Sold to the Ice Tycoon

The scent of roasting rosemary and garlic filled the massive kitchen of the Highwood pack. Lana wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and checked the oven. She had been on her feet for six hours. Every dish was made from scratch. It was San's birthday, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

"Is that smoke I smell?"

 Lana froze. She turned around slowly to face her mother-in-law.

"No, Luna Beatrice," Lana said softly. "It is just the steam from the gravy."

Beatrice stepped into the kitchen. She wore a tailored designer dress that cost more than Lana’s entire wardrobe. She ran a single, perfectly manicured finger over the marble countertop and frowned at an invisible speck of dust.

"You smell like onions," Beatrice sneered. "Have you no shame, Lana? My son is the Alpha of this territory. He expects his home to be managed by a competent wife, not a kitchen maid who reeks of onions."

Lana swallowed the hard lump forming in her throat. "I gave the kitchen staff the afternoon off. I wanted to cook for San myself. It is his birthday."

"And you think a burnt roast will make him love you?" Beatrice laughed, a cold and hollow sound. 

"You have been mated to my son for two years. Two years, Lana. And you still have not given this pack an heir. You are practically useless."

The words felt like a physical slap. Lana looked down at the tiled floor. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from falling. Crying would only make Beatrice more vicious.

"San has been very busy with pack duties," Lana murmured.

"San avoids you because you are weak," Beatrice corrected her harshly. "You do not have the strength of a true Luna. You never did. You were just a convenient choice at a chaotic time. Do not forget your place in this house."

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. The scent of rain, pine, and something deeply masculine drifted into the kitchen. Lana’s heart did a familiar, pathetic flutter.

San walked in.

He was wearing a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The dark ink of his pack tattoos snaked down his forearms, highlighting his corded muscles. He was devastatingly handsome, but his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were like chips of ice. He did not even look at Lana.

"Mother," San said smoothly. He walked past Lana as if she were a piece of furniture and pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek.

"Happy birthday, my Alpha," Beatrice smiled, her entire demeanor softening. "I will leave you two alone. I believe your wife has prepared some sort of mess for you."

Beatrice gave Lana one last look of utter disgust before leaving the kitchen.

The silence that followed was suffocating. San opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of cold water, and twisted the cap off. He took a long drink, still ignoring her.

"San," Lana started, her voice shaking slightly. "I made your favorite. Beef Wellington. And I baked a cake."

San finally turned to look at her. His gaze swept over her messy apron, her tied-back hair, and her exhausted face. There was no warmth in his eyes. There was not even pity. There was only irritation.

"I am not hungry," he said flatly.

"But it is your birthday," Lana pushed, taking a step toward him. 

"I spent all day making this. Can you just sit with me for ten minutes? We hardly ever speak anymore."

"We do not speak because we have nothing to say to each other, Lana."

San set the water bottle down on the counter with a loud thud. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a folded stack of thick papers, and tossed them onto the marble island. They slid across the smooth surface and stopped right in front of her.

Lana looked down. The bold black letters at the top of the page made the breath leave her lungs.

Decree of Pack Separation and Mating Rejection.

"What is this?" Lana whispered. Her hands started to tremble.

"Read it," San said coldly. "It is standard. You get a modest allowance and a small apartment in the lower territory. I want you packed and out of the estate by tomorrow morning."

"You want a divorce?" Lana gasped. She looked up at him, searching for any sign that this was a cruel joke. "San, we are mated. We took vows in front of the elders."

"Vows can be broken," San replied. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. The tattoos on his skin seemed to mock her. 

"I am rejecting the bond, Lana. I am tired of playing pretend. I have not been happy in this marriage for a very long time. I do not love you."

Tears finally spilled over her eyelashes. "Why? Is it because I have not gotten pregnant? We can go to a doctor. We can ask the pack healers for help. Please, San."

"It has nothing to do with pups," San snapped, his voice rising in anger. 

"It has to do with the fact that I do not want you. I never truly wanted you."

Lana stepped back, clutching the edge of the counter for support. The pain in her chest was so sharp she thought her heart might physically split in two.

"Then why did you marry me?" she cried out.

San looked at the doorway. His harsh expression melted away, replaced by a soft, tender look that Lana had never seen before. It was a look of pure adoration.

"Because she left," San said softly.

Lana followed his gaze.

A woman was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She had long, flawless blonde hair and piercing green eyes. She wore a skin-tight red dress that left very little to the imagination. The scent of roses and vanilla filled the room, completely masking Lana’s cooking.

Lana knew that scent. Every wolf in the pack knew that scent.

It was Serena. San’s first love. The woman who had abandoned the pack three years ago to chase a modeling career in Paris.

Serena walked into the room with the confidence of a queen returning to her throne. She did not look at Lana. She walked straight to San and wrapped her arms around his neck. San immediately pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her blonde hair and breathing in her scent deeply.

"I missed you," San murmured to Serena, completely ignoring the fact that his wife was standing right there.

Serena smiled and kissed his jaw. Then, she slowly turned her head to look at Lana. A wicked, triumphant smirk spread across Serena's beautiful face.

"Hello, Lana," Serena purred. "Thank you for keeping my bed warm while I was gone. But I am back now. And I want my Alpha back."

Lana stared at them. Her husband’s arms were tightly wrapped around another woman. The divorce papers were sitting on the counter. Her entire life, everything she had built and sacrificed for, was gone in a matter of seconds.

"San," Lana choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you really doing this to me?"

San looked over Serena’s shoulder. His eyes were cold again.

"Sign the papers, Lana," San ordered. "And do not make a scene. It is embarrassing."

Before Lana could respond, Serena reached over, picked up the birthday cake Lana had spent three hours decorating, and casually dropped it right into the trash can.

"Oops," Serena giggled.

 "I guess we will have to go out fordinner, babe. This place smells like a wet dog anyway."