The Villainess Became My Alpha Husband

When I finally opened my eyes, the world swam back into focus slowly, piece by blurry piece.

I lay in the familiar grand bed of my private chambers back at the palace, the heavy silk sheets tangled around my battered body and the faint scent of healing herbs hanging thick in the air from salves slathered on my wounds.

My head throbbed under layers of soft white bandages wrapped tight around my skull, and the rest of me felt the same—arms, chest, legs all swathed in fresh linen that itched against raw skin.

Every muscle screamed with deep, bone-weary exhaustion, like I’d been asleep for days without moving a finger.

Did I win?

The thought flickered hazy through the pain fog. My left eye sat swollen shut in a ugly black bruise that pulsed hot, forcing me to squint through the right one just to make out the carved wooden beams overhead.

Sharp stabs confirmed my ribs were cracked—each shallow breath sent fire lancing down my side—and my busted lips cracked open and stinging whenever I tried to lick them dry.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door creaked open with a soft groan, and Elaine stepped inside, her tall frame filling the doorway like a shadow. She wore her usual crisp black tunic and trousers, blonde hair pulled back severe, but her ice-blue eyes flicked over me with that blank, unreadable look she always saved for moments like this.

Without a word, she crossed the cool marble floor in three long strides, her boots silent on the woven rugs, and reached down to help prop me up gently against the stacked pillows, her strong hands careful not to jostle my broken ribs too much.

"Water... please," I croaked out, voice raw as gravel from disuse and the gag’s lingering abuse, throat parched like desert sand.

She picked up a crystal pitcher from the bedside table without hesitation, pouring cool liquid into a silver-rimmed glass and pressing it to my cracked lips.

I drank greedily, the fresh stream soothing the burn down my throat, spilling a little onto my chin that she wiped away with the edge of her sleeve— a small, unexpected kindness that hung between us awkward.

"You won," she said finally, her tone flat as she set the glass aside, settling on the bed’s edge with arms crossed.

I met her gaze—or tried to, through the swelling—and nodded weak. "I know I won. I fought her all the way, didn’t I? Took everything she had and more."

"Fought her? You kissed her right there in the pit for everyone to see," Elaine replied, one brow arching just a fraction, voice edged cool but not quite accusing.

I blinked at her, confusion cutting through the pain haze. "What are you angry about exactly? It was the duel—my way to end it."

"Nothing to be angry over," she said, looking away for a beat before her eyes snapped back. "But I am still your husband, like it or not. That display... it made things messy."

"We are getting divorced anyway, aren’t we?" I pressed, shifting slightly and wincing as ribs protested.

"True. But right now, today, I am still your husband," she shot back firm, jaw tightening.

"You’re just my nominal husband—nothing real between us," I muttered, voice gaining a little steel despite the weakness.

Her lips thinned. "You made me look like the biggest fool in front of the entire court. Kissing Jennife? In front of thousands?"

"Sorry," I whispered, dropping my good eye to the sheets, guilt twisting fresh in my gut.

"Sorry? That’s all you have—just a sorry after turning the arena into your personal scandal?" Elaine’s voice sharpened, but she leaned in closer, searching my bruised face.

"Elaine, look—we don’t like each other, never have. You don’t support me or my dreams for omegas," I said, words spilling out raw now. "We are completely incompatible, always have been."

"I have my dreams too, Alexander. But I was forced to be your husband."

"People talk a lot about you, I know that," I admitted quietly. "But that omega that you mentioned—the one you loved once—did you ever belittle him like you do to me? Be honest."

Elaine looked away sharp, her jaw working silent as she stared at the flickering candle on the table.

"I knew it," I pressed on, voice aching. "Except for my parents, no one truly likes me or sees me as a real person. You belittle me all the time, Elaine. Everyone treats me like a pretty decoration, not someone with fire inside."

"You are... more than that," she said low, almost reluctant, eyes still averted.

"So why didn’t I fight fair then? If I had played by their rules against Jennife, she would have crushed me flat. Alphas are biologically stronger, faster—but deep down, we omegas are equal, worthy of the same respect," I said, head lowering heavy.

"I don’t know about that..."

"I had to use every trick. It was my win strategy. If she had rutted me right there... gods, I had so much more on the line—my name, my cause, everything."

Elaine went still as stone beside the bed, her broad shoulders locking rigid under the black tunic, ice-blue eyes flicking away sharp to stare at the flickering candle flame on the bedside table instead of facing me.

Her long fingers drummed once against her knee in a rare tell of unease, the leather of her glove creaking faintly in the quiet room, before she forced her hand flat again.

"It was a dangerous gamble you took out there," she murmured low, her voice a gravelly whisper that barely stirred the heavy air between us, laced with something almost like reluctant respect.

"Yes, I know that better than anyone," I replied, my own voice fading tired and thin, each word dragging like lead through my raw throat as the ache in my bandaged ribs pulsed deeper with every breath.

"Then why did you take such a big risk? What if you...?"

"I had no choice."