Chapter 2

Salome’s POV

“Is that the Vane girl, the one sitting so close to Barnabas?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Portia Vane didn’t try to hide. She was the daughter of a powerful Alpha, and she carried herself like she owned the pavement beneath her designer boots. Across the parking lot, her eyes locked onto mine. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she looped her arms over Barnabas’s shoulders and leaned in to murmur something against his ear. He didn’t pull away. He didn't even move.

I didn't give them the satisfaction of a scene. I turned the key, shifted into gear, and drove away without looking back at the rearview mirror.

The pack house was tomb-quiet when I arrived. I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for the walk-in closet. I needed to keep my hands busy. I stood in front of the jewelry display, sliding a simple silver necklace through my fingers, trying to decide if it was professional enough for my morning meetings.

The crunch of gravel outside broke the silence. A heavy door slammed. I didn’t have to check the window to know Barnabas was home. A minute later, the scent of cedar and rain filled the small space behind me. He was standing in the doorway, watching me.

I kept my back to him. I carefully fastened the clasp of the necklace and set it back on the velvet cushion.

“Are you upset?” Barnabas asked.

“Obviously,” I said. I still didn’t look at him. “You should be more careful about your public image.”

The silence stretched. I heard him let out a long, frustrated breath through his nose. “The Vane Alpha is looking for a partnership. I’ve been in talks with his son, Caspian. Portia is just his sister.”

I finally turned around to face him. I kept my expression flat. “And part of the contract requires you to let her hang off you in broad daylight?”

His jaw tightened. He looked at me with a flash of surprise, like he couldn't believe I was actually talking back. When he spoke again, his voice had a sharp, cold edge to it.

“I am trying to give you an explanation, Salome. Watch your tone when you speak to your Alpha.”

I stared at him for a long beat. The man in front of me felt like a stranger.

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” I said. “If you’re done with me, just say it. If you want to put a new Luna in my seat, tell me now. I’ll pack my bags and go.”

His face went dark. The shadows under his brow deepened. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said we can end this,” I told him, my voice steady. “We can get a divorce and find a way to sever the bond.”

I tried to brush past him to leave the room, but his hand shot out. He caught my arm, his grip firm as he tilted my chin up. He didn't hurt me, but he held me firmly enough that I couldn't turn away.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he hissed.

I didn’t blink. I met his stare until he eventually let go. I walked out without another word, but the decision was already made. I wasn't saying it to pick a fight or get attention. I had been thinking about a divorce for a long time. I was already done. I didn't want him anymore.

Barnabas didn't leave the house for the rest of the night. He stayed locked in his office, skipping dinner entirely. It was long after midnight when I heard his phone ring from down the hall. I couldn't hear the words, but the high, frantic sound of a woman crying came through the door. Shortly after, I heard his car roar down the driveway.

The next morning, a text from Clementine woke me up. She was a lawyer and one of the few people I trusted. She sent over a screenshot of a social media post from Portia Vane.

The photo showed a mountain trail at dawn. Two hands were locked together, fingers entwined against the rising sun. The caption was short: Watching the sun come up, feeling your heart beat.

I didn't need a tag to know who the man was. I recognized the jagged scar near the thumb. It was Barnabas.

I sat at the kitchen table holding my coffee until the porcelain felt like ice. When I finally set the mug down, the sharp clink against the stone counter sounded like a starting pistol.

Barnabas didn't come home for days after that.

At the office, we were nothing more than colleagues. He sat at the head of the conference table while I stayed with the other executives. We didn't speak. We didn't look at each other. I stayed out of his office, and he stayed out of mine.

At night, I spent my time looking at small houses on the outskirts of the city. I started gutting the closet. I gathered every anniversary gift, every piece of jewelry, and even my wedding ring. I didn't want the memories. I sold what I could and boxed up the rest for donation. The gold and stones meant nothing to me now.

On Friday night, around eleven, a text came in from Saffron. She was the Luna of the Ironcrest pack. We weren't close, we had only crossed paths at a few summits, but she was a staple of the social scene. Her husband was famous for his affairs, and Saffron had responded by becoming a permanent fixture at every high-end club in the city.

She wanted me to meet her for drinks. My first instinct was to say no, but then I realized something. If I was going to leave the Richardson Group, I needed to start building my own network. I couldn't stay hidden forever.

I'll be there, I replied.

When I arrived at the club, Saffron was waiting by the velvet ropes. She grabbed my arm and leaned in to kiss my cheek like we were old friends. To the rest of the world, Barnabas and I were just a rumored couple with a strong bond. Only the inner circle knew we were actually married.

“So glad you could make it, Salome,” she said, flashing a bright, practiced smile.

She led me through the crowd and up to a private VIP lounge. The room was split by a heavy, carved wooden screen. One side was packed with people laughing and shouting over the music. Saffron brought me to the quieter side, where only one other woman sat. I recognized her as the mate of one of Barnabas’s friends. She gave me a tight, nervous smile that made my stomach turn.

Saffron disappeared to get us drinks. I sat down and took a small sip of my cocktail, trying to relax. Then, I heard it.

My name came floating over the top of the wooden screen.

“She hasn’t been around Alpha Barnabas lately, has she?” a man asked.

“Why would she be?” another voice replied. “He takes Portia Vane everywhere now.”

“It makes sense. Portia is the daughter of a major Alpha. She’s a much better fit for the pack. It makes them look a lot stronger than some girl with no backing.”

There was a short pause, followed by a cruel laugh. “Still, Salome was with him for what, eight years? He’s probably just bored of her. Even mates get tired of the same thing eventually.”

The room felt like it lost all its air. “It's a shame,” the first voice added. “She wasted her prime years on him. I’d still take a shot at her, though.”

I recognized the voices. They belonged to the sons of our own Gamma and Delta. The woman sitting across from me looked at her lap, her face turning red with second-hand embarrassment.

I didn't hide. I stood up, picked up my drink, and walked right around the screen.

The laughter stopped instantly. The men froze. I leaned against the edge of the divider and looked at the one who had spoken last.

“It seems a bit one-sided, don't you think?” I asked. “You make it sound like I’m the one who got the short end of the stick.”

They just stared at me, mouths open.

I took a slow sip of my drink. “Barnabas was a virgin when we met. If I’ve spent eight years using him for my own physical needs without having to pay a dime, it sounds like I got the better end of the deal, doesn't it?”

The silence in the room was absolute. Then, their eyes shifted to something behind me, and their faces went pale.

I turned around. Barnabas was standing there.

“Is that what I am to you, Salome?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “A free service?”