The Alpha Prince's Substitute Bride

A voice broke through the fog of sleep enveloping my mind. It was Gregory's, tinged with an anger that jolted me awake. My eyes snapped open, heart racing as I became aware of his presence and fury.

"You lying cheating whore!" The words cut through the air, flung at me with venom. Gregory's eyes were aflame, a crimson hue betraying his wrath. His name—Gregory William—carried the weight of his family's notable reputation.

Groggily, I asked, "What's going on?"

"How dare you?! I trusted you Ren! You're such a piece of shit!" His outburst dispelled any remnants of sleep, leaving me abruptly and completely alert.

It was then I realized my state of undress. I felt the cold grasp of fear as I registered nothing more than a bra and underwear shorts adorning my body, the covers having slipped to my waist. Hastily, I pulled them up to cover myself.

The room around me was unfamiliar—a hotel, it appeared—and Gregory's livid accusation suggested something disastrous had transpired.

Stammering, I managed, "I-I, how did I get here?"

His scoff was like a slap. "You're seriously going to play the victim card?"

Confusion reigned within me. "What?! No, I don't rem—" I attempted to express my genuine lack of memory, but he interrupted again.

"Tsk tsk tsk, stop trying Renée. You've been caught."

I recognized that whiny voice without a doubt—it belonged to Sabrina, my malicious stepsister. Until she had spoken, I hadn't even realized there was another person present in the room.

Before I could find my voice, Sabrina made her way to the bedside table and picked up a piece of paper. With a wicked smirk, she pompously read out loud, "Last night was insanely good. I hope we meet again."

Wait, what?

"How could you do this to me? I thought you cared about me," Gregory said almost simultaneously. His voice had quieted, but disgust was plastered across his face.

"This isn't what it seems," I protested, rubbing my temples in an effort to piece together the vague memories from last night.

The details were muddled. I remembered following Sabrina to a party at a club—she had insisted, and I'd eventually given in. But I couldn't recall drinking excessively. Was it possible I had been drugged? Was this a setup? If anyone knew the truth, it would undoubtedly be Sabrina.

"Sabrina, what happened—" I started to question her, but Gregory cut me off sharply.

"I, Gregory William, reject you, Renée Sinclair, as my mate." The hatred in his tone was unmistakable.

A cry escaped me as torment split my chest open; Hera, my wolf, echoed with pain. Our connection was dissolving before my very eyes.

"Why?" The word was barely audible as it slipped from my lips.

"Because you're nothing but a cheap, cheating slut. It makes no sense why the moon goddess paired us. You're not my type at all," he declared, and tears streamed down my face. His words were like venom.

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain. Don't do this, Greg," I implored, my watery gaze begging for understanding.

"There's nothing to explain. The evidence is right here. You're vile," he said, the vitriol palpable in his voice. And then he left.

Hera, initially silenced by the shock, finally spoke up. "Let him go," she urged.

I sighed "If you really think so, then you don't deserve me, Gregory."

His parting words were callous. "Good riddance." Then he was gone.

Sabrina still smug with triumph, I confronted her. "What happened last night?"

Her quick reply came with a sneer, "You took another man to bed."

My anger rose. "You know exactly what I mean."

She rolled her eyes dismissively. "I really don't. But now everyone can see how vile 'righteous' Renée can be."

It suddenly clicked. She orchestrated the entire charade. Only she would know where to find me in such a compromised situation. Her hatred had taken a new low.

Confronting her directly, I locked eyes. "This was your doing, wasn't it?"

For a brief second, fear flickered across her face before she composed herself. "You're delusional, sister. You need help." Yet her eyes revealed everything—she knew precisely what had happened.

As she turned to leave, purse in hand, arrogance in her step, and blonde hair swaying, I couldn't help but think of the stereotype. Not all blondes were the problem, though—our cousin Freya was proof enough.

Left in solitude, Hera's silence was palpable, but I felt her presence. After sitting immobile for several minutes, I stood, resolute. It was time to move on; Gregory wasn't worth my sorrow.

Screw Gregory. He didn't deserve me. I dried my tears, dressed, and just before leaving, my gaze landed on the incriminating note Sabrina had flaunted. Seizing it, I recognized her distinct scrawl. That was all the proof I needed—her own handwriting condemned her. How careless she had been.

I sighed deeply, experiencing a fleeting relief as I realized that no one must have had sex with me—if they had, it would technically have been rape.

Gathering my belongings, I left the room with a lingering curiosity. At the reception desk, I inquired about who accompanied me last night. They confirmed I had arrived with a man but indicated that it was my name on the record, suggesting I signed us both in. A man?

Despair crept back in, choking my breath. Had something terrible actually happened? My mind reeled at the thought of being violated. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I walked out to the parking lot and found my car—the one thing I inherited from my mother. Pain gnawed at my heart as her memory surfaced.

Settling into the driver's seat, it hit me—someone else must have driven us here since I hadn't been conscious enough. That’s when I noticed the dash camera's absence. They had removed it. The irony was bitter, and I let out a mirthless chuckle before driving off towards home.

Drawing closer to the Sinclair estate, I took a deep breath. It was just one of many buildings on my father's property, but by far the most imposing. Despite its grandeur, I never liked it. Everything—from the concrete statues outside to the ornate interiors, the towering ceilings, and lavish furnishings—felt so cold, so empty... or perhaps that emptiness was my own.

As I entered the mansion with the intention of heading straight to my room, my progress was halted midway up the first stair by an all-too-familiar shrill voice. If Sabrina's was whiny, Olga's—the voice of my stepmother—was on another level, grating against my nerves. With an inward cringe, I turned to face her call.

The living room held the entire family, arranged like a council of judgment. My father, stepmother, and stepsister watched me descend the staircase with piercing stares. Clearly, Sabrina had briefed them.

Before I could even take a seat, my father's voice cut through the silence. "You stupid, stupid girl. You never fail to disappoint," he said, his words laced with disdain.

His attitude didn't surprise me; this had been his manner ever since my mother passed away—cold, distant, perpetually disappointed, and seemingly repulsed by my very presence.

Olga chimed in with feigned concern, "Darling, take it easy on her, she's had a long night."

Her thinly veiled barb did not escape me. I inhaled deeply, bracing for the onslaught of criticism and contempt I knew would come from them.