His Rejected Luna: The Lycan King's Vengeful Mate

Audriana POV:

The porcelain mug was barely cold before my personal satellite phone shrilled against the glass desktop.

The screen displayed a crest of intertwining silver thorns. Desmond Sullivan. My father. Patriarch of our bloodline, a man whose ledger was his only bible.

I pressed speakerphone. "Father."

"You have disgraced this family," Desmond's voice ground through the speaker like stone scraping iron. No question of how I was holding up. No acknowledgment of Gabe's betrayal. "Marcus Black called me ten minutes ago. Gabe has claimed Hailee under his protection. Your rejection is already circulating through the council registries."

I leaned back into my leather chair, forcing my breathing into a measured rhythm. "Gabe was orchestrating a fraudulent takeover of my mother's estate, Father. I have verifiable audio evidence-"

"Silence!" he roared. "I care nothing for your squabbles over ledgers! The Sullivan family required that Blackwater treaty. Hailee understood her duty; you allowed your pride to fracture an alliance." He paused, his breath rattling shallowly. "Pack Elder Vance from the Northern Ridge territory lost his mate last winter. He requires an obedient female to oversee his household. You will sign the preliminary transfer agreements by noon tomorrow."

My stomach turned. Vance was a seventy-year-old tyrant whose previous two mates had died under mysterious, violent circumstances.

"Vance is a butcher," I said coldly. "And I am not pack chattel to be traded away to cover Gabe Black's breach of contract."

"You were dumped on the floor of the Registry Hall!" Desmond snarled. "What else do you imagine you are worth on the open market? You obey my directive, Audriana, or you will be declared an outcast before nightfall."

"Try it," I whispered, and ended the call.

I stared at the dark screen, my pulse pounding in my ears. He wasn't just disciplining me; he was trying to bury me before I could contest Hailee's legitimacy.

A sharp knock broke the silence. Maya slipped into the office, locking the deadbolt behind her. Her young face was pale, clutching her tablet like a shield.

"Audri," Maya whispered, her voice trembling. "My roommate in corporate HR just flagged an urgent inquiry from your father's legal team. Desmond is petitioning the corporate board to suspend your executive clearance immediately. They're filing for an emergency conservatorship, claiming you suffered an acute psychiatric break following the severed bond."

My jaw clenched until my teeth ached. "They're moving faster than I thought."

"If the Alliance magistrate grants conservatorship, your legal authority is frozen," Maya said, panicked. "They can seize your accounts, your trust dividends, your physical custody. They're going to lock you up before you can even hire outside counsel."

"Gabe knew I had the records," I murmured, my analytical mind racing through calculations. "He told Desmond to cut my legs out from under me."

I unlocked the hidden floor safe beneath my desk and pulled out an air-gapped laptop routed through independent offshore proxies. I opened a private browser linked to an unlisted credit union.

The balance appeared: $342,180.

Liquid operating cash. Enough to survive in hiding for six months, but a drop in the ocean compared to what was at stake. Hailee's words echoed through my memory: She thinks she hid the Aura design royalties behind seven shell companies.

They were hunting the Grand Cayman accounts. If Desmond froze my legal identity, the Aura empire-tens of millions in rare gems and intellectual property-would be locked in probate court for decades. I didn't just need money. I needed an impenetrable legal bunker.

Under Alliance Charter law, an unmated female remained under the absolute jurisdiction of her ancestral patriarch. But a mated female belonged exclusively to the sovereign house of her husband.

My fingers slipped into my blazer pocket, brushing against the heavy, velvet-matte card.

Caden Sinclair.

The Sinclairs did not answer to regional Alpha councils. They were apex predators-old money, untraceable power, and royal bloodlines that sat at the pinnacle of continental commerce. Nobody knew what rank Caden held in their shadowy hierarchy, but his aura in that hallway had bent the atmospheric pressure of the room.

I picked up the burner phone, dialed the silver-embossed digits, and waited.

It clicked on the second ring.

"Sinclair," that low, glacial baritone rumbled. No greeting. Just raw, latent power that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"Mr. Sinclair. It's Audriana Sullivan."

A deliberate silence stretched over the line. "You took longer than I anticipated, Ms. Sullivan."

"I have a counter-proposal to whatever transaction you had in mind," I said, keeping my tone crisp, professional, and devoid of trauma. "I don't need charity, and I don't need a savior. But I require a binding alliance that completely nullifies Sullivan pack jurisdiction."

"And what do you bring to my table?" Caden asked smoothly. "I do not collect refugees."

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "The private Zurich auction last November. The platinum celestial cuff, encrusted with black diamonds and raw starlight quartz, purchased by your Sovereign Trust for forty-two million."

The silence on the other end grew heavy.

"I am familiar with the piece," Caden said softly.

"The anonymous master artisan who forged it goes by the name of Aura," I said, laying down my card. "And she is currently sitting at a desk in Midtown, looking for a partner who knows how to keep his mouth shut."

A low, dark vibration echoed through the receiver-the sound of dangerous amusement.

"Tomorrow morning. Eight sharp," Caden murmured. "The Sinclair Tower, seventy-second floor. Don't be late, Ms. Sullivan."

The line went dead.

I looked up at Maya, whose eyes were wide with shock.

"Pack our files onto cold storage drives, Maya," I said, closing the laptop with a decisive snap. "We're moving up."