Rejected Omega, Secret Bride of the Billionaire Lycan

Elenor POV

The neon sign of the Tribeca bar flickered, casting a sickly red glow over the sticky wooden counter. I stared at the amber liquid in my glass, the cheap whiskey burning my throat, but it did nothing to numb the phantom pain tearing at my chest.

Three hours. It had been three hours since my entire world shattered under the crystal chandeliers of the Thornton Pack's Annual Unity Gala.

I was supposed to be Caleb’s secret weapon, the brilliant assistant who managed his Pack's affairs behind the scenes. But when the Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack paraded his beautiful, pure-blooded daughter in front of him, Caleb hadn't just cast me aside. He had slaughtered my dignity.

I closed my eyes, but I could still hear his cruel, dismissive voice echoing over the clinking of champagne glasses.

*"Her? She's just a wolfless charity case my Pack took in. Barely an Omega. Don't take her seriously."*

*Wolfless.* The word was a silver-dipped dagger, twisting into my deepest wound. In the werewolf world, being wolfless meant you were defective. A burden. I had spent years enduring the Pack's whispers, letting Caleb control me just to prove my worth. And in one breath, he had reduced my existence to a pathetic joke just to make himself look available.

"Hey, sweetheart. A pretty thing like you shouldn't be drinking alone."

A heavy, sweaty hand clamped down on my thigh. I flinched, my eyes snapping open. Two human men had boxed me in. The one touching me reeked of stale beer and unwashed clothes.

"Let go of me," I muttered, trying to shove his hand away. But without a wolf to grant me strength, my push was embarrassingly weak.

"Come on, don't be a bitch," the second man sneered, leaning in closer.

Panic flared in my chest. I tried to slide off the barstool, but they pressed closer, trapping me. I was too exhausted, too broken to fight.

Then, the temperature in the bar plummeted.

It wasn't a draft. It was a suffocating, terrifying weight that instantly crushed the oxygen out of the room. A scent washed over me—a violent, intoxicating blend of sharp cedarwood, a raging rainstorm, and rich Cuban tobacco. It was an Alpha's aura, but heavier and darker than anything I had ever felt in the Thornton Pack.

The human man's hand was suddenly ripped from my thigh. He didn't even have time to scream before he was thrown backward, crashing into a table of empty bottles. His friend took one look at the towering figure standing behind me and bolted out the door, driven by pure, primal terror.

I slowly turned my head.

He stood there like a mountain of lethal grace. He was dressed in a bespoke black suit that stretched over broad, muscular shoulders. But it was his eyes that made my breath hitch—deep, charcoal-gray pools swirling with a possessive fury that seemed entirely directed at me.

I didn't know him. I had never seen him before. Yet,