Signed, Sealed, I’m Rich: The Rejected Luna’s Multi-Billion Comeback

After I found my mate in bed with a younger, Alpha-blooded she-wolf, I handed him the quarterly financial report with the divorce settlement hidden on the last page. I cleared out my room completely—burned every photo of us, sold all the gifts he gave me for cash, and left the house in silence. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum and expected me to crawl back apologizing. Instead, I sent a lawyer’s letter straight to his doorstep, demanding 8 years of unpaid dividends. My husband blew up my phone, raging about how cold-hearted I was. I fired right back: “When you publicly declared your mistress as your wife, did it ever cross your mind that you already had a wife of 8 years?” Dead silence on his end. I hung up and blocked him right after. He scrambled to track me down, but I was already settled into my penthouse. With the 300 million dollars I secured as the divorce settlement from his mother, I invested heavily in his biggest competitor. Now, the man who once saw me as an embarrassment watches me become his worst nightmare. ***** "You look like you're drowning in paperwork, Barnabas," I said, my voice as smooth as the polished mahogany of his desk. I didn't wait for an invitation. I just walked in. The door clicked shut, sealing us in the quiet of the Alpha’s office. I kept my face neutral, a perfect mask of the dutiful Luna, while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. In my hand, the folder felt heavy, like it was made of lead instead of paper. Barnabas didn't look up at first. His focus stayed locked on his laptop, his brow furrowed in that way that used to make me want to smooth the lines with my thumb. Now, it just made me feel cold. "I am," he muttered, his voice gravelly and low. He finally leaned back, his grey eyes lifting to meet mine. There was no spark there. No warmth. Just the flat, dull exhaustion of a man who had spent two weeks running a global conference in London. Or perhaps the exhaustion of a man keeping too many secrets. I laid the folder on the desk, flipping it open to the pages I’d marked with small neon tabs. "I just need a few signatures on these administrative filings. The council is pushing for the quarterly updates." He didn't even reach for the folder to read the text. He just grabbed his fountain pen, the silver casing catching the light. "Fine. Let's get it over with." I watched his hand move. He signed with a bold, aggressive flourish, the same way he did everything. Page one. Page two. He didn't see the fine print. He didn't see the words Dissolution of Marriage buried under the boring headers of pack asset management. He looked terrible. There were dark bruises under his eyes, and his usual sharp scent of cedar and rain was buried under something else. Something cloying. He smells like her, Vesper, my wolf, snarled in the back of my mind. Her claws scraped at my consciousness, restless and grieving. The scent is all over his skin. I forced myself to breathe. I couldn't let my scent sour with bitterness. Not yet. I needed those signatures more than I needed an apology. When he finished, he slid the pen across the desk and pushed the folder back toward me. "Thanks," I said, tucking the documents away. I lingered for a second, my fingers gripping the edge of the leather folder. "Will you be home for dinner? I asked the kitchen to make that roast you like." Barnabas shook his head, already turning back to his screen. "I have a mountain of logistics to clear after being away. Don't wait up for me, Salome." "Got it," I replied. I forced a tiny, obedient smile. "See you around, Alpha." I turned and walked out before the salt in my eyes could spill over. My heels hit the hardwood in a steady, rhythmic beat. I was almost to the main lobby when a scent hit me, stopping me dead in my tracks. It was vanilla. Not the warm, baking kind, but a cheap, synthetic perfume that made the back of my throat itch. I looked toward the annex lounge. The door was ajar. On the low glass table, a box of expensive pastries sat open, half-eaten. Beside it, a coffee cup stained with pink lipstick. And there, tucked near the leg of a plush velvet chair, was a single black high-heeled shoe. The disrespect was a physical blow. He hadn't just brought his mistress back to the territory. He had brought her into our professional sanctuary. He was letting her lounge in the very heart of the Richardson Pack's power while I played the role of the quiet, invisible wife. I didn't go back into his office to scream. I didn't throw the shoe. I just walked faster, my vision blurring until I reached the privacy of my own office. I slammed the door and sank into my chair, the silence of the room wrapping around me like a shroud. I pulled the divorce papers out of the folder. Barnabas’s signature stared back at me, firm and permanent — not on the decree itself, but on the release clause buried inside a business contract he’d signed without reading. He had no idea what he’d given away. It was enough to set everything else in motion. A year ago, I would have died for this man. I remembered our mating ceremony, the way he held my face and swore to the moon that I was his beginning and his end. I had been such a naive girl. I should have listened to his mother, Margot. “Don’t be a fool, Salome,” she had told me once over tea, her voice like ice water. “Alphas are driven by hunger. One woman is rarely enough to satisfy a man with that much power.” I reached for my phone, my hands finally starting to shake. I took a clear, high-resolution photo of the signature page and opened a new message. To: Margot Richardson Subject: Message: The documents are signed. Everything is handled as we discussed. I hit send. Margot had made the offer last week. A quiet exit. No scandal, no public dragging of the Richardson name through the mud, and in exchange, a hundred and fifty million dollars would be moved into a private account in my name. To the world, we would just be a couple that grew apart. To me, it was the price of my silence and my dignity. A soft knock at the door startled me. I shoved the papers into a drawer just as Gideon, Barnabas’s Beta, stepped inside. He was carrying a blue velvet box, his expression tight and uncomfortable. "Luna," he said, clearing his throat. "The Alpha asked me to give this to you. He picked it out in London." He set the box on my desk. I opened it. Inside was a diamond necklace and matching earrings. They were beautiful, sparkling with a cold, hard light. But I had seen them before. I had seen them in a social media post from a London boutique, draped over the neck of the blonde woman Barnabas had been seen with at the conference. He hadn't bought them for me. He had bought two sets. Or worse, he’d bought one for her, and this was the consolation prize for the wife. "How lovely," I said, my voice dripping with a sarcasm so sharp it could have drawn blood. "He’s so thoughtful, even when he’s so busy." Gideon winced. He knew. He was the Beta; he saw everything. "I’ll leave you to it, then." He backed out of the room quickly, the door shutting with a soft thud. I didn't even try the jewellery on. I took a photo of the set and sent it to a luxury broker I knew. Me: Pick this up. Sell it and donate every cent to the pack orphanage. Do it anonymously. I felt a little lighter as I grabbed my coat and headed for the parking lot. The sun was dipping low, casting long, bloody shadows across the pavement. I just wanted to get home, pack a bag, and start counting down the thirty days until the filing became public. As I reached my SUV, a sleek black sedan pulled out of the executive garage. It was Barnabas’s car. The windows weren't tinted enough. Through the glass, I saw Barnabas in the back seat. He wasn't looking at work. He was leaning toward the blonde woman sitting next to him. She was laughing, her hand resting familiarly on his arm. Gideon was driving. When his eyes met mine through the windshield, he hit the brakes so hard the car j3rked to a violent stop. The world seemed to go silent. I stood my ground, my hand gripping my car keys so hard the metal bit into my palm. I stared directly through the rear window, locking eyes with my husband. "Going somewhere important, Barnabas?" I whispered to the empty air. II Chapter 2 Salome’s POV “Is that the Vane girl, the one sitting so close to Barnabas?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. Portia Vane didn’t try to hide. She was the daughter of a powerful Alpha, and she carried herself like she owned the pavement beneath her designer boots. Across the parking lot, her eyes locked onto mine. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she looped her arms over Barnabas’s shoulders and leaned in to murmur something against his ear. He didn’t pull away. He didn't even move. I didn't give them the satisfaction of a scene. I turned the key, shifted into gear, and drove away without looking back at the rearview mirror. The pack house was tomb-quiet when I arrived. I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for the walk-in closet. I needed to keep my hands busy. I stood in front of the jewelry display, sliding a simple silver necklace through my fingers, trying to decide if it was professional enough for my morning meetings. The crunch of gravel outside broke the silence. A heavy door slammed. I didn’t have to check the window to know Barnabas was home. A minute later, the scent of cedar and rain filled the small space behind me. He was standing in the doorway, watching me. I kept my back to him. I carefully fastened the clasp of the necklace and set it back on the velvet cushion. “Are you upset?” Barnabas asked. “Obviously,” I said. I still didn’t look at him. “You should be more careful about your public image.” The silence stretched. I heard him let out a long, frustrated breath through his nose. “The Vane Alpha is looking for a partnership. I’ve been in talks with his son, Caspian. Portia is just his sister.” I finally turned around to face him. I kept my expression flat. “And part of the contract requires you to let her hang off you in broad daylight?” His jaw tightened. He looked at me with a flash of surprise, like he couldn't believe I was actually talking back. When he spoke again, his voice had a sharp, cold edge to it. “I am trying to give you an explanation, Salome. Watch your tone when you speak to your Alpha.” I stared at him for a long beat. The man in front of me felt like a stranger. “You don’t owe me any explanations,” I said. “If you’re done with me, just say it. If you want to put a new Luna in my seat, tell me now. I’ll pack my bags and go.” His face went dark. The shadows under his brow deepened. “What did you just say to me?” “I said we can end this,” I told him, my voice steady. “We can get a divorce and find a way to sever the bond.” I tried to brush past him to leave the room, but his hand shot out. He caught my arm, his grip firm as he tilted my chin up. He didn't hurt me, but he held me firmly enough that I couldn't turn away. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he hissed. I didn’t blink. I met his stare until he eventually let go. I walked out without another word, but the decision was already made. I wasn't saying it to pick a fight or get attention. I had been thinking about a divorce for a long time. I was already done. I didn't want him anymore. Barnabas didn't leave the house for the rest of the night. He stayed locked in his office, skipping dinner entirely. It was long after midnight when I heard his phone ring from down the hall. I couldn't hear the words, but the high, frantic sound of a woman crying came through the door. Shortly after, I heard his car roar down the driveway. The next morning, a text from Clementine woke me up. She was a lawyer and one of the few people I trusted. She sent over a screenshot of a social media post from Portia Vane. The photo showed a mountain trail at dawn. Two hands were locked together, fingers entwined against the rising sun. The caption was short: Watching the sun come up, feeling your heart beat. I didn't need a tag to know who the man was. I recognized the jagged scar near the thumb. It was Barnabas. I sat at the kitchen table holding my coffee until the porcelain felt like ice. When I finally set the mug down, the sharp clink against the stone counter sounded like a starting pistol. Barnabas didn't come home for days after that. At the office, we were nothing more than colleagues. He sat at the head of the conference table while I stayed with the other executives. We didn't speak. We didn't look at each other. I stayed out of his office, and he stayed out of mine. At night, I spent my time looking at small houses on the outskirts of the city. I started gutting the closet. I gathered every anniversary gift, every piece of jewelry, and even my wedding ring. I didn't want the memories. I sold what I could and boxed up the rest for donation. The gold and stones meant nothing to me now. On Friday night, around eleven, a text came in from Saffron. She was the Luna of the Ironcrest pack. We weren't close, we had only crossed paths at a few summits, but she was a staple of the social scene. Her husband was famous for his affairs, and Saffron had responded by becoming a permanent fixture at every high-end club in the city. She wanted me to meet her for drinks. My first instinct was to say no, but then I realized something. If I was going to leave the Richardson Group, I needed to start building my own network. I couldn't stay hidden forever. I'll be there, I replied. When I arrived at the club, Saffron was waiting by the velvet ropes. She grabbed my arm and leaned in to kiss my cheek like we were old friends. To the rest of the world, Barnabas and I were just a rumored couple with a strong bond. Only the inner circle knew we were actually married. “So glad you could make it, Salome,” she said, flashing a bright, practiced smile. She led me through the crowd and up to a private VIP lounge. The room was split by a heavy, carved wooden screen. One side was packed with people laughing and shouting over the music. Saffron brought me to the quieter side, where only one other woman sat. I recognized her as the mate of one of Barnabas’s friends. She gave me a tight, nervous smile that made my stomach turn. Saffron disappeared to get us drinks. I sat down and took a small sip of my cocktail, trying to relax. Then, I heard it. My name came floating over the top of the wooden screen. “She hasn’t been around Alpha Barnabas lately, has she?” a man asked. “Why would she be?” another voice replied. “He takes Portia Vane everywhere now.” “It makes sense. Portia is the daughter of a major Alpha. She’s a much better fit for the pack. It makes them look a lot stronger than some girl with no backing.” There was a short pause, followed by a cruel laugh. “Still, Salome was with him for what, eight years? He’s probably just bored of her. Even mates get tired of the same thing eventually.” The room felt like it lost all its air. “It's a shame,” the first voice added. “She wasted her prime years on him. I’d still take a shot at her, though.” I recognized the voices. They belonged to the sons of our own Gamma and Delta. The woman sitting across from me looked at her lap, her face turning red with second-hand embarrassment. I didn't hide. I stood up, picked up my drink, and walked right around the screen. The laughter stopped instantly. The men froze. I leaned against the edge of the divider and looked at the one who had spoken last. “It seems a bit one-sided, don't you think?” I asked. “You make it sound like I’m the one who got the short end of the stick.” They just stared at me, mouths open. I took a slow sip of my drink. “Barnabas was a virgin when we met. If I’ve spent eight years using him for my own physical needs without having to pay a dime, it sounds like I got the better end of the deal, doesn't it?” The silence in the room was absolute. Then, their eyes shifted to something behind me, and their faces went pale. I turned around. Barnabas was standing there. “Is that what I am to you, Salome?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “A free service?” III Chapter 3 Salome’s POV The heavy, metallic scent of cedar and cold rain hit me before I even turned around. I knew that smell. It belonged to the man who was currently ruining my life. "You really don't know when to stay away, do you?" Barnabas’s voice was a low growl behind me. I didn't give him the satisfaction of a flinch. Instead, I shifted my gaze toward the plush velvet seating area tucked in the corner of the VIP lounge. Portia Vane was perched there like a queen on a throne, her legs crossed elegantly as she swirled a dark liquid in her glass. The smug grin she usually wore had vanished. Now, she just glared at me with the sharp, territorial hunger of a wolf guarding a kill. If the social setting hadn't been holding her back, I had no doubt she would have lunged across the table to tear into me. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a chance encounter. The hushed whispers, the shared looks, the way the entire inner circle sat gathered around them—this was their world. I was just the intruder stumbling into a private celebration. They weren't even trying to hide the affair anymore. One of the men in the group jumped to his feet, his face pale as he tried to bridge the awkward silence. "Salome, look, we were just joking around. Nobody meant anything by those comments. Just drunk talk, you know?" "Seriously," a woman added, her voice high and nervous. "We didn't think you’d actually be here." I didn't bother looking at them. I didn't have the energy to accept fake apologies from people who mocked me the moment I turned my back. Barnabas stepped into my personal space, his hand snaking out to grab my wrist. His fingers were like iron bands, cold and unyielding. "We're leaving. Now," he commanded. He began to pivot, clearly intending to drag me toward the exit like a disobedient child. I didn't pull away. I didn't scream. With my free hand, I reached for the glass I had been holding and flicked my wrist. The amber liquid splashed across his face, soaking into his expensive shirt and dripping from his chin. The entire room went dead silent. I heard the tiny, rhythmic sound of ice cubes hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone in the back let out a sharp, horrified gasp. I forced a thin, sharp smile onto my face. "Please, Alpha, don't let me ruin the vibe. Go back to your mistress. I can find my own way out." I tried to j3rk my arm back, but his grip only tightened until it bruised. His expression shifted from shock to a dark, simmering rage that made the air in the room feel heavy. Without saying a word, he lunged forward. He hooked an arm around my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing more than a bag of grain. "Barnabas! Put me down this instant!" I shouted, kicking my legs against his chest. He ignored me. He marched out of the lounge and into the hallway with a terrifying, single-minded focus. My head was hanging down his back, my vision swimming as we approached the elevators. The doors slid open, and I found myself staring at a pair of pristine black leather shoes. My eyes traveled up to see tailored suit pants and a pair of long, lean legs. The man standing in the elevator was still. His hands were tucked into his pockets, though I could see the sharp, elegant lines of his fingers. As Barnabas stepped inside and turned around, I was forced to look up. I met a pair of deep, piercing eyes. They were steady and incredibly calm, watching the chaotic scene with a quiet intensity. For a long, heart-stopping second, he didn't look away. I felt a hot flash of shame. I was the Luna of the pack, and here I was, being hauled around like a piece of luggage. Inside my mind, Vesper, my wolf, let out a low, curious whine. Her ears perked up, her instincts humming with the sudden recognition of a powerful presence. I pushed the feeling down. I didn't want to feel anything, especially not a strange pull toward a stranger while my husband was humilating me. Barnabas didn't stop to chat. He hauled me out of the building and down the concrete stairs to where his car was idling. He yanked the back door open, tossed me onto the leather seat, and climbed in right after me. The world was spinning. I sat up, clutching my stomach as the nausea from being carried upside down threatened to overwhelm me. Barnabas reached into the console, pulled out a wet wipe, and began cleaning the alcohol off his face in grim silence. "Why were you there, Salome?" he finally asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "Did you follow me? Were you trying to play detective?" As he reached back to toss the wipe into the trash, I saw it. Tucked right behind the tissue box was a small, square foil packet. Gold. A c0ndm. The sight made my blood run cold. My stomach did a slow, painful flip. I didn't say a word. I just reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air. "I am not staying in this car with you," I said, my voice trembling. He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me back against the seat. "Where do you think you're going?" "Home," I snapped, my breath hitching in my throat. "I just want to go home." "Stop acting like a brat, Salome. I am losing my patience with these stunts." I turned my head away, staring out the window so he wouldn't see my eyes watering. I refused to let him see me cry over a piece of foil. "Nigel!" Barnabas barked toward the club entrance. "Get in and drive." The driver appeared seconds later, sliding into the front seat without looking back. The ride home was a suffocating vacuum. I pressed myself against the door, putting as much distance between us as the small space allowed. When we pulled into the driveway, I didn't wait for Nigel to open the door. I scrambled out while the engine was still ticking. I ran into the house, straight to the kitchen, and downed a glass of ice water until my throat ached. It was the only way to numb the heat rising in my chest. I walked into the living room to find Barnabas waiting. He was leaning against the sofa, looking at me as if I were a problem he couldn't quite solve. "I was there for work," he said, his tone flat. "It was a business meeting for the new development project." I stayed silent. "You showed up and acted like a lunatic. You embarrassed me in front of my associates," he continued, his voice rising. "You looked pathetic, Salome. Throwing drinks and screaming like some jealous, insecure child. Is that who you want to be?" I looked him dead in the eye. "Are you finished?" He frowned, clearly caught off guard by my lack of an argument. "If you want this marriage to actually function, you have to drop the paranoia. I don't have the energy for your delusions." "Understood," I said, nodding slowly. "Is there anything else?" "You're being incredibly annoying right now," he muttered, turning away. I didn't answer. I didn't need to. He wouldn't have to deal with my 'annoyance' for much longer. I walked upstairs, changed into my simplest pajamas, and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, pretending to be dead to the world. An hour later, I felt the bed dip. The scent of soap and his heavy Alpha aura filled the room. I kept my back turned, inching as close to the edge of the mattress as possible. He didn't care about my boundaries. He reached out, his arm heavy and thick as he hooked it around my waist. He pulled me back against his chest with a rough, possessive j3rk. He was stronger than me, and he knew it. He held me there, pinned against him, making sure I knew I belonged to him whether I liked it or not. I laid there like a statue. I didn't sleep a wink. The next morning, I was downstairs before the sun was fully up. I made myself a piece of dry toast and an egg, washing it down with cold milk. I sat in the silence of the dining room, staring at the wall. Barnabas appeared a while later, fully dressed in a sharp charcoal suit. He walked toward the door, then paused. He stood there for a long moment before turning back and walking over to the table. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "This weekend," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Let's take the boat out. Just us. No work, no pack drama. We need to clear the air." I took a slow sip of my milk, never meeting his eyes. "Sure." That was the extent of our conversation. By Friday, the promise was dead. He sent a brief text saying he had an emergency meeting in London and had to catch a flight immediately. I didn't even feel the sting of disappointment. It was just a cold, hollow confirmation of what I already knew. He hadn't noticed that we hadn't eaten a meal together in a month. He hadn't noticed that I stopped asking about his day. He says he won't give me a divorce, yet he treats me like a ghost in my own home. I could vanish tomorrow, and he would probably just be annoyed that his dinner wasn't ready. I spent the weekend in my own way. I went to the study and began packing my books into a small suitcase. I made trip after trip to the new apartment I had rented in secret. It was small, a fraction of the size of the estate, but the air there felt easier to breathe. As I was shelving the last of my novels, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was Margot, Barnabas's mother. I stared at the screen for a long time before answering. "Hello, Luna Margot," I said. Even after eight years of marriage, she insisted I use her title. She never let me forget I was beneath her. "Come to the main house immediately," she said, her voice sharp and arrogant. "We need to put our previous discussion into a formal agreement. In writing." I leaned against the bookshelf. "Is that really necessary today?" "It is necessary because I said so," she snapped. "Fine. I'll be there this afternoon." "No," she countered. "You will be here at noon. Do not be late." The line went dead. I stared at the blank screen, feeling the familiar weight of the pack's expectations settling back onto my shoulders. "See you at noon, then," I whispered to the empty room. IV Chapter 4 Salome’s POV "You aren't letting me win on purpose, are you, Barnabas?" The voice was high, sugary, and carried a flirtatious lilt that made my skin crawl. It drifted through the cracked window of Richardson Manor as I stepped onto the porch at eleven in the morning. I froze, my hand hovering just inches from the heavy brass handle. I didn't need to see the speaker to recognize the performative giggle. Portia Vane. The realization hit me like a physical weight. Margot hadn’t called me here for a civil discussion or a business update. She had called me here to be an audience for my husband’s infidelity. It was a setup designed for maximum humiliation. I took a slow, grounding breath. Inside my mind, Vesper gave a low, protective growl that resonated in my chest. I pushed the door open and walked in. Barnabas was leaning against the sofa, but he snapped upright the second he saw me. His eyes went wide with a momentary shock before his face hardened into a familiar mask of irritation. "What are you doing here?" I didn't rush. I pulled off my sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of my white tee. I hadn't bothered with a power suit or even a swipe of lipstick today. I was just in denim and cotton, looking far more casual than the two of them. "Your mother didn't mention it?" I asked, meeting his gaze directly. "She called me personally." I tilted my head, letting a dry smile touch my lips. "I didn't realize you were back from London already. Unless you’ve figured out how to be in two time zones at once?" Barnabas’s jaw tightened. A flicker of something that looked like guilt crossed his features, but he stayed silent. Before he could find his tongue, Portia stood up from the velvet cushions. She made a show of smoothing out her skirt, her movements slow and deliberate to show off a perfect manicure. She stepped toward me, her hand outstretched and a bright, artificial smile plastered on her face. "Hi there," she said. "I'm Portia Vane. It is so lovely to finally meet you." I looked down at her hand, held it in my gaze for a long, silent second, and then simply looked back up at her face. I didn't move a muscle to take it. The silence was broken by the clicking of heels. Margot swept into the room, looking every bit the matriarch in a tailored black dress and a pristine chignon. She didn't even look at me first. She went straight to Portia, taking the girl’s hand in both of hers with a warmth she had never once shown me. "Portia, darling," Margot cooed. "I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Please, make yourself completely at home. This is your house, too, after all." I felt the muscles in my jaw bunch, but I kept my expression flat. Finally, Margot’s eyes drifted toward me. The warmth vanished instantly, replaced by a clinical chill. "Ah. Salome. You decided to show up." She turned back to Portia, her voice regaining its sweetness. "This is Ms. Richardson. She manages the Richardson Group. She is just here on some business matters." It was a sharp, calculated insult. She didn't introduce me as the Luna. She didn't even introduce me as Barnabas’s wife. To Margot, I was just a mid-level employee delivering a report. It was her way of telling Portia that I was a servant, not a rival. I looked at Barnabas, waiting for him to say something. To correct her. To acknowledge the woman he had exchanged vows with. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes fixed on some point on the wall behind me. "You said we had business to discuss," I said, my voice cutting through the fake atmosphere. "Let’s get to it so I can leave." Margot’s smile thinned. "We can handle the paperwork another day. Since you’ve made the trip, you might as well join us for a meal." "I'm not here for lunch, Margot," I said, already turning toward the door. "I have a schedule to keep." "I am still the Luna of this pack, Salome," Margot’s voice sharpened, the velvet glove coming off. "I have asked you politely to stay. Where are your manners? This attitude is beneath your position." I stopped. I turned back slowly, matching her icy stare with a look of my own. If she wanted a performance, I would give her one. "Fine," I said. "I'll stay for the meal. Just make sure you don't regret the invitation." Portia, sensing the air getting thick enough to choke on, tried to play the peacemaker. "Oh, this is wonderful! I was just telling Barnabas how much fun I had winning our game of Silver Moon Toss. I’d love to keep the streak going." I followed her gesture to the balcony. A polished target stood there, accompanied by a stack of gold rings. It was a new addition to the manor, likely brought in just for Portia. Silver Moon Toss was a traditional pack game. It was simple in theory—tossing gold rings onto a moving pillar from five meters away—but it required a level of physical coordination and rhythm that most humans couldn't manage. It was usually a game for couples to show how in sync they were. Portia saw me eyeing the setup and her eyes gleamed with a challenge. "Do you know how to play, Salome? Or is it a bit too old-school for you?" "I know the basics," I said. I looked her up and down. "Want to go a round?" I saw Barnabas’s jaw lock. He shot me a look that practically screamed a warning, but I ignored him. "Of course," Portia said, her confidence surging. She picked up a ring, toyed with it for a second, and then looked at me. "Should I go first, or would you like the honor?" "Go ahead," I said, crossing my arms. "I'll watch." Portia took her position. She spent a long time adjusting her stance, making sure she looked graceful from every angle. She took a deep breath, aimed, and flicked her wrist. The ring sailed through the air, whistling softly, but it clipped the edge of the pillar and bounced away. She turned back to me, unbothered. "Almost had it. It’s trickier than it looks." Behind her, Margot nodded approvingly. "Very graceful, Portia. Excellent form." I didn't bother with a stance. I didn't even pause to aim. I stepped up, snatched a ring from the table, and tossed it in one fluid motion. The gold glinted once in the sun before dropping perfectly over the pillar with a sharp, metallic clink. Portia’s smile didn't disappear, but it certainly stiffened. She forced a little laugh. "A lucky shot." I leaned against the railing, letting a lazy, bored smile spread across my face. "Maybe. The last time I played this was at the Alpha Foundation gala with Barnabas. I suppose some things stay with you." The mention of our shared past hit her like a slap. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the next ring. "Dear, it’s just a game," Margot intervened, her voice tight. "The point is to enjoy the company." "Of course," I replied. "But some people get a little too invested in winning things that don't belong to them." I saw Margot cut a sharp look toward Barnabas, but he was staring at the floor. Over the next few minutes, the "game" became a slaughter. I hit the pillar every single time. Clink. Clink. Clink. Every ring I threw found its mark with effortless precision. Portia, meanwhile, started falling apart. Her throws went wide, some hitting the base, others flying off the balcony entirely. Her face was flushed with a mix of embarrassment and rage. I watched the way her fingers trembled as she reached for her final ring. Margot looked like she was about to explode, her jaw set so hard I thought her teeth might crack. I stepped back and dusted my hands off as if I’d just finished a chore. I walked over to the sofa and sat down, folding my hands neatly in my lap. "Do you want to keep going?" I asked. My voice was flat, almost bored. "Or have you had enough?" Portia gripped her last ring so hard her hand shook, her lips pressed into a thin, ugly line. Margot didn't say a word, but she glared at me with eyes narrowed into dangerous, hateful slits. "I think the game is over," I said. V Chapter 5 Salome’s POV “Come on, just one more,” Portia said, though her voice lacked its usual sweetness. “I’m only starting to find my rhythm.” I looked at her, then shifted my gaze to Barnabas. He remained a statue, refusing to meet my eyes. Margot stood off to the side, her arms crossed and her mouth set in a thin, bitter line. She was vibrating with enough irritation to light up the room, but she didn’t stop us. “Sure,” I said, my voice flat and bored. “Let’s see how it goes.” I reached for another ring. My movements were slow and deliberate. I tossed it. The metal gave a satisfying clink as it settled perfectly around the Moon Pillar. I didn’t smile. I just reached for the next one. Beside me, Portia was falling apart. Her throws were getting wilder, the rings bouncing off the floor and skittering toward the walls. The more she missed, the more her hands shook. She kept glancing at Barnabas, waiting for him to step in and save her from the embarrassment, but he stayed silent. I flicked my wrist again. Another perfect shot. Portia’s fake smile didn’t just fade; it shattered. A choked, pathetic sob broke from her throat. She stared at the final ring in her hand as if it had betrayed her, then let it drop. It hit the floor with a hollow metallic thud. With a cry, she stumbled toward Barnabas, her face buried in her hands. Barnabas moved instantly. His face was a mask of cold fury as he looked at me, his jaw tight enough to snap. He reached out and snatched the last gold ring right out of my fingers. “That is enough,” he snapped. Portia threw herself against his chest, her shoulders heaving with stage-managed sobs. Barnabas didn’t push her away. Instead, his expression crumbled into something soft and protective. He wrapped an arm around her, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles against her back. Margot was there a second later, hovering over Portia like a hen and whispering frantic comforts. “Was that really necessary, Salome?” Margot’s eyes were like daggers. “It’s a game. A simple game. Do you really have to be this cruel just to prove a point?” I didn’t give her the satisfaction of an argument. I simply stepped back, my hands empty, and watched them. Margot wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, her voice dripping with disdain. “I suppose when you come from nothing, being competitive is the only way you know how to feel important. It’s honestly sad.” The words were meant to sting, but I felt strangely numb. I looked at Barnabas, waiting for him to say something. Anything. I wanted him to remind his mother that I was his wife, or at least a human being. But he just kept holding Portia. He looked distant, like a person in a photograph I used to love but didn't recognize anymore. The man I admired was gone, replaced by this cold, grey stranger. I realized then that I was wasting my breath. There were only twenty days left. Why was I still looking for a spark in a pile of ash? I turned to leave, my heart hammering against my ribs. Stop it, you’re hurting us, Vesper’s voice hissed in the back of my mind. I blinked and looked down at my hands. My fists were clenched so hard that my nails had sliced into my palms. Tiny beads of blood were blooming across my skin. I hadn't even felt it. I turned on my heel and headed for the exit. “Salome!” Barnabas’s voice barked after me, sharp and commanding. I didn't look back. I didn't slow down. I pushed through the heavy oak doors of the Richardson Manor and marched to my car. My chest felt tight, my lungs struggling to pull in enough air as I gripped the steering wheel. My phone vibrated in the cup holder. Barnabas’s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it for a heartbeat before tapping his profile and hitting block. The silence that followed was the first good thing I’d felt all day. I shifted into gear and hit the gas. The gravel crunched under my tires as I tore down the driveway, leaving the mansion behind. My hands were still shaking, so I pulled over for a second to send one final message to Margot. 300 million dollars. Not a cent less. If you try to negotiate, I will make sure your family’s reputation is burned to the ground. I hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. I didn't wait for a reply. The sky had turned a bruised purple, and heavy rain began to smear across my windshield. I pulled back onto the main road, the world turning into a grey blur. Suddenly, a streak of bright yellow cut through the gloom. A red motorcycle roared past me, the engine screaming as the rider swerved dangerously close to my front bumper. I slammed on my brakes. My tires shrieked against the wet pavement, and my seatbelt jrked hard against my shoulder, pinning me to the seat. Watch out! Vesper screamed. A split second later, a deafening boom echoed through the cabin. The force of the impact from behind sent my head flying forward. My forehead slammed into the steering wheel, and the world exploded into white light and searing pain. I slumped back, groaning as my vision swam. Everything was tinted red. I reached for a tissue and pressed it to my temple, feeling the warm, sticky flow of blood. Through the spiderweb cracks in my windshield, I saw the red motorcycle speeding away into the rain. I looked in the rearview mirror. A black Maybach was buried in my trunk. Its hood was crumpled, the expensive grille twisted and ruined. A knock on my window made me flinch. A man in a sharp suit stood there, holding a black umbrella against the downpour. He looked to be in his forties, his expression calm and professional despite the chaos. I rolled the window down an inch, wincing as the movement sent a spike of pain through my skull. “I am incredibly sorry, ma’am,” he said. “My name is Arthur. I’m responsible for the collision. We will handle all the damages, I promise.” I caught a scent coming from the car behind him. It wasn't a threat, but it was another wolf. Someone powerful. “My employer has an urgent appointment,” Arthur continued, glancing back at the Maybach. I followed his gaze. In the backseat sat a man with broad shoulders and a dark suit. He wore sunglasses despite the rain, his posture relaxed but radiating a heavy, dangerous energy. He looked like the kind of man who didn't ask for things; he just took them. “I’d rather wait for the police,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I’ve had enough ‘surprises’ for one lifetime.” I forced my door open and stepped out into the rain. The cold water soaked through my shirt instantly. I walked to the back of the car and sighed. The bumper was a total loss, and the taillight was shattered into red glass shards. I took a few photos with my phone and dialed the authorities. While I was on the phone, the back door of the Maybach opened. The man stepped out. Arthur immediately rushed over to hold the umbrella over him, his head bowed in respect. The stranger was tall, his suit tailored so perfectly it made Barnabas’s wardrobe look like a bargain bin. He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes so deep and piercing they made my breath hitch. For a second, our gazes locked. A strange jolt ran through me. Vesper stirred, her ears perking up in my mind. I turned away to talk to the arriving officer, trying to ignore the way my skin prickled under the stranger's gaze. A moment later, Arthur was standing next to me again. He was holding a dark suit jacket. “Ma’am, your shirt is transparent,” he said softly, looking at the ground to give me some privacy. “Please, take this.” I looked down and turned bright red. The white fabric of my shirt was clinging to me like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. I grabbed the jacket and threw it over my shoulders. It was heavy and warm, still holding the heat from the stranger's body. The scent of it hit me—sandalwood, rain, and something metallic. It was expensive and intoxicating. My pulse sped up, and Vesper let out a low, curious purr. “Thank you,” I muttered, clutching the lapels. “I’ll get this cleaned and return it to your boss.” Arthur gave me a small, knowing smile. “Don’t worry about it. He won’t mind.” I looked up to say something else, but the man was already back in the car. The door closed with a heavy, expensive thud. The Maybach pulled away, gliding through the puddles like a ghost, leaving me standing in the rain with nothing but the scent of a stranger wrapped around me. VI Chapter 6 Salome’s POV “Does it sting when I apply the pressure here?” Healer Beatrice moved my head to the side with a light touch. The room smelled like lemon cleaner and old herbs. I sat on the hard paper of the exam table while she dabbed at the jagged red line near my hairline. “I’m fine, Beatrice. It’s just a scratch,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about the car flipping or the way the metal groaned. I didn’t want to explain how lucky I was to be sitting here at all. “Vesper took most of the impact anyway. I just need to make sure I don’t end up with a permanent reminder on my face.” Beatrice didn’t look convinced. She reached for a glass jar on the metal tray. She dug out a thick, green glob of ointment. “You need to be more careful. Drivers in this territory don’t watch the road like they should. Close your eyes.” I did as she asked. The cream felt like ice against my skin, dulling the sharp throb in my skull. For a second, I actually felt like I could breathe. The peace lasted about five seconds. The door didn’t just open, it slammed against the stopper with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. Beatrice jumped, her hand shaking so hard she almost smeared the salve into my eye. Barnabas stood in the doorway. He looked like he had run all the way here, his hair messy and his eyes dark with something I couldn't quite name. He didn't look at the healer. He didn't look at the room. He just looked at me. Beatrice looked back and forth between us, her face pale. She gripped her jar like a shield. I gave her a small, tired smile so she wouldn’t bolt. “It’s okay, Beatrice. He’s just my boss. He doesn't know how to use a handle.” “Is it bad?” Barnabas asked. His voice was rough, cutting through my attempt at a joke. Beatrice stood up a little straighter and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “The wound is shallow. She has a mild concussion, but she will recover quickly. She just needs rest.” Barnabas let out a long, heavy breath. He looked like a balloon losing air. Beatrice handed me the small bottle of medicine, muttered something about a follow-up, and practically ran out of the room. I stood up to follow her, but Barnabas blocked my path. Before I could move around him, he reached out and plucked the bottle right out of my hand. He didn’t say a word. He just dropped it into his pocket and stared at me. “I can carry my own medicine, Barnabas,” I said. “I’ll take care of it,” he muttered. He said it like he was doing me some huge favor, like he hadn't been the reason I was out on that road in the first place. I didn't have the energy to fight him for a plastic bottle. If he wanted to play the part of the doting husband for the hospital cameras, let him. I pulled out my phone to call a ride, but he was faster. He snatched the device from my palm before I could even unlock the screen. “Move,” he said. He grabbed my upper arm and started walking. “Give it back!” I tried to plant my feet, but he was too strong. He dragged me through the lobby and out into the humid air of the parking lot. He didn't let go until we reached his black SUV. He wrenched the passenger door open and basically bundled me inside. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud that made my head ring. A second later, he was in the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life. The drive back was heavy with a silence that felt like lead. I stared out the window, watching the trees blur into green streaks. I could see his reflection in the glass. His knuckles were white against the leather of the steering wheel. He was vibrating with a tension that usually meant a lecture was coming. Once we pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, he finally broke. “Was this some kind of game to punish me?” he asked. He didn't look at me. He just stared straight ahead. “First you block my calls. Then you go out and try to kill yourself in a ditch. What were you trying to prove, Salome?” I stared at him. I waited for the punchline, but it didn't come. I started laughing. It wasn't a happy sound. It was sharp and jagged. He whipped his head around, his eyes snapping. “You think a car wreck is funny?” “I think you’re delusional,” I said, the laughter dying in my throat. “You honestly think I’d risk my life just to make you feel bad? You really have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” He flinched. His hands shifted on the wheel, but he didn't back down. “Give me my phone,” I said, holding out my hand. He ignored me. He leaned back in his seat and let out a frustrated huff. “Fine. Maybe I wasn't honest about where I was. But that doesn't give you the right to attack Portia. She spent the afternoon in tears because of the way you treated her. Do you even care that you hurt her?” “Hurt her? Are you serious right now?” “She’s the daughter of an Alpha, Salome. She’s sensitive. She grew up protected,” he said. His voice actually got soft when he said her name. It made my stomach turn. “She isn’t used to people being cruel. Why can’t you just be the bigger person for once?” I looked at him, really looked at him. He was defending the woman he was cheating with while his wife sat three feet away with a hole in her head. The protectiveness in his eyes was like a physical weight in the car. Inside me, I felt Vesper growl, a low, dangerous sound in the back of my mind. “Fine,” I said. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “I won’t touch her. But you better keep her on a short leash. If she gets in my way again, I won't be responsible for what happens.” Barnabas’s jaw dropped. “She’s like a sister to me. You are making this into something it isn't.” I felt a bitter smile pull at my lips. I didn't tell him I knew the truth. I didn't tell him I had the proof. I just looked at him with all the pity I could muster. “Is that so? Well, congrats on the new sibling, Barnabas. You two must be very close.” He didn't answer. His face went dark, and he turned away. The car was cold, so I pulled the grey blazer tighter around my chest. The scent of the man from the road was still there. It was deep, like cedar and rain. It felt more like a hug than anything Barnabas had given me in a year. I saw Barnabas’s eyes shift. He was looking at the jacket. He finally realized it wasn't mine. He realized it was a man’s coat, expensive and tailored, the kind of thing you don’t just find in the back of a cab. “Whose is that?” he snapped. The air in the car turned freezing. I looked out the side window and watched a raindrop trail down the glass. “It belongs to my new brother.” The silence that followed was thick. Then, without a word of warning, Barnabas reached over. He didn't unbutton it. He just yanked the fabric off my shoulders with a force that made me gasp. Before I could even reach for it, he rolled down his window and threw the jacket out into the mud of the driveway. “What is wrong with you?” I yelled. I lunged for the door handle, thinking of the butler and the promise I made to return it. Barnabas’s hand clamped around my wrist like a shackle. He pulled me back toward him until our faces were inches apart. I could smell the anger on him. “Don’t push me, Salome,” he hissed. His voice was low, vibrating with a threat. “Don’t try to provoke me with other men. I am still the Alpha of this house. You would do well to remember who you belong to.” I tried to twist away, but he was a wall of muscle. He leaned in and crushed his mouth against mine. It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. It tasted like salt and fury. I kept my teeth clenched, refusing to give him anything, but he didn't care. He forced the kiss until I felt like I couldn't breathe, using his weight to pin me against the seat. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were blown wide. My heart was hammered against my ribs, but I didn't say a word. I just wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stared at the dashboard. We walked into the house like strangers. I didn't look back at him. I went straight to the master bath and locked the door. I stripped off my ruined clothes and stepped into the shower. I turned the water up until it was almost scalding, scrubbing my skin until it was raw. I wanted the smell of him off me. I wanted the memory of that kiss gone. By the time I crawled into bed, the room was dark. I stayed on the very edge of the mattress, my back turned to the center. I heard him walk in a few minutes later. The bed dipped as he sat down. I felt his lips touch my forehead, a soft, lingering kiss that felt like a lie. Then he rolled over and turned his back to me. I lay there for hours, staring at the wall, trying to make my mind go blank. I tried to forget the way he looked at Portia. I tried to forget the jacket lying in the mud outside. Then, the nightstand vibrated. The light from the phone screen cut through the dark. I glanced over my shoulder. It was 1:35 in the morning. The notification on the screen was short. It was just three letters. Cho. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. They weren't even trying to hide it anymore. “Are you going to answer that, or should I?” argbook.com A wonderland for all kinds of book lovers; Embrace a whole new world of gripping stories.