An ex

Lyra's POV

Listen, I've had some shit mornings in my life. The time I woke up with a hangover so bad I thought I was dying. The morning after my wolf got bound and I couldn't shift. That god-awful day I found Killian in bed with someone else.

But walking into the lobby of Damien's corporate building and seeing my ex-boyfriend standing there like he owned the place? That might actually top the list.

"Lyra." Killian's voice cut through the marble-and-glass lobby like a knife. "We need to talk."

Oh, fuck no. Not today. Not ever, actually.

I kept walking toward the elevators, my heels clicking against the polished floor with what I hoped was confident dismissal. "Pretty sure we said everything that needed saying when I caught you with your dick in someone else."

"Lyra, please." He moved to block my path, and I caught the scent of his cologne—the expensive one I used to love that now just made my stomach turn. "Just give me five minutes."

"I don't have five seconds for you, Killian." I tried to step around him, but he moved with me. Several people in the lobby were starting to stare. Perfect. Nothing like a scene in my new husband's corporate headquarters to really cement my professional reputation.

"I know about your marriage." His eyes were hard, calculating. "To Damien Blackthorne. Quite the upgrade in tax brackets, isn't it?"

My blood ran cold, but I kept my expression neutral. "Congratulations on your investigative skills. Want a cookie?"

"Don't be cute." He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in just hard enough to hurt. "I've done my research, Lyra. Your new husband? He's my uncle. My father's younger brother. So this little revenge scheme of yours—"

"Revenge scheme?" I laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut. "Oh honey, you're not that important. Trust me, when I married Damien, you weren't even a footnote in my decision-making process."

That wasn't entirely true, but Killian didn't need to know that. The truth was messy and complicated, and I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

"You expect me to believe that?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something that might have been threatening if I wasn't so tired of his bullshit. "That you just happened to marry my uncle? That it's pure coincidence?"

"Believe whatever helps you sleep at night." I yanked my arm free, rubbing where his fingers had been. "Though I'm guessing you're not sleeping alone these days, so maybe that's not an issue."

His jaw tightened. "I made a mistake, okay? I fucked up. But we had something real, Lyra. We had years together—"

"Years where you cheated on me repeatedly, you mean?" I crossed my arms, my patience officially expired. "Where you lied to my face while screwing half the pack? Those years?"

"It wasn't like that—"

"It was exactly like that." I could feel my temper rising, that familiar heat in my chest that used to signal my wolf responding to threats. Except my wolf was bound now, locked away where she couldn't help me, couldn't protect me. The reminder made me angrier.

"You destroyed what we had. You don't get to show up now and act like the victim."

"I'm not the victim here." His expression shifted, became something uglier. "You're the one who trapped yourself in a loveless marriage to a man who doesn't even like you, just to what? Prove a point? Get back at me?"

"Again, not everything is about you, Killian." But damn if his words didn't hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. "My relationship with Damien is none of your business."

"Relationship?" He laughed, the sound cruel. "Please. I know all about Damien's reputation. Cold, calculating, married to his work. You really think he gives a damn about you? You're just another business transaction to him."

"Still better than being your doormat." The words came out sharper than I intended, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged lobby. More people were definitely staring now. Great.

Killian's hand shot out again, grabbing my wrist this time. "You made a mistake, Lyra. Walking away from me, from us—it was a mistake. And I'm willing to forgive you for this little tantrum if you just—"

"Let go of my wife." Damien's voice cut through the lobby like a blade made of ice and authority.

I turned to see him standing maybe ten feet away, his suit perfectly tailored, his expression absolutely murderous. The temperature in the room seemed to drop about twenty degrees.

Killian's hand fell away from my wrist immediately. "Damien. Uncle. I was just—"

"Harassing my wife in my building?" Damien moved closer, and I could see the rage simmering beneath his controlled exterior.

"That's what you were doing, nephew?"

The way he said 'nephew' made it sound like an insult. Like something distasteful he'd found on the bottom of his shoe.

"I was talking to Lyra," Killian said, but his voice had lost its aggressive edge. "We have history—

"You have history." Damien's eyes were cold enough to freeze fire. "She has a husband. Who's currently wondering why you're touching her without permission."

"Jesus, it's not like that—" Killian started.

"Isn't it?" Damien positioned himself slightly between us, and I felt something weird flutter in my chest. Protection. He was actually being protective.

"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're harassing a woman who's made it very clear she doesn't want to talk to you."

The tension between them was thick enough to choke on. I could see the family resemblance now—the same strong jaw, the same intense eyes. But where Killian's features were softer, more conventionally handsome, Damien's were sharper, harder, more dangerous.

"This is ridiculous," Killian said, but he was backing up now, putting distance between us. "Lyra and I need to talk. Alone."

"No, you don't." Damien's voice was flat, final. "You need to leave now before I have security escort you out."

"You can't be serious—"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Damien pulled out his phone. "I can have six security guards here in thirty seconds. Or you can walk out with whatever dignity you have left. Your choice."

Killian looked between us, his expression cycling through anger, disbelief, and something that might have been hurt. "This isn't over, Lyra. You can't just—"

"It's been over," I said quietly. "It's been over since I found you in bed with someone else. This?" I gestured between us. "This is just you refusing to accept reality."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit. The automatic doors swished shut behind him, and the lobby seemed to collectively exhale.