After My Mate Stole My Rogue Kill, I Defied Him

The rain hammered down like bullets as I crouched in the mud, watching Ironclaw's massive silhouette move through the abandoned warehouse. My name is Freya Wright, and tonight, like every other night for the past three years, I wasn't the wolfless Omega wife everyone believed me to be.

I was The Shadow.

My wolf, Valkyrie, growled low in my mind. *End him quickly. We need to get home before Colin wakes.*

I knew. The Rogue General had a bounty of fifty thousand dollars on his head—exactly what we needed for Colin's Beta ceremony fees. The ceremony that would finally validate all my sacrifices. All the nights I'd spent hunting while he slept peacefully in our bed, believing I was just a weak, wolfless burden.

Ironclaw turned, and I struck.

My blade sang through the air, a silver arc in the darkness. He was fast—faster than the intelligence reports suggested—but I was faster. Three years of hiding hadn't dulled my skills. If anything, the suppression made me sharper, more focused. I ducked under his claws, felt them whistle past my ear, and drove my knife upward into the soft tissue beneath his jaw.

He gurgled, eyes wide with shock. Even in his final moments, he didn't recognize me. No one did anymore.

I twisted the blade and stepped back as he collapsed. The rain washed his blood into the mud, mixing with the dirt until it looked like rust-colored paint. I pulled out my phone, took the required proof photo of his distinctive scar pattern, and pocketed the silver tag from his neck. The Lycan Council would verify the kill by morning, and the money would be in my account by noon.

*Fifty thousand dollars,* I thought, wrapping my ribs where his claws had caught me. The wounds were already healing—Alpha regeneration was one thing I couldn't fully suppress, though I'd gotten good at hiding it. *Fifty thousand dollars for Colin's future.*

For our future.

Valkyrie snarled. *There is no 'our' future with that weakling. You know this.*

I ignored her. I'd been ignoring her for three years.

The drive home was a blur of rain and streetlights. I parked two blocks away, as always, and slipped through the servant's entrance of the Phillips' house. My tactical gear went into the hidden compartment beneath the basement stairs—the one Mrs. Phillips didn't know existed because she'd never deigned to do her own laundry.

I'd just pulled on my worn nightgown when I heard footsteps above.

Colin was awake.

I climbed the stairs, my heart hammering for entirely different reasons now. The adrenaline from the kill was fading, replaced by the familiar anxiety of my domestic masquerade.

"Freya!" Colin's voice echoed through the hallway. "Where the hell have you been?"

I found him in our bedroom, preening in front of the full-length mirror. The new Beta sash gleamed across his chest—deep blue with silver threading. He looked... proud. Powerful. Nothing like the broken, bleeding wolf I'd saved on that rainy night three years