2

Chapter 2

By the time the car delivered me back to the pack house, night had fallen.

The iron gates closed slowly, familiar security systems disengaging layer by layer. I walked inside and the lights automatically illuminated, the entire house quiet as a meticulously maintained fortress.

This was where I'd lived for five years.

This was also where I'd personally helped design the security lines, escape routes, and backup silver weapon armories.

I removed my coat without calling for the house staff.

I didn't need them watching me pack.

I went to the study first.

The safe opened with a soft metallic sound, like a brief sigh. Inside were some old things—worthless in monetary terms, but they shouldn't remain here.

The first gun.

This was Dominic's first real gun. Not a standard-issue pack weapon, but one I'd bought with my first "clean money." He'd been so nervous that day his palms were sweating. I stood behind him, teaching him how to load the magazine, how to chamber a round.

That gun was never used again.

Because he no longer needed anyone to teach him how to kill.

I placed it in the box.

Next were the ledgers. The earliest pages bore my handwriting, recording transactions that hadn't yet seen daylight, territory routes marked in pencil with his scrawled annotations beside them.

Back then we'd sit at a small table, staying up until dawn working through a five-hundred-thousand-dollar transaction.

Now, five hundred thousand wasn't enough to make one woman happy.

I closed the ledger.

In the dressing room, I didn't take much.

The gowns, jewelry, the ceremonial shawl his mother had given me during our mating ceremony—I left them all. Those things belonged to "Luna Kane," not to me.

I only took a few casual outfits and an old watch.

He'd bought it for me the first time we'd really gained our footing. Not expensive, but it was the first time after money came in that he didn't immediately think about expansion, weapons, or pack alliances.

That day he'd told me: "There'll be better ones later."

There were, eventually.

Just never for me.

I sat on the sofa. My phone lit up.

Instagram notification.

Scarlett's account.

I opened it.

A diamond ring filled the entire screen. The center stone was at least eight carats, perfectly cut, the fire dazzling. The caption was brief—

"The feeling of being protected."

The location showed a mansion outside the city.

I recognized that house. Dominic had "reclaimed" it two years ago; nobody mentioned anymore which river the previous owner was buried in.

I checked the ring's price tag.

3.2 million euros.

I closed my phone without looking further.

Today was our bond anniversary.

The fifth year, yet he seemed to have forgotten.

I made myself pasta using ordinary tomato sauce. The water boiled quickly. As I dropped the pasta in, I heard sounds from the entrance.

Dominic was back.

He changed his shoes, walked into the kitchen, glanced at the pot.

"Anniversary dinner?" His tone was casual, like he was making a harmless joke.

I dished the pasta onto a plate without answering.

He placed a small box on the table, pushing it toward me.

"For you," he said. "Anniversary gift."

I glanced at him, then opened it anyway.

A necklace.

The chain was so delicate it was nearly invisible, with a few small diamonds set in the center—small, exquisite, and expensive enough—if you were giving it to an ordinary woman.

I closed the box.

"Let's go out to eat," he said. "I made a reservation."

I looked up at him.

"Scarlett's ring is very beautiful," I said.

His expression froze for an instant, then quickly recovered.

"She was frightened," he said. "She needed reassurance."

"So you gave her an expensive diamond ring, but on our anniversary you give your mate this small, delicate gift?" I held up the box, unable to stop myself from laughing.

"Aria, I'm tired. I barely managed to clean up the mess and carved out time to come back and have dinner with you. Don't make me regret it."

Suddenly, his phone rang.

He answered, listened for a few seconds, his gaze falling on me.

I spoke before he could.

"Go ahead," I said. "Do what you need to do."

He was visibly stunned.

This was the first time I hadn't objected, hadn't argued when this happened.

He came over and embraced me.

"I'll make it up to you," he said, his tone solemn, like he was promising a business deal.

I didn't respond.

After he left, the house grew quiet again.

I took the necklace out of the box and looked at it.

The small diamonds flashed once under the light, then dimmed.

I walked to the trash can and dropped it in.

No hesitation.

I didn't need this expired thing.

And I certainly didn't need evidence that he'd "remembered."