My werewolf mate was cheating on me.
Through the half-open door of the Apex conference room, I watched him twisted together with another she-wolf. His fingers tangled in her blonde hair, his lips ghosting across her neck—the same way he once touched me. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. As a human, I couldn't feel the agony of a broken mate bond, but the sight alone was enough to make me want to vomit. Eight years. In a single, sickening moment, eight years of my life shattered. My legs were stone, my heels fused to the marble floor while a bitter voice in my head mocked my own naivety. A human, trying to keep a werewolf’s heart forever. My throat closed, and I fought the urge to collapse right there in the hallway.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally forced my hand to lift and knock.
"Come in," a deep, familiar voice called from inside.
My fingers clenched around the files I was holding, my knuckles turning white. I had to keep my composure. Any crack in my facade and the other pack members would sense my distress. As the human wife of the Apex of the Ironwood Pack, I had long since perfected the art of masking my emotions.
I pushed the door open, stretching my lips into a practiced, pleasant smile. I walked straight to Ethan’s desk, keeping my breathing shallow. I couldn’t bear to smell her on him—the same foreign scent that had been clinging to the air in our home for weeks.
"Busy?" I asked, my voice light and airy. "I just have a few documents that need your signature."
My question was rhetorical. I placed the files in front of him, already opened to the pages he needed to sign, my performance as the perfect wife continuing even as my heart calcified in my chest.
Ethan had returned from Sweden this morning and come straight to the office. Paperwork already buried his desk. Fatigue etched lines onto his handsome face, but I knew his exhaustion had nothing to do with business meetings. Without a glance at the contents, he scrawled his signature on every page.
"Thanks for handling this," he said, his eyes still fixed on his monitor.
I gathered the signed papers, holding them against my chest like a shield. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?" I asked, the words tasting like ash, already knowing the answer.
"I’ve got plans. Don’t wait up for me," he replied dismissively, already typing again.
"Alright," I said, turning to leave. "I’ll see you later then."
The moment my back was to him, the smile slid from my face, twisting into something bitter. The facade of the devoted Prima cracked and fell away with every step I took toward the door.
As I passed the private lounge attached to his office, a soft thump from inside made me freeze. It sounded like someone trying to shift their weight without being heard. My gaze swept over the room: crumpled snack wrappers on the coffee table, a half-finished bubble tea sweating condensation, and a single, pale pink high heel lying on its side.
In that instant, what was left of my heart burned to ash.
The walk back to my own office drained the last of my strength. I collapsed into my chair, the air leaving my lungs in a long, shuddering sigh. From a stack of papers on my desk, I pulled out a single document.
Divorce papers.
I flipped to the last page. My finger traced the fresh ink of Ethan’s signature, a bitter mix of vindication and sorrow twisting inside me. The memories were a flood. I remembered him vowing I was his only mate. I remembered how fiercely he’d pursued me in high school, insisting that the Lady of the Hunt had destined us for each other, my humanity be damned. And I remembered his mother, the Elder Prima Helen, sneering at me. "Wolves may claim to mate for life," she had warned, "but an Apex male will never be satisfied with just one woman. Especially a human one."
I had defended him then. "Ethan is different," I'd insisted. "Our bond is different."
How naive I was.
He wasn't different at all. He'd cheated with a younger she-wolf, foolishly believing he could hide it while he enjoyed the thrill of his affair. He’d even taken her on his business trip, then had the audacity to bring her right back here, to the heart of the pack.
I snapped a photo of his signature and sent it to Prima Helen with a simple message: He signed it.
A week ago, I had sat across from her and negotiated the terms. She wanted me to initiate the divorce quietly, keeping our marriage and its secrets from becoming pack gossip. In return, I demanded ten million dollars in compensation. In one month, Ethan would be a ghost, a memory I could finally exorcise from my life.
A sharp knock on my office door jolted me from my thoughts.
I slid the divorce papers under a stack of ledgers. "Come in," I called out.
James, Ethan’s Deputy assistant, stepped inside.
"Prima Hannah," he said, his expression carefully neutral. "Apex Ethan asked me to deliver this to you." He placed a dark green velvet box on my desk.
I flipped open the lid. Inside, an obscenely expensive diamond set glittered under the office lights. But the sight of it brought no pleasure. All I could see was her—the blonde from his office, her hair short and chic—wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I pictured her dangling a necklace just like this one, laughing in a dimly lit hotel room, the sheets rumpled, her skin littered with the marks Ethan had left on her.
Bile rose in my throat, thick and bitter. One more month, I reminded myself. Just one. I was done playing the dutiful Prima in this kingdom of lies. Nothing would stop me from leaving this time.
"Thank you, Deputy James," I said, my voice dangerously soft as I looked up at him.
"The Apex picked it himself," James added hastily, his own voice cracking under the pressure. "It’s one of a kind. There’s nothing else like it in the world."
A pity his loyalty wasn’t as unique as the jewelry. I had no desire to wear something his hands had been on right after they’d been on her.
I let my lips curl into a smile that was all teeth. "How thoughtful of him," I said, my tone syrupy sweet. "Imagine, finding time for jewelry shopping in between all those important board meetings… and bedroom visits."
The color drained from Deputy James’s face. So, they thought I was oblivious. The sudden, stark fear rolling off him was almost satisfying as he stammered an excuse and fled my office.
Once he was gone, I looked down at the necklace. The diamonds seemed to squirm in their velvet box, like maggots on a corpse.
My fingers flew across my phone’s screen, pulling up the contact saved as ‘Prestige Consignment - Nicole’. I snapped a photo, the ping of the attachment a satisfying, final sound. My message was brief.
【This set. Sell immediately. Liquidate. Donate every cent to the Hopewell Children's Therapy Center.】
【Estimated market value exceeds $500,000. Are you sure?】
【Looking at it makes me sick. Get rid of it. Yesterday.】
【...Okay.】