My Ex's Powerful Uncle Is My True Mate

A trembling maid, terrified of angering the Commander, practically dragged me through the corridors toward the west wing—Gideon's private territory.

As the hot water of the bathing chamber finally chased the deep chill from my bones, my mind shifted from the chaos at the lake to the immediate threat ahead.

The first step of my plan had worked perfectly: Julian choosing to save his mistress from the freezing lake while leaving his intended Luna to drown had driven a massive wedge into his reputation.

But this drama is far from over. I know Eleonora Carlisle—the matriarch of the pack. In her eyes, family honor and political alliances far outweigh any personal humiliation. Without a doubt, she will attempt to cover up today’s “accident” and force the marriage through.

To win the upcoming judgment in her parlor, I needed a shield. I needed leverage.

Stepping out of the bath, I wrapped myself in a simple, borrowed tunic. I glanced at the mirror. My violet eyes held a cold, ancient exhaustion that didn't belong on an eighteen-year-old face.

"My Lady, are you alright?"

My personal maid, Willow, rushed into the room, holding a soft towel. Her eyes were red, brimming with genuine, unshed tears of worry.

"I am fine, Willow," I said smoothly, reaching out to gently squeeze her trembling hand.

In my past life, I had been frail and sickly, constantly at the mercy of others. I had failed to protect myself, and I had failed to protect the few who were truly loyal to me, like Willow, who had been brutally beaten by the Matriarch's guards for trying to sneak me food when I was locked in the dungeon.

Gazing at her tear-streaked face, a chilling realization settled over me. I was completely defenseless. The enemies in this manor ran deep. I was surrounded by vipers—Julian, Angele, the Matriarch—and playing the helpless, fragile Omega would eventually get me and my loyal servants killed all over again. I needed real power.

The betrayals ran deeper than Julian and Angele. I was sleeping with vipers in my own nest.

I masked my inner turmoil instantly, my face a placid mask. "Thank you, Willow. You may wait outside. Do not cry for me."

Once the door clicked shut, I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. I was surrounded by enemies, and my own father was too far away to protect me. My eyes landed on the heavy oak door leading to Gideon's private study.

Gideon Carlisle.

He was the anomaly of this pack. A dominant Alpha who commanded the Kingdom's most lethal army. He didn't bow to the Matriarch. If I wanted to survive and eventually break this betrothal, I needed him on my side.

But a ruthless military commander like Gideon didn't offer his protection out of pity. He despised weakness. He valued strength, utility, and absolute competence. If I wanted to use him, I had to prove I wasn't just another fragile, weeping Omega. I had to prove my worth.

I dressed quickly and stepped into his study. It was a massive room, lined with bookshelves and smelling of old parchment, ink, and that intoxicating scent of winter cedar.

Gideon wasn't there. But on his massive oak desk lay a chaotic pile of ancient scrolls, written on brittle sheepskin.

I walked over, my eyes scanning the faded script. Silvermoon Dynasty. Legal codices regarding territorial disputes.

I recognized the text immediately. In my past life, desperate to earn Julian's approval and prove I was worthy of being his Luna, I had spent years agonizingly studying ancient wolf history, heraldry, and the forgotten tongues of the Third Age. Julian had never cared; he had mocked me for being a boring bookworm.

But Julian was a fool. I was now standing in the private sanctuary of the Direwolf Commander. Although Gideon and I had barely spoken in my past life, his reputation was known to everyone in the kingdom: a tactical genius, a man who demanded absolute order and efficiency.

The fact that these ancient, notoriously difficult-to-translate scrolls were left in a messy pile on his desk meant they were a frustrating obstacle he hadn't yet solved. He hadn't bothered to lock them away because, to ninety-nine percent of the kingdom, they were just unreadable, useless sheepskin. He would never suspect a coddled noble Omega could decipher a single word.

I looked at the messy pile, a calculated plan forming in my mind. This was my opening. I didn't need him to like me, and I certainly didn't expect his pity. I just needed him to see that I was useful. This was how I would force the Commander to truly look at me.

Without a second thought, I sat at his desk, unrolled the first brittle scroll, and began to organize them.