The White Wolf Heiress: Reborn To Rule

Alea POV: “Alea, darling, Candida and I are fated mates—chosen by the Moon Goddess herself.” Kirt Bradford’s declaration reached me as I stepped onto the secondfloor landing of White Pack’s great hall.

He stood below with one arm wrapped protectively around his mistress, Candida Cervantes, as though bringing her into my home were an act of courage rather than a calculated humiliation.

Candida wore a simple white dress.

Her dark lashes were wet, her makeup remained flawless, and every tear sliding down her cheeks seemed carefully timed. “According to Pack law,” Kirt continued smoothly, “I am asking you to accept Candida as my second mate, with all the status and resources she deserves.” In my last life, Kirt betrayed me.

With Candida at his side and my stepmother, Elois Mercado, clearing the way, he stripped me of my inheritance, destroyed my authority as White Pack’s first heir, and helped reduce my family to ruin.

Then he and Candida locked me inside a burning room and watched me die. I lost my name, my future, my pack—and finally, my life. But the Moon Goddess gave me another chance.

When I opened my eyes that morning, I was twenty years old again, back on the exact day Kirt brought Candida into my home and demanded that I legitimize their affair.

This time, I would make every one of them pay before they could take a single thing from me. My stepmother, Elois, and my stepsister, Katy, stood nearby.

Their faces were masks of fake concern, but their eyes glittered with malicious glee.

Candida lifted her tearstreaked face on cue. “Miss White, I… I truly didn’t mean for this to happen.

We can’t fight destiny…” “Look at the stupid cow,” Katy muttered to Elois, just loud enough for me to hear. “She’s going to cry again.” They were all watching me, waiting for the broken, obedient girl they remembered—the girl who would beg Kirt to reconsider and thank Candida for showing her mercy.

That girl had died in the fire. I said nothing. I began descending the grand staircase, the heels of my black shoes striking the marble in measured clicks.

That morning, I had ignored the delicate white and pink dresses I used to wear for Kirt and chosen a sharply tailored black suit instead.

By the time I reached the final step, the confidence on his face had begun to waver. “Alea?” Kirt prompted, irritation creeping beneath his practiced tenderness. “Did you hear what I said?” I didn’t look at him.

I didn’t look at Candida. My gaze went to the family crest on the wall, the White Pack lineage chart displayed beneath it.

My eyes found my parents’ names: Garrison White and Clara White. Then, Kirt Bradford’s name, listed as “betrothed.” His patience snapped. He grabbed my wrist. “Alea!

I’m talking to you!” I turned my head slowly. For the first time, my eyes met his. “Mr.

Bradford,” I said, my voice calm and distant. “Which hand did you just use to touch me?” He blinked, stunned, and instinctively let go.

A chilling smile touched my lips. “You bring your mistress into my home and demand that I, your betrothed, legitimize your affair?” The hall fell silent.

Even Candida’s pathetic sobs stopped. “What do you think the White Pack is?

A shelter where you can house any prostitute you find?” Kirt’s face turned a blotchy, furious red. “Alea White! You’ve lost your mind!

How dare you!” He raised his hand to strike me. But I was faster. I was fueled by the memory of fire. Crack.

The sound of my hand connecting with his cheek echoed through the silent hall. Kirt stumbled back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I shook my stinging hand, my gaze locked on his. “That,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, “was to teach you respect.”

Alea POV: Kirt stared at me, his hand pressed to his reddening cheek. Shock morphed into pure rage.

I could feel his wolf surging, his Alpha's dominance pressing down on me, trying to force me to my knees. In my past life, it would have worked.

But I had witnessed the power of Graydon Sinclair IV, Crown Prince and heir to the Alpha King—the man destined to become the next king of wolves.

In the Sacred Grove, he had forced a rogue dire wolf into submission with nothing but the weight of his dominance.

Compared to that raw, untamed authority, Kirt's rage was little more than a child's tantrum.

I stood my ground, unmoved. "Kirt, your face!" Candida shrieked, rushing to his side. "Miss Alea, how could you?

We were just trying to talk this out..." Elois finally found her voice. "Alea White! That is enough!

Apologize to Kirt at once!" My gaze shifted to Katy, who stood beside her mother wearing the same wideeyed innocence she had perfected in my first life.

The sight of her face dragged an old betrayal to the surface. She had once given me a delicate silver locket, claiming it was a gift chosen with sisterly affection.

I had treasured it and worn it every day. Later, the locket was exposed as a listening device that had been transmitting White Pack secrets to our rivals.

Katy denied knowing anything about it, and Elois supported every tearful lie.

Unable to prove that I had been framed, I was confined by my father and stripped of part of my inheritance rights. That was when Kirt began distancing himself from me.

Past and present overlapped as I studied Katy's carefully arranged expression. For one fierce instant, I wanted to tear that mask from her face with my bare hands.

I locked the impulse away and turned the heat of my anger into something colder. Kirt mistook my silence for fear. A smirk twisted his lips. "Scared now?

It's not too late to apologize." I looked at Kirt. "Apologize?" I asked, a low laugh escaping my lips. "Mr.

Bradford, I think you've misunderstood something." I walked to the center of the great hall, my eyes sweeping over every person present, including the servants peering from the doorways.

My voice was not loud, but it carried, clear and sharp. "I, Alea White, first heir to the White Pack…" I paused, letting my gaze land on Kirt like a physical blow. "...hereby formally petition the Pack Elders to dissolve the betrothal between myself and Kirt Bradford." A collective gasp went through the hall.

The words hit like a physical shockwave. Kirt's face was a mask of disbelief. He had expected tears, arguments, a pathetic plea. He had never imagined this.

Dissolving the betrothal meant he would lose his one legitimate claim to the White Pack's resources. Candida’s face went white.

Her entire future was built on the foundation of Kirt’s connection to me. Elois and Katy were just as stunned. This wasn't in their script.

Hadn't Alea been hopelessly in love with Kirt? "Are you insane?" Kirt hissed, rushing towards me, his voice a low growl. "Do you have any idea what dissolving this betrothal will do to the White Pack's reputation?" "It will certainly be better than the shame of accepting a whore and her john into the family," I replied coolly. "You—!" He was trembling with fury.

I ignored him, turning to my personal maid, Moira Nash, who stood frozen near the entryway. "Moira, prepare the petition papers.

I want them submitted to the Elders immediately." Moira, though clearly in shock, bowed her head. "Yes, miss." The reality of the situation finally hit Kirt. He panicked.

His tone softened. "Alea, wait. Let's… let's talk about this.

Don't be so rash." Candida quickly wiped her fake tears, her expression turning pleading. "Miss Alea, it's all my fault.

Please don't end things with Kirt…" I watched their pathetic act, disgust churning in my gut. I raised a hand, and Moira paused.

I looked back at Kirt. "You don't want to dissolve the betrothal?" A flicker of hope ignited in his and Candida's eyes.

A slow, mocking smile spread across my face. "Fine." "Get this woman out of my house. Immediately.

Then, you will get down on your knees and lick my shoes clean." I extended my foot, the toe of my black high heel tapping lightly on the marble floor. The humiliation was absolute.

The color drained from Kirt's face, leaving it a pasty, mottled gray. His wolf was screaming inside him, his sanity fraying at the edges.

Alea POV: Kirt's face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

I could see the struggle in his eyes, his wolf clawing for control, wanting to shift and tear me apart right here in the hall. Elois Mercado saw it too.

She moved with surprising speed, grabbing Kirt’s arm. "Alea! That's enough!" she snapped, her voice sharp as glass. "He is the heir to the Bradford Pack.

Do you want to start a war between our families by humiliating him like this?" Katy chimed in, her voice dripping with false reason. "Exactly, sister.

How could you make such a vulgar demand? Kirt was just… confused for a moment." She shot a pointed glare at Candida.

Candida, ever the actress, immediately began to sob again, as if she were the one most deeply wounded. I watched Elois orchestrate the scene, a cold knot forming in my stomach.

In my last life, this was how she operated—playing the reasonable mediator, smoothing things over, all while slowly siphoning the lifeblood from the White Pack.

Kirt, under Elois's firm grip, visibly forced himself to calm down. The murderous glint in his eyes was replaced by a look of cold calculation. He thought he could salvage this.

He took a deep breath. "Fine, Alea. We won't talk about that.

If you want to talk about fairness, let's talk about fairness." He was shifting tactics, moving from emotion to business. "Our betrothal was an agreement between two Packs, accompanied by a significant portfolio of joint assets.

Even if we dissolve the contract, the division of those assets needs to be addressed." At the word "assets," Candida's sobs quieted.

Her ears practically perked up. "Candida may not have a noble name," Kirt continued, his audacity astounding, "but she is my fated mate.

Ancient tradition dictates that she is entitled to a portion of 'mate assets' to secure her future." He had the gall to look me in the eye. "So, this is my offer.

You don't have to accept her, but the White Pack must provide a settlement befitting Candida's new status. As a sign of respect to the Moon Goddess's will." I almost laughed.

It was the exact same shameless logic he'd used before. And I, like a fool, had fallen for it.

I had given them one of my mother's estates and a trust fund just to get them out of my life. I remembered Katy, whispering in my ear, "Sister, it's just money. Pay them to go away.

You'll earn a reputation for being generous and merciful." And now, here she was again, playing the same part. "She's right, sister," Katy said, her voice full of false sympathy. "Kirt has a point.

That property is a drop in the ocean for us. Think of it as… paying off a beggar.

It's better than having them linger here forever." Her words were for me, but her hungry eyes were on Kirt. She and Elois had already decided how they would split the spoils.

My gaze moved slowly from Kirt to Candida, then to Katy and Elois. I saw the same raw, undisguised greed on each of their faces. I didn't answer.

I turned, walked to the sofa in the center of the hall, and sat down, crossing my legs. The simple act shifted the power dynamic completely.

Suddenly, they were the ones standing, petitioning me. A maid had replaced the tea on the coffee table.

I picked up a cup, blowing gently on the steam, as if I had all the time in the world. Kirt's patience wore thin. "Alea, are you considering it?

This is the best solution for everyone." I finally looked up at him, my eyes filled with a pity that was more insulting than any anger. "Mr.

Bradford, do you truly believe that I, Alea White, and the wealth of the White Pack, are nothing more than a carcass for you jackals to tear apart?" My voice was soft, but the words were daggers.

I set the teacup down with a soft click. "You," I said, pointing a finger at Kirt, "are a disloyal traitor." I shifted my aim to Candida. "She is a shameless mistress." My eyes finally landed on Elois and Katy. "And you two are parasites, feasting on a family that generously took you in." I stood up, closing the distance between us. "And now, this collection of filth stands before me, demanding payment?" I laughed.

The sound was clear and sharp, but utterly devoid of warmth. "I wouldn't give you a single cent." "Get out." The last two words were barely a whisper, squeezed from between my teeth, carrying an absolute, unchallengeable command.

The temperature in the hall seemed to drop by twenty degrees.