. "Ah, ah, ah." Sera held up a finger, raising her voice over the chaos. "Touch me, and I send that recording to every pack elder in the country. Your father's already on thin ice with the Council. You really want to give them another reason to question your fitness as future Alpha?" Damon froze. His hand was inches from her face. Isabella was still pulling at his sleeve, her face bright red. Sera smiled at him. Sweet as poison. "That's what I thought." She turned back to the crowd. Her eyes found Isabella, who was now shaking. "As for you, sister dear," Sera said, her voice dropping so only Isabella could hear, "I know what you did. I know everything. And I'm going to make you pay for every single thing." Isabella's eyes widened. "What—what are you talking about?" "You'll find out." Sera stepped back. "Now if you'll all excuse me, I have a wedding to plan." She walked out of the hall without looking back. Behind her, someone dropped a glass. It shattered on the marble. The cold air hit her like a wall. Sera stumbled down the marble steps of the Blackwood estate, her ceremonial robe flapping around her legs, and only when she was halfway down the driveway did she let herself shake. Oh my God. Oh my God, I actually did that. She'd never had the courage before. Never even thought of recording Damon. She'd been too busy crying, too busy feeling sorry for herself, too busy being the weak omega everyone expected her to be. But she wasn't that girl anymore. She was dead. She'd been dead for three years, rotting in that gutter, and somehow—the universe had given her a second chance. She wasn't going to waste it. "Seraphina Blackwood." The voice came from the shadows of the driveway. Low. Smooth. Expensive. Like cashmere and cigarettes and old money. Sera froze. She knew that voice. She'd heard it once before—at a gala she'd snuck into, standing at the edge of the room while Isabella schmoozed with the rich and powerful. She'd seen him across the room, tall and dark and impossibly still, and someone had whispered "That's Lucien Voss. Don't look at him too long. He's not human." Lucien Voss. She knew that name. Everyone in the supernatural community knew that name. But no one knew what he was. Not really. He stepped out of the shadows. He was tall. Taller than Damon, taller than any man Sera had ever stood next to. His hair was black as ink, cut sharp and precise. His eyes were pale gray—almost silver—and when they landed on her, she didn't breathe. He was wearing a black suit that probably cost more than Sera's entire wardrobe. His tie was loosened, like he'd been in a hurry. And he was looking at her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "That was quite a performance," he said. His voice was even. No emotion. Just observation. Sera lifted her chin. "I don't remember inviting you to my rejection ceremony." "You didn't." He took a step closer. "I came because I have a proposition for you." "A proposition." Sera's eyes narrowed. "I don't do that kind of work, Mr. Voss." A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? "I'm not offering you that kind of work, Miss Blackwood. I'm offering you a marriage." Sera blinked. "I'm sorry—what?" "A marriage." Lucien said it like he was offering her a business deal. Which, Sera realized, he probably was. "One year. Contractual. You play the role of my wife in public. In return, I give you everything you need to take down the Blackwood family and the Cross pack. Money. Connections. Protection. Whatever you want." Sera stared at him. The cold wind blew her hair across her face. She didn't move. This wasn't supposed to happen. Last time, Lucien Voss had been a myth. A name whispered in dark corners. She'd never spoken to him. She'd never even been close enough to smell his cologne—which, now that she thought about it, was cedar and smoke and something underneath it, something ancient and hungry. But here he was. Offering her a marriage. Offering her revenge. "Why?" she said. Her voice was quieter now. "Why me?" Lucien's silver eyes didn't waver. "Because you just rejected Damon Cross in front of the entire supernatural community. Because you have nothing left to lose." He paused, like he was weighing his words. "And I need a wife. Not for love. Not for heirs. For politics. The Voss family council is demanding I marry by the end of the month, or they strip me of my position. I need someone who won't ask questions. Someone who can play the role perfectly. Someone who has her own agenda, so she won't get in the way of mine." He took another step. Now he was close enough that Sera could see the faint pulse in his jaw. Close enough that she could see that his eyes weren't just gray—they were silver, like moonlight on a blade. "So what do you say, Seraphina Blackwood?" he said. "Want to get married?" Sera looked at him. She thought of Isabella's smile—the fake one, the one that didn't reach her eyes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still hear the rats. And Damon. God, Damon. She'd wasted so many years on him. And then she smiled. "One condition," she said. "Name it." "When I take down the Blackwoods," Sera said, "you don't get in my way. Not even if it gets messy. Not even if it gets bloody." Lucien Voss smiled back. It was the first time she'd seen him smile. It didn't reach his eyes. It was cold and sharp and perfect. "Deal," he said. He held out his hand. Sera looked at it. Pale. Long-fingered. A hand that had probably signed contracts worth billions. A hand that had probably killed people. She took it. His skin was cold. Colder than the night air. But his grip was firm. Sure. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Voss," he said. And somewhere behind them, in the Blackwood estate, Isabella screamed.