Hudson’s POV
Sothing felt wrong.
I sensed it the mont I stepped into our suite. Christina wasn’t sprawled on the sofa watching her favorite cri shows or nestled in bed scrolling through her phone. Instead, she sat rigidly at her desk, back to , eyes fixed on her computer screen.
The real tell? She didn’t greet with a kiss when I entered. That had beco our ritual since the engagent.
I leaned down, going for her lips.
She turned her face away.
"You reek of wine. Shower, brush your teeth, then get ready for bed. It’s late," she said flatly.
"I had a couple of drinks," I admitted.
She made a sound that said absolutely nothing.
Even after erging from the bathroom clean, sober, and slightly hopeful, she remained planted at her desk.
"Coming to bed? It’s almost eleven." I glanced at her screen. Not jewelry design software, just columns of numbers. "You’re actually reading financial reports now?"
She finally turned to face . "About that... I need to ask you sothing."
"Anything. And stop calling it asking. We’re married, Christina. I’d do anything for you."
"Are we, though?"
"What?" I pulled back, instantly alert.
Lycaon growled low in my mind. "Sothing’s wrong with our mate."
"Are we truly married? I an, as far as the public knows?"
"The announcent went out weeks ago. I can show you the certificates if you need proof." I studied her face.
She blinked rapidly, teeth worrying her lower lip. Her stress tell.
Right. Cold feet. Or at least delayed wedding jitters.
"To our friends and pack mbers, well, maybe not the pack part, but to our friends, it doesn’t seem real. Even Ysolde keeps bugging to officially na her maid of honor." Christina gave a tired smile. "She wants written confirmation. As if I’d choose anyone else."
I nearly said, "Maybe because she thinks you’re not taking this seriously," but held back. That would only make things worse.
So I stayed quiet.
"Anyway, soone asked out today." Her smile turned sheepish.
"You’re wearing a ring," I said, instantly territorial. Lycaon bristled inside . "Was it Fabrizio? That wouldn’t surprise ."
"Not him. Soone else at the company. He didn’t notice. I’d taken off the ring while using the laser cutter."
The ring glinted on her finger now. That cald Lycaon slightly. too.
I appreciated her honesty. It ant she trusted .
But the darker part of , the part struggling with possessiveness, felt unsettled.
She didn’t even flinch telling . Either she knew I wouldn’t mind, or she knew I would and didn’t care.
Neither option felt great.
"So that was my day. How about yours? Anyone hit on you?" she asked lightly. She looked up at , backlit by street lights outside, shadows playing across her face. Hard to read her expression.
My thoughts flashed to dinner, to Lea’s tears.
She’d been part of my founding team when I started Titanova in Wessexia, but we hadn’t t in person in years, despite her position as CEO.
All our etings since then had been video calls. Formal, brief, distant.
I knew it was her way of showing she was still mad.
She thought I’d abandoned the company, leaving her and the team to handle everything while I beca a passive shareholder.
I understood. She wasn’t alone in feeling that way, just the most vocal about it.
So I kept my distance.
It still hurt when she didn’t invite to her wedding.
Over ti, we let the silence grow. Updates about each other ca through Olivier or Kylian.
An occasional holiday card. Nothing more.
Which made her dinner confession even more shocking—what her husband had done to her.
Christina watched expectantly. Her makeup-free face made her look younger than twenty-four. Like a college student still figuring life out.
She was waiting for my answer.
Lea’s na almost ford on my tongue. But I swallowed it back.
Would sharing soone else’s story help Lea? Her situation wasn’t the sa as Christina’s.
Christina had left Niall imdiately after he slapped her. One ti—but that was enough. Her stance on abuse was absolute: zero tolerance. I agreed completely.
But Lea? She stayed with Pierre Marchand, even after telling everything—the drunken hits, the paranoid surveillance when he suspected cheating.
I told her—no, demanded—that she divorce him. Imdiately.
But Lea, normally decisive and sharp, hesitated.
She still loved him, she said. After each incident, he’d cry, beg forgiveness, swear it would never happen again.
I wanted to shake sense into her. How could soone so smart fall for such lies? Believe such a man could change?
"No. Nobody hit on ," I finally answered.
Lea needed a friend’s support, not a romantic complication.
"Oh," Christina said. Then turned back to her screen.
"How was your tour?" I asked.
"Fine. We walked around town, ate at a restaurant with live seafood tanks. I saw the biggest crab ever. You?"
"Dinner with old friends."
"Are you inviting them to the wedding?"
"Who?" I was still distracted.
"Your old friends. I’d like to et them."
"You will." At the wedding. Probably. "They’ve received invitations."
I stood behind her, watching her work. Still thinking about Lea.
Should I ntion it? Christina might understand Lea’s reasoning better. But would it bring back bad mories? Even ntioning Niall still felt wrong.
"Need help?" I offered.
Christina hated numbers. Anything beyond basic math gave her headaches.
"No, I’m good. This is confidential anyway," she said without looking up.
"Coming to bed? It’s late."
"I’ll work a bit longer. Go ahead."
I waited. Stayed awake.
Finally, she shut down her computer and slipped under the covers.
I pulled her close, kissed her forehead, then her cheek.
When my hand moved to her pajama buttons, she rolled away.
"I’m tired. Not tonight."
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