He Marked Them. I Took Everything

I caught my husband with another woman for the eighth time on a Tuesday night.

The bedroom reeked of sex and something else—something metallic, almost copper. Wolf pheromones. Fresh ones.

Irene Blair was still tangled in our sheets when I walked in, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow that used to be mine. She looked young. Too young. The kind of young that made wealthy purebloods like Victor forget themselves.

"Oh—Mrs. Grayson, I—" She clutched the duvet to her chest, eyes wide.

I didn't scream. Didn't shift. Didn't even let my wolf surface enough to bare teeth.

"There's a robe in the closet," I said evenly, crossing to the window. "Use the service entrance. The press camps outside the main gates after ten."

She scrambled out of bed, casting nervous glances at Victor, who lounged against the headboard like a king surveying his territory. He lit a cigarette—a nasty human habit he'd picked up from God knows where—and watched me through the smoke.

"Don't frighten her, Evelyn." His voice held that lazy, entitled drawl that once made my pulse race. Now it just sounded hollow. "She's not used to... this."

This. As if our marriage was just another business arrangement. As if I was supposed to simply accept it.

"She's different from you," he continued, exhaling. "I don't want her hurt."

I said nothing. Just opened the window wider, letting the October wind carry out the stench of their coupling. Behind me, I heard Irene slip away, her footsteps quick and light down the hall.

When the door clicked shut, Victor stubbed out his cigarette. "What, no divorce threats tonight? Finally seeing sense?"

My fingers stilled on the window latch.

"Yes," I said softly. "I'm seeing things very clearly now."

He laughed—that sharp, dismissive bark. "About damn time. You know how it works in our circles, Evie. After the honeymoon phase, we all play our own games. Better for everyone if you stop being so... human about it."

I turned to face him. Even now, he was beautiful. Sharp jaw, steel-gray eyes, that carelessly tousled dark hair.

The kind of pureblood genetics that could make younger wolves stupid.

"Will you be home tonight?" I asked.

"No." He stood, reaching for his shirt. "It's her birthday. I promised her dinner."

"I see."

He paused, halfway through buttoning his collar. "Is today something special?"

"No," I lied. "Just curious."

He shrugged and grabbed his watch from the nightstand—a Patek Philippe I'd given him last year. Our third anniversary.

At the door, he stopped. "Oh, right. We're out of the good condoms. Pick some up, would you?"

"Of course."

The door closed. I stood at the window until his headlights disappeared down the tree-lined drive, swallowed by the night.

Then I pulled out my phone.

"He's gone," I said when the call connected. "Send in the sanitization team."

Five minutes later, three figures in hazmat suits entered the bedroom. They moved efficiently, collecting used condoms into biohazard bags, spraying every surface with specialized disinfectant—the kind designed for wolf pathogens, not human STDs.

The team leader, a middle-aged beta named Sarah, nodded to me. "Mrs. Grayson, we'll do a full decontamination. Blood, saliva, any fluid exchange. There won't be any transmission risk."

"Thank you," I said. "Pay special attention to the sheets. And the headboard."

"Understood."

I left them to their work and walked down the hall, past our wedding portrait. In the photo, I wore white lace and carried white roses. Victor's arm was around my waist, his smile warm, his eyes on me like I was the only thing that mattered.

Someone—one of his lovers, probably—had drawn a red lipstick heart over my face.

I studied it for a moment, then kept walking.

In the kitchen, there was a cake on the marble counter. Store-bought, but expensive. I'd ordered it three days ago.

Victor remembered it was Irene's birthday.

He'd forgotten, as always, that today was our fourth anniversary.

And my birthday.

I stuck a single candle in the frosting and lit it. The flame wavered in the draft from the air conditioning. I watched it dance for a long moment, then blew it out.

I'd planned to file for divorce. Had the papers drafted, signed, ready to serve.

But that was before I confirmed what Irene Blair was really carrying.

Not his child.

Not his mark.

Something far more valuable to me.

Crimson Decay.

The blood test didn't lie. Neither did the timeline. She'd been infected for at least six months—long before Victor ever touched her. And in the wolf world, six months was more than enough time to pass it on.

Especially to someone who fucked like he did. Raw. Aggressive. The kind of sex that left marks and drew blood.

I looked down at the cake, at the perfect vanilla frosting and the dark smudge where the candle had been.

I wasn't going to divorce him.

I was going to take everything.

His company. His council seat. His pureblood inheritance.

Every last piece of the Grayson empire he'd built on his family name and his father's money.

Because Victor didn't know it yet, but he was already dying.

And I was going to make sure that when he finally figured it out, there would be nothing left for him to hold onto.

Nothing except me.