Chapter 8

Salome’s POV

“Your car is sitting out front, Ms. Salome,” the mechanic said over the phone. “Good as new.”

The news should have been a relief, but it just reminded me of the one thing still missing. The jacket. Barnabas had tossed that expensive piece of fabric out a moving window like it was trash, and I still felt the weight of the debt. I’d promised to return it cleaned and pressed. Now, I just wanted it gone from my conscience.

I sat in the driver’s seat of my repaired car, the smell of upholstery cleaner filling the small space. I dialed Arthur.

“It’s Salome. The repairs are finished,” I said when he picked up. “I’m sending the itemized bill to your email now.”

Arthur sounded preoccupied. “Understood. I’ll make sure it’s handled.”

“One more thing,” I added, trying to keep my voice casual. “I need your boss’s specific measurements. Height, shoulder width, the works. I’m replacing the jacket he lost, and I want to make sure the suit matches perfectly. It was part of a set, right?”

Silence met my question.

“Arthur?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he muttered.

He hung up before I could press him. I didn't have the energy to overthink his hesitation. I had a list of errands to run and a life to start dismantling. I was halfway through an intersection when my phone buzzed again. It was the finance manager from the office.

“Salome, do you have a second? I’m looking at these project margins and I need your eyes on a few discrepancies.”

I sighed, clicking my blinker to make a U-turn. Duty was a hard habit to break.

The moment I stepped into the project department, the air changed. My team moved toward me like a wave, their faces etched with genuine worry.

“Are you hurt?” Pippa asked, reaching out to touch my arm.

“We heard the Maybach totaled your front end,” Julian added. “Did that guy give you any trouble? We can call the union if he tried to bully you into a low settlement.”

I forced a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine, everyone. Really. The car is back, and the driver paid for everything. No drama.”

A lump formed in my throat as I looked at them. They were good people. They were my people. I felt a sharp sting of guilt knowing that in my bag, tucked into a folder, was the document that would abandon them. They’d be handed off to some corporate shark who didn't care about their Friday coffee runs or their kids’ birthdays. But I couldn't stay. Not anymore.

I spent the next few hours buried in spreadsheets. I checked budgets, signed off on final invoices, and cleared my inbox until the notification count hit zero. At 4:30 PM, I opened a fresh document. The cursor blinked, mocking me.

Resignation.

I typed the words quickly, printed the page, and folded it into a crisp white envelope. My hands didn't even shake.

I stood up to stretch, my neck cracking after hours of tension. I realized I hadn't had a drop of water all afternoon. My head felt heavy, a dull ache blooming behind my eyes as I walked toward the breakroom.

I stopped just outside the door when I heard my name.

“Did you see the guest list for the executive floor?” a voice whispered. “Portia Vane checked in this morning.”

“The Vane heiress? What’s she doing here?”

“Word from the secretariat is that Barnabas personally carved out a space for her. She’s working out of his private office now.”

There was a collective gasp. “Are the packs finally merging? Is this an official alliance?”

“Who knows? But Pippa from accounting said Ms. Melton is still seeing Mr. Harrison. It’s a mess.”

“Then what happens to Salome?”

The silence that followed was louder than the gossip.

“She’s been his right hand for years,” someone said, their voice dropping even lower. “But men like Barnabas don't keep loyal soldiers when a shiny new trophy walks in. Portia is bold. She’s taking what she wants.”

“Poor Salome. To be replaced after all that time.”

I stared at my empty glass. The plastic felt thin, like I could crush it if I just closed my hand. I didn't go inside. I turned on my heel and walked back to my office, the whispers following me like a physical weight.

Barnabas had brought her here. Into our workspace. Into the one sanctuary I thought I still had. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. Every second I stayed in this building, I was allowing myself to be the punchline of a joke everyone else was already telling.

I grabbed the envelope off my desk. My pace was frantic as I headed for the elevator. I didn't wait for the doors to fully open before I stepped out onto the executive floor.

Gideon intercepted me before I could reach the double doors. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Salome! Wait,” he said, stepping into my path. “The Alpha is in a high-level meeting. Very important. You can just leave whatever that is with me.”

I looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes were darting toward the office door, his posture stiff and panicked. He was a terrible liar.

“I’ll wait,” I said.

“It could be hours,” Gideon insisted, sweating. “Just go home, I’ll make sure he gets the file first thing in the morning.”

I nodded, pretending to concede. I took two steps back toward the elevator, watching Gideon relax. He let out a visible sigh of relief and turned his back to me.

That’s when the scent hit me. It wasn't the smell of old paper or expensive cologne. It was a heavy, floral perfume. A scent that had been haunting my husband’s clothes for weeks.

I spun around and lunged for the handle. I threw the door open before Gideon could even shout my name.

The scene inside was a car crash.

Portia was there. She wasn't at a desk or holding a pen. She was draped in a plush white bathrobe, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She was leaning over Barnabas’s chair, her hands resting on his shoulders like she owned the man and the room he sat in.

Barnabas’s face went pale. The relaxed, intimate smile he’d been wearing vanished, replaced by a mask of pure horror.

Gideon stood in the doorway, covering his eyes as if he could shield himself from the fallout. “Miss Portia was... she was helping move files. She got sweaty. She said she felt sticky and needed a quick shower in the private suite.”

I looked at Gideon, then at the woman in the bathrobe.

“I didn't want you to get the wrong idea,” Gideon added weakly. “That’s why I said there was a meeting.”

I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Gideon, you have way too much talent to be wasting it as a professional liar for a man who doesn't even have the spine to do it himself.”

I stepped into the room, ignoring the way Barnabas tried to stand up.

Portia pulled the lapels of her robe tighter, her eyes flashing with malice. “How dare you? You’re a mid-level manager. You don't just burst into a CEO’s office. You’re fired. Get out before I have security throw you onto the street.”

Deep inside me, Vesper was screaming. My wolf wanted blood. She wanted to feel Portia’s throat beneath her teeth.

Not yet, I told her. We’re doing this with dignity.

I walked to the desk and slapped the white envelope onto the mahogany surface.

“You’re a little late, Portia,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I’m resigning. I have travel plans that don't involve this circus. Today is my final day. I’ll send a courier for my personal effects.”

Barnabas finally found his voice, though it sounded strangled. “Callume,” he muttered, looking at the desk instead of me. “Do what you want, Salome.”

“I plan to.” I turned to leave.

“It’s about time!” Portia shrieked behind me. “You should have left months ago. Barnabas doesn't want a boring shadow. He loves me. We’ve spent more nights together lately than you’ve spent in his bed in a year - ”

“That’s enough, Portia!” Barnabas barked.

I stopped. I turned back slowly, a cold fire burning in my chest.

“No, let her finish,” I said, stepping back into the center of the room. “I want to hear the Vane heiress explain exactly how she enjoys being a home-wrecker. I want to hear how proud she is of being the woman who waits for scraps at the office.”

I looked Portia up and down, my lip curling in disgust. “The fact that I can walk in here and find you like this? It’s not a flex, Portia. It’s pathetic. It shows exactly what kind of 'value' you bring to this company.”

Portia let out a gutteral scream of rage and lunged at me, her fingers curled into claws.

I didn't flinch. As she swung, I caught her wrist and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across her face. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Vesper purred in satisfaction.

Portia tried to scramble for my hair, but I was faster. I grabbed the front of her robe and yanked, the cheap silk tearing as I shoved her toward the floor. She hit the carpet hard, her dignity stripping away faster than the fabric.

I moved to pin her, the adrenaline taking over, but suddenly two massive arms wrapped around my waist. I was yanked backward with terrifying force.

“Stop it!” Barnabas yelled.

He threw me away from her. I lost my balance, my feet slipping on the polished floor. I went down hard, the sharp, unforgiving corner of the executive desk catching me right in the small of my back.

A white-hot jolt of agony flared through my spine, stealing the air from my lungs.

“Are you satisfied now?” Barnabas shouted, hovering over Portia instead of reaching for me.