Chapter 5 – The Line She Drew (Part 1)

The rest of the day unfolded like the slow crawl of dusk, quiet on the outside, simmering underneath.

Patrick and Jason remained shut away in his office for most of the afternoon, their muffled voices seeping beneath the door, the cadence of command and strategy rising and falling like a dull heartbeat through the walls.

For Michelle, that isolation was its own small mercy. She stayed in the kitchen, cleaning what didn’t need cleaning, folding napkins, wiping the same counter three times over. Every scrape of a chair or soft laugh from the office made her shoulders tighten, but as long as they remained preoccupied, she had peace.

Still, peace was temporary in this house. It was always temporary.

By the time the clock struck six, the sun had dipped behind the tree line, leaving streaks of orange light slanting through the living-room windows. Michelle had just finished loading the dishwasher when she heard the front gate creak open.

Her stomach sank.

The distinct rhythm of heels on concrete followed, a confident, deliberate click that announced its owner before she even appeared.

Rebecca.

Michelle knew that sound. She could identify every one of Patrick’s women by their footsteps.

When Rebecca appeared in the doorway, Michelle’s suspicions were confirmed, and then some. The woman was dressed to be seen: a short crimson dress hugging her body, a glittering clutch in her hand, and a glossy suitcase rolling behind her.

A suitcase.

Michelle blinked. The sight of it made her chest tighten. Rebecca wasn’t just here for dinner or a stolen hour. She was staying.

Rebecca’s lips curled in a self-satisfied smile as she glanced around the house, her gaze lingering on the framed photographs of Michelle’s late parents. She gave a faint snort of amusement before tossing her long curls over her shoulder.

“Evening, Michelle,” she said sweetly, though the mockery in her tone was unmistakable.

Michelle didn’t answer. She simply wiped her hands on a towel and stepped aside as Rebecca brushed past her, trailing the scent of expensive perfume.

Patrick emerged from his home office at the same time, his face lighting up in a way it never did for his mate. “There you are,” he said, his voice suddenly warm.

Rebecca went straight to him and kissed him, slow and possessive. He didn’t resist. In fact, he kissed her back, openly, in the middle of the living room, knowing Michelle could see every second of it.

Jason was still in the office doorway, pretending to study a set of notes in his hand, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly. He knew better than to interfere, but even he couldn’t hide the flicker of disgust that crossed his expression.

Michelle stood frozen, her heart a dull thud in her chest. She had seen this scene before, many times. The humiliation no longer shocked her, but it never stopped hurting.

Rebecca giggled softly against Patrick’s shoulder. “Where do I put it, darling?” she asked, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Patrick didn’t look at her when he answered. “Have Michelle place it in the bedroom.”

The words struck like ice water.

For a moment, Michelle thought she’d misheard him. But no, his tone was casual, commanding, as if he were asking her to fetch him a drink.

She stared at the suitcase, then at him. Something in her snapped.

She could endure many things. The insults. The control. The bruises that never seemed to fade. But this, carrying another woman’s luggage into her own marital bedroom, was a humiliation too far.

Her pulse roared in her ears as she straightened, her fingers curling into fists. “She has hands and feet,” Michelle said evenly. “She can do it herself.”

The room went still.

Patrick turned slowly toward her, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”

“I said,” she repeated, her voice steady now, “she can do it herself.”

For a brief second, neither Jason nor Rebecca moved. The silence was so thick that Michelle could hear the faint ticking of the wall clock.

Patrick’s expression shifted, disbelief giving way to simmering rage. His tone when he spoke was deceptively calm. “Take the bags to the master room.”

Michelle folded her arms across her chest. “No,” she said flatly. “She brought it here, she should do it herself.”

Her voice didn’t tremble this time. Her heart was pounding, but outwardly she was composed, defiant. For once, she allowed herself to feel the small, dangerous thrill of saying no.

Patrick turned to face her, every muscle in his body coiled like a predator’s. Rebecca took a step back, her smugness faltering.

Michelle didn’t move.

He started toward her, each step measured, deliberate. She could already feel the mark on her neck pulsing in warning, his dominance pressing against her senses, the invisible bond tightening.

Her body wanted to yield, to kneel, to beg, but she fought the instinct. Not this time.

Just before Patrick reached her, Jason stepped between them.

“Alpha,” he said sharply, blocking his path. His tone was calm, but his stance was firm, shoulders squared, eyes unflinching. “She is right. Rebecca can carry her bags.”