Dante’s POV
Wife?
The word echoed in my head over and over again, like a cruel fucking joke.
I must have misheard. There was no way. No fucking way.
But Amaya didn’t correct him. She didn’t laugh and say it was a mistake.
We just stood there.
With him.
My breathing became ragged, my fists clenched so tight that my nails dug into my palms. The pain barely registered over the storm raging inside me.
“What did you say?” I growled, already stepping forward. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill him for saying it or beat the truth out of him.
His expression didn’t change. He just stared at me blankly with that same arrogant calmness.
“You heard me,” he repeated. “Amaya is my wife.”
Worse, he wrapped his hand around her waist like he had every fucking right to touch her.
She was my mate. She was mine.
I saw red. I could barely recognize the sound of my own voice when I let out a low, menacing chuckle.
“That’s funny,” I said, tilting my head. “Because last I checked, my mate—” I bit out the word
