The Alpha's 1-Dollar Mistake Bows to the Queen

Everyone said I was worthless when my wolf failed to awaken.

On the day I was hospitalized with a difficult pregnancy, my family turned their backs on me.

That was why Brandon, my fated mate, didn't hesitate to cast me aside.

He only wanted Victoria, the daughter of a powerful Alpha.

While I lay in a coma, Brandon severed our bond and married her.

He even sent a $1 rejection payment to my hospital bed as the ultimate insult.

It was then that Alexander Cross appeared—the Lycan King, a myth come to life.

He wrapped me in his royal cloak, carried me away from that nightmare, and healed my broken body.

From then on, whenever anyone spoke ill of me, he silenced them forever.

Whenever I felt insecure, he crowned me with another royal title.

I had never known such absolute devotion, and I gave him my heart completely.

Five years later, my son and I lived happily in the Royal Lycan Court.

Then, a desperate Alpha came to beg for a military alliance to save his dying pack.

It was Brandon.

He kneeled in the grand hall, offering expensive gifts, totally unaware of who the King's mate was.

"My Queen will decide your fate," Alexander declared, his voice echoing in the silence.

I slowly stepped out from behind the velvet curtain and looked down at my ex-mate.

"Aria?" Brandon gasped, his face draining of all color.

"That is Luna Queen Aria to you," I smiled coldly. "And my answer is no."

***

"Hey, you. Deliveries go through the alley."

The doorman in a gold-trimmed uniform stepped off the Moonstone Hotel plaza curb, shoving his white-gloved hand toward my chest.

I swatted his arm away. "Don't touch me."

"Then move this junk heap," he demanded, gesturing at my motorcycle. "This is the VIP entrance. You're blocking the drop-off zone."

I turned back to my bike, hooking my fingers under the chin strap of my son's oversized helmet.

"I'm not making a delivery," I said, unzipping the bulky neon-orange courier jacket I wore to blend into the city traffic. "I have a reservation."

"A reservation? You?" The doorman sneered, eyeing the scuff marks on my steel-toed boots and the faded denim of my jeans. "Read the sign. No loitering for strays. We don't want rogues begging our guests for scraps."

"I'm unbuckling my kid. Give me ten seconds." I lifted the helmet off Leo's head, smoothing down his messy dark hair.

"You have five seconds before I call security," the doorman snapped, reaching for the radio on his belt.

"Go ahead," I challenged, resting a hand on my hip. "Call them. Tell them a paying customer is using the front door."

Before the doorman could unclip his radio, a sleek silver Maybach pulled up to the curb, tires kissing the red carpet and forcing me to step back.

The rear door swung open. A heavy, suffocating scent of pine and musk rolled out, thick enough to make my nose wrinkle.

Brandon stepped onto the pavement.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his jaw set in that familiar, arrogant line. He reached back into the car, pulling out Victoria. Her belly strained against a tight silk maternity dress, proudly displaying the heir I had never given him.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Brandon said, his voice cutting through the plaza noise.

I froze, my grip tightening on Leo's helmet.

Brandon strutted forward. Victoria clung to his arm, a smug smile plastered across her perfectly contoured face.

"Aria Blackwood," Brandon mocked, looking me up and down. "Dressed like a common delivery rat. I always knew you'd end up in the gutter, but this? This is a new low, even for you."

"Walk away, Brandon," I said, positioning myself between him and Leo.

"Why the rush?" He chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. "I thought a single dollar would last you longer. You must be starving by now."

I kept my expression blank. "Your trash is in the past. Keep it there."

"That was my rejection payment, wasn't it?" Brandon pressed, stepping closer. He looked around the plaza, making sure the gathering crowd of valets and guests could hear him. "One crisp dollar bill for the mate who wasn't worth a dime. I remember throwing it right at your feet. Did you frame it? Or did you spend it on cheap kibble?"

Victoria giggled, resting a diamond-ringed hand on her swollen stomach. "You should have seen her face when you tossed it at her, babe. Tragic. She actually thought an Alpha would keep a weak, pathetic thing like her. Look at her now. She looks like she hasn't bathed in a week."

"I'm busy," I said, tossing the helmet onto the leather seat of my bike. "Take your pregnant mistress and go check into your room."

"She's my mate now," Brandon growled, his eyes flashing gold. "And you dare speak to your Alpha that way?"

"You aren't my Alpha. You haven't been for five years."

He shifted his gaze, finally noticing the small boy hiding behind my leg. Leo stared back, his dark eyes wide but fearless.

"A pup," Brandon spat. "A rogue pup. Yours, I assume? Who's the father? Some nameless stray you picked up behind a dumpster?"

"Don't look at him," I warned, stepping fully in front of my son.

Brandon ignored me. He squared his shoulders, letting his Alpha aura crash down on the plaza.

The pressure settled like a crushing weight, meant to drive weaker wolves to their knees. The doorman stumbled back, gasping and clutching his chest. Victoria sagged against the car even though the aura wasn't directed at her.

Brandon locked eyes with Leo. "Kneel, boy. Show some respect to your betters."

Leo didn't blink. He didn't shake. He just stood there, clutching the hem of my neon jacket.

"I said kneel!" Brandon roared, amplifying the command.

The glass doors of the Moonstone Hotel vibrated. A valet dropped a set of keys, falling to his hands and knees on the pavement, overwhelmed by the dominance display.

Nothing. Leo simply tilted his head, looking bored.

Brandon's face flushed a deep, violent crimson. A low growl rattled in his chest. His inability to break a five-year-old pup in front of his pregnant mate and the hotel staff snapped his fragile ego.

"You filthy, defective rogues," he snarled.

His hand shot out. Claws elongated from his fingertips, thick and razor-sharp.

He didn't aim for me. He aimed for the only thing of value I had left. My bike wasn't just transportation; it was my livelihood, my escape route, my only piece of independence.

With a vicious swipe, he raked his claws across the front tire of my custom motorcycle.

BANG.

The thick rubber exploded. The blast echoed across the plaza like a gunshot. The frame of the bike lurched sideways, metal grinding against the concrete as it collapsed off its kickstand.

I stared at the shredded tire. One deep, jagged claw mark severed the reinforced tread. The hiss of escaping air filled the sudden silence.

"Oops," Brandon sneered, retracting his claws. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a smudge of grease from his skin. "Looks like your ride is out of commission. Fitting for a beggar."

My fists clenched. The leather of my gloves creaked.

"You owe me a new tire," I said, my voice dangerously flat.

"I don't owe a rogue anything," he snapped, tossing the handkerchief onto my ruined wheel. "You're a stain on this territory. A pathetic drifter playing dress-up in a delivery uniform because you have no pack, no home, and no future."

"You're paying for that damage," I said, stepping toward him.

Brandon laughed, a cruel, echoing sound. "Who is going to make me? You? A weak little female with a bastard pup? You have nothing. You are nothing."

Victoria tugged his sleeve. "Let's go inside, Brandon. The smell of street trash is making me nauseous."

"Of course, my love," he said, smoothing his expression.

He turned toward the hotel entrance, but before he took a step, he glanced at the doorman.

Brandon raised his hand, pointing a single, commanding finger straight at me.

"Detain this troublemaking rogue until I'm finished with my business."