Chapter 4

Salome’s POV

"You aren't letting me win on purpose, are you, Barnabas?"

The voice was high, sugary, and carried a flirtatious lilt that made my skin crawl. It drifted through the cracked window of Richardson Manor as I stepped onto the porch at eleven in the morning. I froze, my hand hovering just inches from the heavy brass handle. I didn't need to see the speaker to recognize the performative giggle.

Portia Vane.

The realization hit me like a physical weight. Margot hadn’t called me here for a civil discussion or a business update. She had called me here to be an audience for my husband’s infidelity. It was a setup designed for maximum humiliation.

I took a slow, grounding breath. Inside my mind, Vesper gave a low, protective growl that resonated in my chest. I pushed the door open and walked in.

Barnabas was leaning against the sofa, but he snapped upright the second he saw me. His eyes went wide with a momentary shock before his face hardened into a familiar mask of irritation. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't rush. I pulled off my sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of my white tee. I hadn't bothered with a power suit or even a swipe of lipstick today. I was just in denim and cotton, looking far more casual than the two of them.

"Your mother didn't mention it?" I asked, meeting his gaze directly. "She called me personally." I tilted my head, letting a dry smile touch my lips. "I didn't realize you were back from London already. Unless you’ve figured out how to be in two time zones at once?"

Barnabas’s jaw tightened. A flicker of something that looked like guilt crossed his features, but he stayed silent.

Before he could find his tongue, Portia stood up from the velvet cushions. She made a show of smoothing out her skirt, her movements slow and deliberate to show off a perfect manicure. She stepped toward me, her hand outstretched and a bright, artificial smile plastered on her face.

"Hi there," she said. "I'm Portia Vane. It is so lovely to finally meet you."

I looked down at her hand, held it in my gaze for a long, silent second, and then simply looked back up at her face. I didn't move a muscle to take it.

The silence was broken by the clicking of heels. Margot swept into the room, looking every bit the matriarch in a tailored black dress and a pristine chignon. She didn't even look at me first. She went straight to Portia, taking the girl’s hand in both of hers with a warmth she had never once shown me.

"Portia, darling," Margot cooed. "I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Please, make yourself completely at home. This is your house, too, after all."

I felt the muscles in my jaw bunch, but I kept my expression flat.

Finally, Margot’s eyes drifted toward me. The warmth vanished instantly, replaced by a clinical chill. "Ah. Salome. You decided to show up."

She turned back to Portia, her voice regaining its sweetness. "This is Ms. Richardson. She manages the Richardson Group. She is just here on some business matters."

It was a sharp, calculated insult. She didn't introduce me as the Luna. She didn't even introduce me as Barnabas’s wife. To Margot, I was just a mid-level employee delivering a report. It was her way of telling Portia that I was a servant, not a rival.

I looked at Barnabas, waiting for him to say something. To correct her. To acknowledge the woman he had exchanged vows with. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes fixed on some point on the wall behind me.

"You said we had business to discuss," I said, my voice cutting through the fake atmosphere. "Let’s get to it so I can leave."

Margot’s smile thinned. "We can handle the paperwork another day. Since you’ve made the trip, you might as well join us for a meal."

"I'm not here for lunch, Margot," I said, already turning toward the door. "I have a schedule to keep."

"I am still the Luna of this pack, Salome," Margot’s voice sharpened, the velvet glove coming off. "I have asked you politely to stay. Where are your manners? This attitude is beneath your position."

I stopped. I turned back slowly, matching her icy stare with a look of my own. If she wanted a performance, I would give her one.

"Fine," I said. "I'll stay for the meal. Just make sure you don't regret the invitation."

Portia, sensing the air getting thick enough to choke on, tried to play the peacemaker. "Oh, this is wonderful! I was just telling Barnabas how much fun I had winning our game of Silver Moon Toss. I’d love to keep the streak going."

I followed her gesture to the balcony. A polished target stood there, accompanied by a stack of gold rings. It was a new addition to the manor, likely brought in just for Portia.

Silver Moon Toss was a traditional pack game. It was simple in theory—tossing gold rings onto a moving pillar from five meters away—but it required a level of physical coordination and rhythm that most humans couldn't manage. It was usually a game for couples to show how in sync they were.

Portia saw me eyeing the setup and her eyes gleamed with a challenge. "Do you know how to play, Salome? Or is it a bit too old-school for you?"

"I know the basics," I said. I looked her up and down. "Want to go a round?"

I saw Barnabas’s jaw lock. He shot me a look that practically screamed a warning, but I ignored him.

"Of course," Portia said, her confidence surging. She picked up a ring, toyed with it for a second, and then looked at me. "Should I go first, or would you like the honor?"

"Go ahead," I said, crossing my arms. "I'll watch."

Portia took her position. She spent a long time adjusting her stance, making sure she looked graceful from every angle. She took a deep breath, aimed, and flicked her wrist. The ring sailed through the air, whistling softly, but it clipped the edge of the pillar and bounced away.

She turned back to me, unbothered. "Almost had it. It’s trickier than it looks."

Behind her, Margot nodded approvingly. "Very graceful, Portia. Excellent form."

I didn't bother with a stance. I didn't even pause to aim. I stepped up, snatched a ring from the table, and tossed it in one fluid motion. The gold glinted once in the sun before dropping perfectly over the pillar with a sharp, metallic clink.

Portia’s smile didn't disappear, but it certainly stiffened. She forced a little laugh. "A lucky shot."

I leaned against the railing, letting a lazy, bored smile spread across my face. "Maybe. The last time I played this was at the Alpha Foundation gala with Barnabas. I suppose some things stay with you."

The mention of our shared past hit her like a slap. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the next ring.

"Dear, it’s just a game," Margot intervened, her voice tight. "The point is to enjoy the company."

"Of course," I replied. "But some people get a little too invested in winning things that don't belong to them."

I saw Margot cut a sharp look toward Barnabas, but he was staring at the floor.

Over the next few minutes, the "game" became a slaughter. I hit the pillar every single time. Clink. Clink. Clink. Every ring I threw found its mark with effortless precision. Portia, meanwhile, started falling apart. Her throws went wide, some hitting the base, others flying off the balcony entirely. Her face was flushed with a mix of embarrassment and rage.

I watched the way her fingers trembled as she reached for her final ring. Margot looked like she was about to explode, her jaw set so hard I thought her teeth might crack.

I stepped back and dusted my hands off as if I’d just finished a chore. I walked over to the sofa and sat down, folding my hands neatly in my lap.

"Do you want to keep going?" I asked. My voice was flat, almost bored. "Or have you had enough?"

Portia gripped her last ring so hard her hand shook, her lips pressed into a thin, ugly line.

Margot didn't say a word, but she glared at me with eyes narrowed into dangerous, hateful slits.

"I think the game is over," I said.