The Alpha Marshal's Regretful Annulment

A scream clawed up Georgia Shields's throat, but died as a strangled gasp.

Her eyes flew open.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Cold sweat soaked through her designer nightgown. The room was dim, lit only by the ambient glow of the city skyline outside The Plaza's top-floor suite.

Then she heard it. A low, guttural growl vibrating through the floor from the master bathroom. Pure, unrestrained animalism that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

The frosted glass door exploded outward.

A towering figure stumbled out. Lantis Kensington. Imperial Marshal. War hero. Also one of Georgia's fiancés—the man who had driven his sword through her heart in a life that no longer existed. His uniform was half-torn, his immaculate blond hair a wild mess, and his golden eyes were shot through with blood-red veins.

Georgia's gaze flickered past him to the sleek electronic calendar on the wall.

Stardate 2045.

She was back. Back to the night it all began.

She remembered what happened next.

In her previous life, right here in this suite, she did something unforgivable.

It was her foster sister Meredith who encouraged her to put the drug into Lantis's drink. Meredith is the adopted daughter of the Shields royal family, who has played the role of a loving younger sister for years, but secretly plots every public downfall of Georgia.

And Georgia did as told. She dripped pheromone inducers into his cup, then used her own body to lure him into bed. A night of madness.

Since then, she has left a mark on his spirit. A mark of a "zero" woman. Worthless. There is simply no healing ability.

They were already engaged, but Lantis never loved her. That mark meant he could never get rid of her. A "zero" woman he never wanted, now forever etched into his spirit.

And she, blinded by infatuation, destroyed him and six other fiancés over the following years. Until the seven of them joined forces to exile her. In the end, Lantis personally stabbed her heart with a sword.

But this time, she had done nothing. She had just woken up. In the original timeline, nothing had happened yet—she hadn't moved toward him, and the Inducer was still sitting in the jewelry box she had never touched.

So why was Lantis like this?

Georgia didn't have time to work it out. All she knew was this: if she stayed, if she let this play out the way it had before, everything would happen again. The destruction. And the sword through her heart.

She had to leave. Now.

Georgia threw back the covers and tried to stand, but her legs were jelly. Her knees buckled. She hit the carpet with a soft thud.

Lantis's head snapped toward her.

"Get... out," he rasped. "Now."

In her past life, she had crawled toward him—not out of strategy, not out of calculation, but because she had loved him with a mad, consuming love. Down to the bone. The kind of love that would have let her grind herself to dust just to fill the cracks inside him.

This time, Georgia scrambled backward. Her eyes were wide with a terror he had never seen before. .

She retreated until her back hit a sofa, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to her chest. A pathetic shield.

Lantis stared. A flicker of confusion cut through the haze. This reaction was wrong. She was supposed to be throwing herself at him.

A fresh wave of agony ripped through him. He fell to his knees, his hands digging into the carpet, knuckles white.

Then, from the top of his head, a pair of fluffy white tiger ears popped into existence, twitching nervously. A sign of catastrophic failure—a high beastman losing his grip on his human form. His Psyche-Core was on the verge of shattering.

Georgia knew what that meant. If he didn't get a female's soothing pheromones immediately, he would die. Or worse, his mind would be permanently destroyed, leaving nothing but a mindless beast.

But she was a Null-Female. Her energy was useless, nonexistent. Trying to soothe him would be suicide. The force of his rampage would tear her apart.

Lantis lifted his head. The last shreds of reason were gone, replaced by pure, desperate instinct. His body craved the only other living creature in the room. He swayed, struggled to his feet, and began to lurch toward her.

"Stay back!" Georgia screamed, her voice trembling but laced with a command she didn't know she had. "Kensington, get a hold of yourself!"

He paused for a single heartbeat. But the beast was stronger. He took another step.

Then, faintly, she heard it. The distant chime of an elevator arriving on their floor. Meredith and the reporters. They were coming, just like last time.

Georgia didn't wait. She sprinted for the bedroom, putting the massive bed between them.

Lantis stalked around it with predatory patience. Herding her.

She straightened her spine, looked into those inhuman eyes, and said, "I am not your prey. And I am not your cure."

Lantis stopped. Confusion. Recognition. Then—fury.

He lunged.

Georgia dove sideways, crashing into the nightstand. Her fingers found the drawer and ripped it open. The first-aid kit. Bandages. And at the bottom—the auto-injector. Military-grade Suppressant.

Lantis's body tensed for another attack. She knew she wouldn't be fast enough.

She didn't try to dodge.

Instead, as he launched himself at her, she threw herself toward him, colliding with his chest. For a single heartbeat, he was stunned. In that heartbeat, Georgia drove the needle into the side of his neck and slammed the plunger home.

The effect was instantaneous.

Lantis went rigid. Then his massive body crumpled.

A brilliant white light engulfed him.

When it faded, a magnificent white tiger lay unconscious on the ruined carpet, breathing deep and steady.

Georgia lay beside him, gasping. She forced herself to roll away. Her entire body ached. Her wrist was already darkening with the imprint of his grip—a brutal, undeniable bruise.

Then she heard the voices outside the door.

"Are you sure this is the room, Meredith?" a man's low voice.

"Positive." Meredith's saccharine tone. "I saw them go in myself. He looked... unwell."

The reporters. Meredith had brought them, just like in her past life. She had arranged all of it.

In her past life, Georgia had run and been caught in the corridor, her face covered in guilt for everyone to see.

This time, she would make them come to her.

She looked at the unconscious white tiger, the broken room, and the bruise blooming on her wrist. This scene told a story. She just needed to let it speak for itself.

Georgia sat among the rubble, pulling her torn nightgown tight around her shoulders, and waited.