Dead Wife's Unseen Revenge

In ALPHA'S WITCH (Midnight Oath), Eva Rose, a powerful heir, must navigate a world of secrets after being reborn. As she encounters the cursed Alpha Kael, she faces a fated connection that defies time. Discover this fantasy novel and read one of the most intense werewolf romance novels online.

I gently touched my stomach, feeling a wave of sadness wash over me. The emotional weight of the pregnancy test was something only I could truly comprehend. It was my own flesh and blood, making it hard to let go. Since I became pregnant, he hadn’t bothered to stay by my side. Instead, he let his assistant, Anastasia, flaunt herself in front of me repeatedly. Every time I asked him to stay with me, to give me a little motivation, he’d cite being busy as an excuse while gallivanting around with her. Meetings turned into spa hotel getaways with Anastasia; business trips became bikini holidays in the Caribbean. Incidents like this happened more times than I could count. I cried and fought, but he never took it seriously. He’d dismiss me with, “She’s just an assistant, what could we possibly have?

The morning sun filtered through the infirmary windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. I sat on the edge of the examination table, my fingers nervously twisting the thin cloth of my dress. The Head Healer's face was grave as he studied the scroll in his hands, his eyes darting between the parchment and the strange device he'd used to measure my aura. "Tessa Meyer," he said finally, his voice carrying the weight of decades of practice. "I've completed your pre-mating examination." Something in his tone made my heart stutter. I'd expected the usual clearance, the standard blessing before tomorrow's ceremony with Max. Instead, I saw the deep furrows of concern etched into his weathered face. "What's wrong?" I asked, though part of me already knew I didn't want the answer. He set the scroll down carefully, as if it contained something fragile and dangerous. "Your aura readings indicate a condition we call Wolfsbane Rot." The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

"A toast," Eden declared as servants began distributing crystal glasses filled with deep red wine. "To new beginnings." My stomach clenched as a server approached me with a tray. I started to shake my head—everyone in the pack knew of my severe allergy to alcohol. It had been documented since I became Luna; Eden himself had always ensured non-alcoholic alternatives were available at every gathering. But before I could decline, Eden was suddenly before me, taking a glass from the tray himself. His eyes, once warm amber pools I could drown in, were now cold and distant as he extended the wine toward me. "Surely our former Luna will join us in celebrating this momentous occasion," he said, loud enough for nearby pack members to hear. His emphasis on "former" cut through me like a blade. "Eden," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to werewolf ears. "You know I can't—" "Drink," he commanded, his Alpha tone washing over me like a physical force. "Honor our new Luna. Your new Luna."

I stared at the financial records spread across my kitchen table, my fingers trembling as I traced the columns of numbers. Three years. Three years since I'd forgiven Oliver for his affair with that rogue she-wolf, Summer Wilson. Three years of rebuilding our mate bond, of raising our daughter Hope, of believing we'd moved past his betrayal. And now this. "Large withdrawals," I whispered, circling the figures with my pen. "Every month for... two years." The amounts were substantial—more than what we spent on pack supplies. More than what we allocated for Hope's education. The destination was always listed as "security expenses," but the pattern was too regular, too consistent.