After I Married the Brain-Damaged Alpha, My Ex Was Left Regretting Novel – I stare into the gilded mirror, running a hand through my raven – black hair. The Lyra’s Howl Pack’s scent clings to my skin. “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll marry that braindead Alpha of the Lyra’s Howl Pack.” Laura, who were sitting on a simple wooden chair, knitting needles in hand, jump in surprise. Laura’s knitting needles almost slip from her grasp.
She straightens up so quickly that I can see the wrinkles around her eyes stretch with the sudden movement. “Stella, you’ve finally seen reason? That’s wonderful! The Lyra’s Howl Pack has been pressing hard. You must be married off within a week…” A cold, bitter laugh escapes my lips. “I’m sacrificing myself for your precious daughter. Don’t you think you should offer something in return?” Laura’s face darkens. “What kind of talk is that? She’s your sister.” “Only those born of the same mother can be called sisters,” I retort.
Laura’s jaw tightens like carved stone. Her hands clench into fists, trembling slightly. Matthew, who has been silent until now, finally speaks. “What do you want?” “One billion dollars,” I say, my red lips parting slowly. “And once I’m married, transfer Frank to be butler of your precious illegitimate daughter.” Matthew looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Are you insane? One billion dollars will drain all my funds! And Frank? You’ve always been obsessed with him, always pestering me to marry him.
Why don’t you take him with you now that you’re getting married?” “Then I won’t go,” I snap. “Fine!” Matthew shouts. “On the day you go to the Lyra’s Howl Pack, I’ll get both things done.” Once, the Lyra’s Howl Pack’s heir was the most promising Alpha in the werewolf world. Matthew, eager to secure an alliance, arranged a betrothal. He always intended to marry off Stephnie, his illegitimate daughter, to the Alpha, ensuring her a prosperous future.
But then, a tragic accident shattered the Alpha’s mind, leaving him with severe brain damage and reduced to a state of profound physical and mental impairment, essentially rendered cerebral – palsied. Back at the villa, it’s the dead of night. I tiptoe to Frank’s door. A strange sound, a low murmur, comes from inside. I peek through the slightly open door. Frank is there, his eyes closed, his muscular form tense. He’s holding his phone, and from it, I can hear Stephnie’s voice, soft and alluring.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he groans, “Stephnie… you’re so beautiful. I want…” Three years ago, I first laid eyes on Frank. As the butler, he was a sight to behold. Standing at 185 centimeters, he had broad shoulders, a narrow waist. His skin was as pale as moonlight, and his face seemed chiseled.