Chapter 3

Salome’s POV

The heavy, metallic scent of cedar and cold rain hit me before I even turned around. I knew that smell. It belonged to the man who was currently ruining my life.

"You really don't know when to stay away, do you?" Barnabas’s voice was a low growl behind me.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of a flinch. Instead, I shifted my gaze toward the plush velvet seating area tucked in the corner of the VIP lounge. Portia Vane was perched there like a queen on a throne, her legs crossed elegantly as she swirled a dark liquid in her glass. The smug grin she usually wore had vanished. Now, she just glared at me with the sharp, territorial hunger of a wolf guarding a kill. If the social setting hadn't been holding her back, I had no doubt she would have lunged across the table to tear into me.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a chance encounter. The hushed whispers, the shared looks, the way the entire inner circle sat gathered around them - this was their world. I was just the intruder stumbling into a private celebration. They weren't even trying to hide the affair anymore.

One of the men in the group jumped to his feet, his face pale as he tried to bridge the awkward silence. "Salome, look, we were just joking around. Nobody meant anything by those comments. Just drunk talk, you know?"

"Seriously," a woman added, her voice high and nervous. "We didn't think you’d actually be here."

I didn't bother looking at them. I didn't have the energy to accept fake apologies from people who mocked me the moment I turned my back.

Barnabas stepped into my personal space, his hand snaking out to grab my wrist. His fingers were like iron bands, cold and unyielding.

"We're leaving. Now," he commanded. He began to pivot, clearly intending to drag me toward the exit like a disobedient child.

I didn't pull away. I didn't scream. With my free hand, I reached for the glass I had been holding and flicked my wrist. The amber liquid splashed across his face, soaking into his expensive shirt and dripping from his chin.

The entire room went dead silent. I heard the tiny, rhythmic sound of ice cubes hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone in the back let out a sharp, horrified gasp.

I forced a thin, sharp smile onto my face. "Please, Alpha, don't let me ruin the vibe. Go back to your mistress. I can find my own way out."

I tried to jerk my arm back, but his grip only tightened until it bruised. His expression shifted from shock to a dark, simmering rage that made the air in the room feel heavy. Without saying a word, he lunged forward. He hooked an arm around my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing more than a bag of grain.

"Barnabas! Put me down this instant!" I shouted, kicking my legs against his chest.

He ignored me. He marched out of the lounge and into the hallway with a terrifying, single-minded focus. My head was hanging down his back, my vision swimming as we approached the elevators. The doors slid open, and I found myself staring at a pair of pristine black leather shoes. My eyes traveled up to see tailored suit pants and a pair of long, lean legs.

The man standing in the elevator was still. His hands were tucked into his pockets, though I could see the sharp, elegant lines of his fingers. As Barnabas stepped inside and turned around, I was forced to look up.

I met a pair of deep, piercing eyes. They were steady and incredibly calm, watching the chaotic scene with a quiet intensity. For a long, heart-stopping second, he didn't look away. I felt a hot flash of shame. I was the Luna of the pack, and here I was, being hauled around like a piece of luggage.

Inside my mind, Vesper, my wolf, let out a low, curious whine. Her ears perked up, her instincts humming with the sudden recognition of a powerful presence. I pushed the feeling down. I didn't want to feel anything, especially not a strange pull toward a stranger while my husband was humilating me.

Barnabas didn't stop to chat. He hauled me out of the building and down the concrete stairs to where his car was idling. He yanked the back door open, tossed me onto the leather seat, and climbed in right after me.

The world was spinning. I sat up, clutching my stomach as the nausea from being carried upside down threatened to overwhelm me. Barnabas reached into the console, pulled out a wet wipe, and began cleaning the alcohol off his face in grim silence.

"Why were you there, Salome?" he finally asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "Did you follow me? Were you trying to play detective?"

As he reached back to toss the wipe into the trash, I saw it. Tucked right behind the tissue box was a small, square foil packet. Gold. A condom.

The sight made my blood run cold. My stomach did a slow, painful flip. I didn't say a word. I just reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air.

"I am not staying in this car with you," I said, my voice trembling.

He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me back against the seat. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," I snapped, my breath hitching in my throat. "I just want to go home."

"Stop acting like a brat, Salome. I am losing my patience with these stunts."

I turned my head away, staring out the window so he wouldn't see my eyes watering. I refused to let him see me cry over a piece of foil.

"Nigel!" Barnabas barked toward the club entrance. "Get in and drive."

The driver appeared seconds later, sliding into the front seat without looking back. The ride home was a suffocating vacuum. I pressed myself against the door, putting as much distance between us as the small space allowed.

When we pulled into the driveway, I didn't wait for Nigel to open the door. I scrambled out while the engine was still ticking. I ran into the house, straight to the kitchen, and downed a glass of ice water until my throat ached. It was the only way to numb the heat rising in my chest.

I walked into the living room to find Barnabas waiting. He was leaning against the sofa, looking at me as if I were a problem he couldn't quite solve.

"I was there for work," he said, his tone flat. "It was a business meeting for the new development project."

I stayed silent.

"You showed up and acted like a lunatic. You embarrassed me in front of my associates," he continued, his voice rising. "You looked pathetic, Salome. Throwing drinks and screaming like some jealous, insecure child. Is that who you want to be?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "Are you finished?"

He frowned, clearly caught off guard by my lack of an argument. "If you want this marriage to actually function, you have to drop the paranoia. I don't have the energy for your delusions."

"Understood," I said, nodding slowly. "Is there anything else?"

"You're being incredibly annoying right now," he muttered, turning away.

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. He wouldn't have to deal with my 'annoyance' for much longer. I walked upstairs, changed into my simplest pajamas, and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, pretending to be dead to the world.

An hour later, I felt the bed dip. The scent of soap and his heavy Alpha aura filled the room. I kept my back turned, inching as close to the edge of the mattress as possible.

He didn't care about my boundaries. He reached out, his arm heavy and thick as he hooked it around my waist. He pulled me back against his chest with a rough, possessive jerk. He was stronger than me, and he knew it. He held me there, pinned against him, making sure I knew I belonged to him whether I liked it or not.

I laid there like a statue. I didn't sleep a wink.

The next morning, I was downstairs before the sun was fully up. I made myself a piece of dry toast and an egg, washing it down with cold milk. I sat in the silence of the dining room, staring at the wall.

Barnabas appeared a while later, fully dressed in a sharp charcoal suit. He walked toward the door, then paused. He stood there for a long moment before turning back and walking over to the table. He leaned down, his face inches from mine.

"This weekend," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Let's take the boat out. Just us. No work, no pack drama. We need to clear the air."

I took a slow sip of my milk, never meeting his eyes. "Sure."

That was the extent of our conversation.

By Friday, the promise was dead. He sent a brief text saying he had an emergency meeting in London and had to catch a flight immediately. I didn't even feel the sting of disappointment. It was just a cold, hollow confirmation of what I already knew.

He hadn't noticed that we hadn't eaten a meal together in a month. He hadn't noticed that I stopped asking about his day. He says he won't give me a divorce, yet he treats me like a ghost in my own home. I could vanish tomorrow, and he would probably just be annoyed that his dinner wasn't ready.

I spent the weekend in my own way. I went to the study and began packing my books into a small suitcase. I made trip after trip to the new apartment I had rented in secret. It was small, a fraction of the size of the estate, but the air there felt easier to breathe.

As I was shelving the last of my novels, my phone buzzed on the counter.

It was Margot, Barnabas's mother. I stared at the screen for a long time before answering.

"Hello, Luna Margot," I said. Even after eight years of marriage, she insisted I use her title. She never let me forget I was beneath her.

"Come to the main house immediately," she said, her voice sharp and arrogant. "We need to put our previous discussion into a formal agreement. In writing."

I leaned against the bookshelf. "Is that really necessary today?"

"It is necessary because I said so," she snapped.

"Callume. I'll be there this afternoon."

"No," she countered. "You will be here at noon. Do not be late."

The line went dead. I stared at the blank screen, feeling the familiar weight of the pack's expectations settling back onto my shoulders.

"See you at noon, then," I whispered to the empty room.