Chapter 3

The drive back was suffocating.

The interior of the Range Rover reeked of a she-wolf in heat, It was fermenting in the enclosed space, turning my stomach.

I felt bile rising in my throat.

I rolled down the window, letting the cold wind slap my face, barely suppressing the urge to vomit.

"Why are you opening the window? You'll catch a cold. Werewolves heal fast, but you shouldn't sit in a draft like this." Ethan reached over to close it, his face wearing a mask of impeccable concern.

I turned my head, looking at him with a smile that wasn't quite a smile. "The car smells strange. Like... the musk of a low-rank Omega in heat?"

Ethan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened visibly, his knuckles turning white. He let out a dry, nervous laugh. "How is that possible? We probably just drove past the Slave Market, and the scent drifted in."

"Is that so?" My fingertips traced the leather of the passenger seat. "And here I thought some other bitch had been sitting in my seat, leaving a scent mark she shouldn't have."

Ethan immediately raised three fingers, his expression as solemn as if he were swearing an oath to the Moon Goddess. "Ivy, this passenger seat is your exclusive Luna throne. Besides you, no female is qualified to sit here."

His eyes were so sincere. If I hadn't seen that video, I would have believed him.

Halfway home, Ethan suddenly pulled over to the side of the road.

"Ivy, something urgent came up with the Border Patrol. I need to go handle it. We aren't far from the pack lands; I'll have a Beta guard drive you the rest of the way, okay?"

I looked at his anxious expression, feeling nothing but ice in my heart.

Border Patrol emergency? Please.

It was obvious Daisy had mind-linked him, demanding he get rid of me so she could hop into this "mobile mating shack."

"Sure," I said.

I got out of the car and watched the vehicle—the one that was supposed to belong only to me—carry the Alpha who swore he only loved me. He made a U-turn with desperate urgency, racing toward another Omega’s bed.

That night, Ethan didn't come home.

When he returned the next day, his tie was knotted perfectly, but it couldn't hide the dark red hickey on his collarbone—a mating mark left during the height of passion.

The moment he walked in, he hugged me, nuzzling his chin into the crook of my neck. "Ivy, dealing with those rogues last night was exhausting. I missed you so much."

I fought the urge to shift and rip his throat out. My gaze drifted over his shoulder, landing on the exquisite gift box on the top shelf. "Rough night, huh?"

Ethan let go of me, following my gaze to the box. He asked, a little eagerly, "Ivy, about that gift... can I really not open it now? The moon is beautiful tonight."

"No." I took a step back, creating distance between us. My eyes held a meaningful, mysterious glint. "We agreed on one week."

"Why? Since when are you so principled?" he teased.

"The more precious the sacrifice, the longer the wait. Don't you agree?"

Ethan was curious, but he nodded indulgently. "Alright, I'll listen to my Luna. One week."