Cecilia’s pov
The dinner party wrapped up.
Sebastian erged looking perfectly sober—piercing eyes clear, stride steady. But when he handed us the room card and told us to take care of the check, Beta Sawyer and I exchanged glances. Our Alpha was definitely drunk.
Amara seed more put-together tonight than yesterday. She hurried to Sebastian’s side on quick, dainty steps, tugging at his arm with familiar ease that made my wolf go crazy inside .
"Want to co to my place?" she purred. "I have that whiskey you like."
"No." Sebastian’s rejection was imdiate, clipped—the single syllable leaving no room for negotiation. That was pure Alpha attitude—short, direct, absolute.
We continued down the corridor, the tension still thick in the air.
Then it happened.
Sebastian’s boot caught on a raised edge of the carpet. His balance shifted.
Before Beta Sawyer or I could react, Amara stepped forward, already positioned like she’d been waiting for exactly this. Arms slightly outstretched, her expression carefully composed.
He was about to fall straight into her.
But instead—his hand shot backward. It caught my wrist.
No warning whatsoever.
One second I was walking behind him, the next—I was airborne. Yanked forward with such force that my heels barely touched the floor.
I collided with Amara. Hard.
She stared at .
And I saw sothing raw in her eyes. Furious. Wounded.
He had pulled between them.
He had chosen—.
She stepped back. Slowly. Her jaw tight, spine rigid, hands clenched at her sides.
Then she turned and walked away without a word, her heels echoing down the corridor like bullets.
I stood frozen.
Still catching my breath. Still processing.
Three days into this job, and I’d just been used as a shield—by an Alpha. Against another wolf.
And I had no idea what that ant.
Back in the car, I noticed a sharp pain in my knee. Looking down, I saw an ugly purple bruise forming, dotted with tiny blood spots where I’d collided with Sebastian’s leg. Werewolf bones might as well be steel. My fair, delicate skin always bruised easily, but this looked especially nasty.
Sebastian sat beside , eyes closed, one hand supporting his head. His face was peaceful, almost serene in the dim light of the car—like he hadn’t just used as a human shield minutes earlier. He appeared to be sleeping.
At the hotel, I tried saying his na several tis. No response.
He was truly drunk, then.
Beta Sawyer and a male hotel attendant struggled to help him to his room. All six-foot-three of pure Alpha werewolf muscle—they were both dripping sweat by the ti they managed it.
"How’s your knee?" Beta Sawyer asked when he erged from the bedroom, his sharp eyes imdiately catching my injury. "You should ice that." His concern seed genuine.
"I’ll ice it in my room," I replied.
"Go ahead. I’ve got this covered."
I nodded. "Okay."
At the door, I paused and turned back. "You should go with the Alpha to the summit tomorrow. I won’t show up in the morning. The factory is on Jurong Island in the west—pretty far. I want to leave early so I can get back sooner."
"Sounds good," Beta Sawyer agreed. "Hit up if you need anything."
I said okay and left.
Back in my room, I took a shower and settled into the armchair with ice for my knee. The mont I pressed it against the bruise, I winced.
Yet sohow, as the pain pulsed, I found myself laughing. How crazy my situation was hit all at once.
This trip—supposedly a working distraction from my divorce—was turning out to be quite the ride. Staying busy was good. It kept from thinking about Denver and everything I’d left behind.
I wondered what was happening there now.
Author’s pov
Denver, 9 p.m.
Rain drumd steadily against the windows of Harper’s law office, the city outside wrapped in darkness and cold. Low clouds pressed down over the skyline, casting the world in heavy, crushing gloom.
Alpha Xavier sat across from her, the picture of aristocratic control—immaculately tailored in charcoal gray, his features sharp, unreadable.
Harper didn’t bother hiding her disdain.
"I thought you’d act heartbroken a little longer," she said coolly. "But I suppose this way is better. The sooner you get your act together, the sooner we can wrap up the paperwork."
She pushed the divorce agreent across the table.
Xavier picked it up, fingers slow and deliberate. He flipped to the last page, pausing at his own signature. Dated a month ago—back when he’d just returned from Switzerland.
Harper saw the recognition in his eyes. He was rembering.
Cecilia had brought him those papers herself—smiling calmly, talking about work. She hadn’t flinched. Not once.
"The waiting period is over," Harper said. "Once Cecilia returns, you’ll both go to city hall. It’ll be done."
Xavier said nothing.
"She asked to remind you," Harper added, her voice sharper than a knife, "that if you try to screw her over on the compensation, she’s prepared to fight—until the bitter end. Your little mistress was pretty generous with the evidence. I doubt either of you want another charity gala incident."
Under the table, Xavier’s hands clenched. The edges of the contract crumpled in his grip.
"When did she find out?" he asked roughly.
Harper’s temper went off.
"Oh, now you care?" she snapped. "Now you want to feel guilty?"
She leaned forward.
"Did you feel guilty when you slept with Cici? When you swept her off to Switzerland for a romantic getaway? When you held her hand and made those ridiculous heart shapes at sunrise for your little photo op?"
Xavier didn’t move.
Harper kept going, her voice cutting like glass.
"How long has it been since you ca ho? Since you sat down and ate a al with your mate like a husband should?"
"You promised to take her to see the Northern Lights in Iceland. Instead, you lied—told her you had a business trip, then took your mistress instead."
"She knows everything, Xavier."
"She couldn’t sleep for weeks. Survived on sleeping pills just to get through the night. And yet she kept showing up at work like nothing was wrong. The only ti she broke down, she cried for hours. I’ve known her since we were kids. I’ve never seen her like that."
Harper’s voice shook, but she didn’t stop.
"She gave up everything for you. Do you rember that?"
"And you destroyed her."
"She’s not divorcing you because she’s weak, Xavier. She’s doing it because she’s strong enough to walk away without making a scene."
"She sold everything. Even the wedding ring. Burned your wedding photos right in front of you—to remind herself never to look back."
Harper paused. Her voice dropped, quieter, but just as brutal.
"I’m not telling you this to ss with you. I’m telling you because she’s not coming back. If there’s anything left in you that looks like a man, you’ll give her the final shred of dignity she deserves."
Silence fell.
Then Xavier doubled over, like sothing had snapped inside him.
A growl tore from his throat—low, animal, broken.
And then he shredded the divorce papers to pieces.
"I won’t divorce her," he snarled, eyes flashing gold.
"Says who I don’t love her?" he shouted. "I love her! I love her! I love her!"
Harper stared at him.
And for the first ti in all the years she’d known him...
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her—
Or himself.
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