Chapter 2

A smug little smirk curled the corners of her lips. "What kind of person is she anyway?"

"In what sense?"

"Her age, combat rank, family background, job."

"She's twenty-eight. A warrior instructor. Raised by a single mother."

"Sounds pretty average," Chloe sniffed, rolling her eyes. "And she's almost thirty. Way past her prime breeding years. How is she even supposed to bear strong pups for Lucas?"

My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.

I never expected words like that from a young she-wolf.

I had always assumed every female in our pack aimed to be a formidable warrior, not just a breeding vessel.

After a brief silence, I kept my voice calm.

"She probably won't be having his pups anyway."

Chloe parted her plump lips in genuine shock. "Why?"

"Because of you. Knowing Lucas, he’s so hooked on you that he might not even go through with marrying his betrothed."

"Really?!" Her face lit up. "Could you keep an ear to the ground for me?"

"Of course," I said.

When Chloe got out of the car, she casually took off her jacket.

Her pale skin was littered with dense hickeys and fresh, barely healed mating nips.

Perhaps my stare was too piercing; she suddenly felt self-conscious and pulled the jacket back on.

"Elena, stop staring... it's embarrassing."

I looked away and asked softly, "Did it hurt?"

Her mouth twitched into a pout, playing the victim.

"A lot, actually. He's always so rough, and I'm too scared to say no."

"Next time he gets like that, bite down on his shoulder," I advised gently. "Tell him it hurts. That way, he won't push you."

She blinked. "How do you know that?"

I leaned closer to her ear and smiled. "His fiancé mentioned it when we were gossiping over drinks."

Chloe broke into a giggling grin, covering her mouth.

"You're the best, Elena! I'll definitely try that at home."

After dropping Chloe off, I texted Lucas, telling him to grab dinner on his own tonight.

Then I switched back to my personal car and drove straight to our future home.

I wanted to see if the "home" Chloe spoke of was the very sanctuary meant for us.

Lucas had finished renovating the estate a year ago.

He kept refusing to give me the passcode, swearing he wanted to give me a grand surprise on the night of our mate ceremony.

970613—my birthday. *Beep. Incorrect passcode.*

950831—Lucas's birthday. *Beep. Incorrect passcode.*

200225—the anniversary of when we started dating. *Beep. Incorrect passcode.*

...

Finally, I punched in the birthday I had casually pried out of Chloe during our ride.

051113.

*Beep. Door unlocked.*

Even though I had already known the truth, having it confirmed crushed the air right out of my lungs.

My knees gave out as I stepped inside, and I collapsed against the entryway shoe cabinet.

Sitting there were two matching pairs of house slippers, neatly paired up. Clearly, they came here all the time.

I wandered through the house like a ghost.

Matching toothbrushes, matching silk robes, matching couple's trinkets—everything was cozy, domestic, and utterly sickening.

I entered the master bedroom and looked up. The ceiling was fitted with a massive mirror.

A memory flashed in my mind. Years ago, Lucas and I watched an indie romance film together. The male lead had a bedroom designed just like this.

Back then, Lucas had buried his face against my neck, breath hot against my ear, begging me to try something like that with him someday.

I had always been guarded about intimacy, but knowing we were destined to mate, I had finally yielded and agreed back then.

I just never imagined he had remembered it so vividly—only to turn it into his dirty playground with someone else.

The mirror above reflected my hollow, shattered eyes.

The weather outside was crisp and cool, yet the bedroom felt stifling, sticky, and heavy. I could even catch the faint, lingering scent of sweat, musk, and arousal hanging in the air.

Nausea hit me like a physical blow. My instincts screamed at me to run.

Just then, the front door clicked open.