Chapter 3: Do You Want a Divorce? I Can Help You.

I stood frozen, overwhelmed by the strange, intoxicating scent that stirred an unknown longing deep within me. It shook me to my core, leaving me breathless, as though my mate was near. Yet, apart from the scent, no other signs confirmed this.

Before I could collect myself, Spencer Whitaker scanned the bar with a calm, commanding gaze. With a simple wave of his hand, he said, “Carry on. Pretend I’m not here.”

The weight of his presence lifted instantly, and the crowd resumed their chatter, though the atmosphere had irrevocably shifted. Everyone stole glances at him, unable to resist his aura.

After all, he was the King.

Behind me, I overheard hushed whispers from a group of women.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe the King is at a bar…”

“He’s even more terrifying—and handsome—than the stories say.”

“This is the King’s aura? My wolf is trembling with excitement!”

“I heard he still doesn’t have a mate. Imagine being his Queen…”

My chest tightened at the word mate.

Though I had been married to Grant Whitaker for six years, we were not true mates. I didn’t have a wolf. I had never dared to hope that the Moon Goddess would bless me with a fated mate. But just now, when Spencer steadied me, I caught that scent—a fragrance so potent it made my blood race and my heart pound as if it might burst from my chest.

Was this the reaction triggered by meeting one’s mate? Could Spencer Whitaker—Grant’s uncle, the Alpha King—be my mate?

The thought lingered for just a second before I dismissed it as absurd. Spencer Whitaker was the King, far above someone like me. And I was already married to his nephew. Besides, apart from that fleeting scent, I hadn’t felt any other signs. Without a wolf, I couldn’t confirm such a bond.

No, it was impossible. The Moon Goddess wouldn’t assign a wolfless mate to the Alpha King. It defied all logic.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

“Are you all right?” Spencer’s deep voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts.

I looked up, meeting his piercing gray-blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.

“I’m fine,” I stammered, quickly averting my gaze. “It was just crowded, and I lost my balance for a moment.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he asked casually, “What brings you here alone? Drowning your sorrows?”

I forced a smile, though it felt brittle. “I’ve just been in a bad mood.”

His intense gaze lingered on my face. “Trouble with Grant?”

My throat tightened. I was about to answer when I caught sight of something—or rather, someone—out of the corner of my eye.

My breath hitched.

It was Grant and Serena.

They walked hand in hand into the center of the dance floor just as the music shifted to a romantic ballad. The crowd parted for them, murmuring in admiration and envy as they began to dance.

“Oh my gosh, what a night! Both Alpha Grant Whitaker and the King are here!”

“Look at the woman with Grant. She’s stunning!”

“That must be Alpha Grant’s Luna, right? They look perfect together.”

“She’s always been so mysterious, never appearing in public. What a rare sight!”

The words stung like daggers. I was Grant Whitaker’s Luna, yet everyone assumed Serena was his wife.

I bit my lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that blurred my vision. Turning away from their intimate display, I felt a sharp ache in my chest.

A tissue appeared in front of me.

Spencer spoke softly, “Is this the reason you’re here alone?”

I sniffled, nodding silently, unable to form words.

He studied me for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to dance? It might help you feel better.”

I froze, startled. When I lifted my eyes to his, the unfamiliar emotion in his gaze made my heart skip a beat.

After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded.

He extended his hand. I hesitated briefly before placing mine in his.

We walked to the center of the dance floor. Under the soft glow of the lights, I let him guide me. The music was slow, intimate—meant for lovers.

I wasn’t familiar with the steps and stumbled a few times, but he led with ease. His presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and I found myself nearly colliding with his chest more than once. Each close moment sent heat rushing to my face.

My palms grew damp with sweat. I was flustered, unsteady, and on the verge of pulling away when he leaned down, his warm breath brushing against my ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, and yet unbearably gentle. “Do you want to divorce Grant? If you need help, I can assist.”

My mind went blank, his words reverberating through me like a shockwave. I couldn’t breathe.

What was he saying?

We had barely interacted before. How could he possibly know my thoughts and offer to help so directly?

“We hardly know each other,” I stammered, startled. “How could you know I…”

The word divorce was on the tip of my tongue when he interrupted me.

“Didn’t we meet just two months ago?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. His gaze held a depth that made it impossible to hide from him.

Two months ago? My heart skipped a beat. Had we met before?

The memory I had buried deep suddenly resurfaced—a hazy, fragmented night at a banquet. I had been drugged, set up… I had forced myself to forget the details of that encounter.

Could the man from that night have been Spencer Whitaker? No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible… wasn’t it?

I stared at him in shock, unable to speak. Before I could gather my thoughts, an angry voice shattered the music's rhythm.

“Summer!”

I froze.

Across the dance floor, Grant Whitaker stormed toward us, his expression dark with fury. His eyes blazed with anger as he barked, “What are you doing here? And why are you dancing with another man?!”