Chapter 5

Salome’s POV

“Come on, just one more,” Portia said, though her voice lacked its usual sweetness. “I’m only starting to find my rhythm.”

I looked at her, then shifted my gaze to Barnabas. He remained a statue, refusing to meet my eyes. Margot stood off to the side, her arms crossed and her mouth set in a thin, bitter line. She was vibrating with enough irritation to light up the room, but she didn’t stop us.

“Sure,” I said, my voice flat and bored. “Let’s see how it goes.”

I reached for another ring. My movements were slow and deliberate. I tossed it. The metal gave a satisfying clink as it settled perfectly around the Moon Pillar. I didn’t smile. I just reached for the next one.

Beside me, Portia was falling apart. Her throws were getting wilder, the rings bouncing off the floor and skittering toward the walls. The more she missed, the more her hands shook. She kept glancing at Barnabas, waiting for him to step in and save her from the embarrassment, but he stayed silent.

I flicked my wrist again. Another perfect shot.

Portia’s fake smile didn’t just fade; it shattered. A choked, pathetic sob broke from her throat. She stared at the final ring in her hand as if it had betrayed her, then let it drop. It hit the floor with a hollow metallic thud. With a cry, she stumbled toward Barnabas, her face buried in her hands.

Barnabas moved instantly. His face was a mask of cold fury as he looked at me, his jaw tight enough to snap. He reached out and snatched the last gold ring right out of my fingers.

“That is enough,” he snapped.

Portia threw herself against his chest, her shoulders heaving with stage-managed sobs. Barnabas didn’t push her away. Instead, his expression crumbled into something soft and protective. He wrapped an arm around her, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles against her back. Margot was there a second later, hovering over Portia like a hen and whispering frantic comforts.

“Was that really necessary, Salome?” Margot’s eyes were like daggers. “It’s a game. A simple game. Do you really have to be this cruel just to prove a point?”

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of an argument. I simply stepped back, my hands empty, and watched them.

Margot wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, her voice dripping with disdain. “I suppose when you come from nothing, being competitive is the only way you know how to feel important. It’s honestly sad.”

The words were meant to sting, but I felt strangely numb. I looked at Barnabas, waiting for him to say something. Anything. I wanted him to remind his mother that I was his wife, or at least a human being. But he just kept holding Portia. He looked distant, like a person in a photograph I used to love but didn't recognize anymore. The man I admired was gone, replaced by this cold, grey stranger.

I realized then that I was wasting my breath. There were only twenty days left. Why was I still looking for a spark in a pile of ash?

I turned to leave, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Stop it, you’re hurting us, Vesper’s voice hissed in the back of my mind.

I blinked and looked down at my hands. My fists were clenched so hard that my nails had sliced into my palms. Tiny beads of blood were blooming across my skin. I hadn't even felt it.

I turned on my heel and headed for the exit.

“Salome!” Barnabas’s voice barked after me, sharp and commanding.

I didn't look back. I didn't slow down. I pushed through the heavy oak doors of the Richardson Manor and marched to my car. My chest felt tight, my lungs struggling to pull in enough air as I gripped the steering wheel.

My phone vibrated in the cup holder. Barnabas’s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it for a heartbeat before tapping his profile and hitting block. The silence that followed was the first good thing I’d felt all day.

I shifted into gear and hit the gas. The gravel crunched under my tires as I tore down the driveway, leaving the mansion behind. My hands were still shaking, so I pulled over for a second to send one final message to Margot.

300 million dollars. Not a cent less. If you try to negotiate, I will make sure your family’s reputation is burned to the ground.

I hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. I didn't wait for a reply.

The sky had turned a bruised purple, and heavy rain began to smear across my windshield. I pulled back onto the main road, the world turning into a grey blur. Suddenly, a streak of bright yellow cut through the gloom. A red motorcycle roared past me, the engine screaming as the rider swerved dangerously close to my front bumper.

I slammed on my brakes. My tires shrieked against the wet pavement, and my seatbelt jerked hard against my shoulder, pinning me to the seat.

Watch out! Vesper screamed.

A split second later, a deafening boom echoed through the cabin. The force of the impact from behind sent my head flying forward. My forehead slammed into the steering wheel, and the world exploded into white light and searing pain.

I slumped back, groaning as my vision swam. Everything was tinted red. I reached for a tissue and pressed it to my temple, feeling the warm, sticky flow of blood. Through the spiderweb cracks in my windshield, I saw the red motorcycle speeding away into the rain.

I looked in the rearview mirror. A black Maybach was buried in my trunk. Its hood was crumpled, the expensive grille twisted and ruined.

A knock on my window made me flinch.

A man in a sharp suit stood there, holding a black umbrella against the downpour. He looked to be in his forties, his expression calm and professional despite the chaos. I rolled the window down an inch, wincing as the movement sent a spike of pain through my skull.

“I am incredibly sorry, ma’am,” he said. “My name is Arthur. I’m responsible for the collision. We will handle all the damages, I promise.”

I caught a scent coming from the car behind him. It wasn't a threat, but it was another wolf. Someone powerful.

“My employer has an urgent appointment,” Arthur continued, glancing back at the Maybach.

I followed his gaze. In the backseat sat a man with broad shoulders and a dark suit. He wore sunglasses despite the rain, his posture relaxed but radiating a heavy, dangerous energy. He looked like the kind of man who didn't ask for things; he just took them.

“I’d rather wait for the police,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I’ve had enough ‘surprises’ for one lifetime.”

I forced my door open and stepped out into the rain. The cold water soaked through my shirt instantly. I walked to the back of the car and sighed. The bumper was a total loss, and the taillight was shattered into red glass shards. I took a few photos with my phone and dialed the authorities.

While I was on the phone, the back door of the Maybach opened. The man stepped out. Arthur immediately rushed over to hold the umbrella over him, his head bowed in respect.

The stranger was tall, his suit tailored so perfectly it made Barnabas’s wardrobe look like a bargain bin. He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes so deep and piercing they made my breath hitch. For a second, our gazes locked. A strange jolt ran through me. Vesper stirred, her ears perking up in my mind.

I turned away to talk to the arriving officer, trying to ignore the way my skin prickled under the stranger's gaze.

A moment later, Arthur was standing next to me again. He was holding a dark suit jacket.

“Ma’am, your shirt is transparent,” he said softly, looking at the ground to give me some privacy. “Please, take this.”

I looked down and turned bright red. The white fabric of my shirt was clinging to me like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. I grabbed the jacket and threw it over my shoulders.

It was heavy and warm, still holding the heat from the stranger's body. The scent of it hit me - sandalwood, rain, and something metallic. It was expensive and intoxicating. My pulse sped up, and Vesper let out a low, curious purr.

“Thank you,” I muttered, clutching the lapels. “I’ll get this cleaned and return it to your boss.”

Arthur gave me a small, knowing smile. “Don’t worry about it. He won’t mind.”

I looked up to say something else, but the man was already back in the car. The door closed with a heavy, expensive thud. The Maybach pulled away, gliding through the puddles like a ghost, leaving me standing in the rain with nothing but the scent of a stranger wrapped around me.