Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

RHIANNON’S POV~

I swear on my mother’s grave, I wanted to die. I did. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Not until Marcus was in the ground with me. Not until the stupid bitch, Emilia was screaming his name while I watched her bleed out.

They did this to me. They broke me. And I would be damned if I let them win by letting me rot in this apartment.

My laptop screen was the only light in the room. It was 3:00 AM.

The blue glow made my skin look dead, like I was already a corpse.

I hit refresh.

[Application Status: Rejected.]

They gave no feedback as to why they rejected me.

I tasted bile immediately. I hadn’t eaten in two days.

My stomach was a hollow pit that ached so bad it felt like someone was twisting a knife inside me.

I opened the document. [Cover Letter - Version 7.]

I had rewritten it six times. Six times I had tried to sound professional, competent, the Prosecutor I used to be before I gave it up for Marcus. For this marriage!

I had sent it at 2:00 AM to the top criminal defense firm in the state.

I knew I was overqualified for some of the junior roles, but I didn't care. I just needed money. I needed a way out. I needed to take my sick aunt and disappear from this pack.

I stared at the rejection email.

[Thank you for your interest. We have decided to move forward with other candidates who better fit our current needs.]

Bullshit.

I knew it was him. It had to be Marcus.

He was the Alpha. He had connections in every high-rise, every courthouse, every firm in the city. He must have found out I was applying.

He was scared. He was actually scared that I might get a win. That I might actually have the resources to fight him for the pack, for the money, for the house.

I opened another tab. A District Attorney position in a smaller county. I had applied yesterday.

I was overqualified, I had ten years of experience they didn’t even ask for.

[“Status: Application Withdrawn.”]

Withdrawn? I didn't withdraw it.

My hands started to shake. The laptop rattled on the coffee table.

He was watching me. He was deleting my applications before they even hit the HR inbox.

Or he was calling them. Threatening them.

"You bastard," I whispered with every shred of hatred in my vein.

I heard the front door unlock.

My heart began to hammer against my ribs.

I slammed the laptop shut and scrambled onto the couch. I pulled the throw blanket over me and curled into a ball.

I forced my breathing to become ragged, shallow. I had to look sick. I had to look like I was dying.

The door opened.

Marcus walked in.

He didn't look at me. He looked at his phone. He was wearing the suit I bought him for our anniversary.

A smell hit me first. It was that cheap, floral perfume Emilia wore. It was soaked into his shirt, into his skin, into his hair.

It was a cloud of stench that filled the room, choking me.

And underneath that... the musk of sex, dried fluids and sweat.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to leap up and tear his throat out with my teeth.

But I lay still. I let out a weak, pathetic moan.

"Rhiannon?" he said. His voice was bored.

I didn't answer. I just pretended to let my hand fall off the couch, limp as a dead fish.

He sighed and then walked over to the couch and stood over me.

I kept my eyes closed, but I could feel his gaze. I felt him looking at my pale face, my sunken cheeks.

He reached out and touched my forehead. His hand was warm. It made my skin crawl.

"She's still burning up," he muttered to himself. Or maybe to the air.

He didn't call a doctor. He didn't even get me water.

He turned around. As he moved, the collar of his shirt shifted.

I immediately saw a bruise. A dark, purple hickey right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

It was fresh. The edges were still red.

Emilia had done that. She had marked him. She wanted me to see it. Or maybe she just couldn't help herself.

A cold, hard stone formed in my chest.

I will kill you. I will watch the light leave your eyes, and I will laugh.

"I have to go," Marcus said, checking his watch. "I have a meeting."

A meeting. Right. A meeting with his secretary. In a hotel room.

"Okay," I wheezed, the word barely a whisper.

He didn't kiss me. He didn't touch me again. He just turned and walked out.

The door clicked shut.

I waited until I heard his car start. Until the tires crunched on the gravel.

Then I sat up.

I grabbed the laptop and opened it again. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely type the password.

I went to my email.

Another rejection.

[“Subject: Regarding your application for Senior Counsel.”]

I clicked it. My breath caught in my throat.

[Dear Ms. Reed, after further review of your background, we have determined that your recent medical history and... instability... make you a liability to the firm. We are rescinding our previous interest. Do not contact us again.]

Instability.

Medical history.

They knew. They knew about the breakdown. They knew about the "hallucinations" Marcus had been telling everyone about.

He had told them I was crazy.

I dropped the laptop. It hit the floor with a thud, and the screen cracked.

I didn't scream. I couldn't.

I just put my head between my knees and started to sob. Dry, heaving sobs that shook my whole body.

My wolf was gone. I couldn't feel her. She was just dormant. I was empty.

I was alone in a house that wasn't mine, with a husband who wanted me dead, and a career that had been murdered before it even started.

"I hate you," I whispered to the empty room. "I hate you so much."

But hate wasn't enough. I needed power. I needed to hurt him.

I reached for my phone. I needed to find a way. Any way. Even if I had to sell my soul to the devil himself.

I didn't care anymore.

My phone suddenly buzzed in my hand. I frowned at the screen.

‘Unknown Number.’

I almost let it go to voicemail. I wasn't in the mood to talk to telemarketers or debt collectors.

But my thumb hovered over the green button, and something…desperation, maybe, made me swipe up.

"Ms. Reed? This is Jennifer Chen from Executive Legal Placement services."

The voice was professional.

My spine snapped straight. I sat up on the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the cold floor. "I... I didn't apply through a headhunter," I stammered. "I sent out applications, but—"

"Your resume came across my desk," she interrupted. "One of my clients is very interested in your background. Specifically your tenure as a Senior Prosecutor."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I felt lightheaded. "Really?"

"Very," she said. "They’d like to meet you. This Friday. Will you be available?"

Friday. It was only two days away. It was too fast. It was suspicious. But I didn’t have a choice.

"Yes," I blurted out. "Yes, I’m available. Thank you. Thank you very much."

"I'll send the details to your email. Goodbye, Ms. Reed."

The line went dead. I sat there for a second, staring at the black screen, before my fingers flew across the keypad. I texted Piper.

[Me: I have an interview. Friday. Can you drive me?]

Two minutes later, the bubbles appeared.

[Yessss, I’ll pick you up by 9. You got this, girl.]

I exhaled slowly.

___________

The next two days came quickly. Marcus was gone. He’d dropped a text on the second day: ‘Business trip. Back in a few days. Don't wait up.’

I didn't ask where. I didn't care. Asshole.

The house felt empty, but it was a relief. I didn't have to fake being sick. I didn't have to smell Emilia’s perfume on his skin.

Friday morning, Piper was waiting in the driveway. She handed me a garment bag through the window.

"New suit," she said, her eyes scanning my face with worry. "It’s navy. I think this is what you’d need, Rhi."

I took it. The fabric was heavy, and expensive. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You can do this," Piper said, tapping the steering wheel. "Go get your life back."

She drove off, leaving me standing on the sidewalk in front of a glass monolith that scraped the sky.

The building was massive. Intimidating.

The air inside was conditioned to a chilly temperature that smelled of old money.

Jennifer Chen was waiting in the lobby. She was a petite woman with a tight bun and a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Ms. Reed," she nodded. She didn't offer a handshake. She just turned and walked toward the elevators. "Right this way."

We rode up in silence. The numbers on the display ticked higher and higher. 40... 45... 50. My ears popped.

The doors opened to a penthouse floor. It was quiet. Too quiet. The hallway was lined with abstract art that looked very expensive.

Jennifer stopped in front of a set of double doors made of dark mahogany. She knocked once.

"Come in," a baritone voice resounded from inside.

Jennifer gestured for me to enter, then turned on her heel and walked back to the elevator without a word.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air. Then I pushed the heavy door open.

I froze.

My feet refused to move. My brain short-circuited.

It wasn't a boardroom. It was an office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. But I didn't look at the view. I looked at the man…no, the devil, leaning against the window.

Uncle… Kieran.

He wasn't wearing a suit jacket.

He was wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The fabric strained against his forearms, thick with muscle and dark hair.

He held a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his charcoal slacks.

He looked older today. The grey at his temples caught the morning light, making him look distinguished and dangerous.

"Fuck," I breathed.

I should have turned around. I should have run.

But my traitorous eyes, my weak wolf, wouldn't let me. I stared.

I couldn't help it. They traveled down his chest, over the hard ridges of his abs visible through the thin cotton, down to the heavy bulge at his waist. He was thick there. Massive. The kind of size that would split a woman in half.

And then, as if he felt the weight of my gaze, his head snapped up.

His eyes were black. Not dark brown. Black. They locked onto mine, and I felt like I’d been physically struck.

Heat rushed up my neck, burning my cheeks. I felt exposed. Naked. My nipples hardened instantly into painful points pressing against the lace of my bra.

"Sit," he said.

My brain screamed at me to run. But my legs moved on their own.

I walked forward, and stopped in front of his massive desk. I didn't sit.

I glared at him, trying to summon the anger I felt when he blocked me, the anger I felt when I saw Marcus’s hickeys.

"Was it you?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Was it you who blocked the firms? The seventeen rejections?"

I knew it was stupid as soon as I said it.

He was competing against Marcus for Pack. He wanted to be the Alpha king but he was still family.

He didn't have that kind of power over the city's top firms. Did he?

I opened my mouth to apologize, to backtrack, but he spoke first.

"Yes."

I froze.

"I made sure to block seventeen firms from hiring you," he said smoothly. "The same way I blocked your number."

My jaw dropped.

I stumbled back a step, my hand gripping the back of the chair to keep from falling.

"Why?" I whispered. "You bastard. Why?"

Kieran didn't answer immediately. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, he set the glass down on the windowsill.

He pushed off the window.

In two strides, he was in front of me. He was so tall he blocked out the light from the window. I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

The scent of him… rain, leather, and something dark and musky…flooded my senses.

He leaned down. His face was inches from mine. I could see the flecks of gold in his black eyes.

I could see the tiny scar above his eyebrow.

“You want to be a prosecutor again? This will open the door to the life you want. You want revenge on Marcus? Of course I know how my fucking Nephew fucks around with his secretary. I don’t hire employees, Rhiannon. I own assets. You can leave. Right now. Walk away.”

I opened my mouth to say something but his voice stopped me.

“But if you walk out, I'm calling Marcus. And telling him his uncle knows what his wife tastes like."