Chapter 3: Tangled Bonds and Hidden Toys

Damian didn’t storm out after our clash, though the fire in his eyes screamed he wanted to. Victor and Margaret, however, were relentless, their resolve to mend our fractured marriage as unyielding as iron. They’d stationed a small army of guards around the estate to block his escape—some even brothers-in-arms who’d trained alongside him since they were cubs.

After countless failed attempts to break free, Damian stormed back to his old room in a fury—the same room I’d occupied alone since our wedding. Victor and Margaret, in their meddling brilliance, had the butler lock every other door in the manor, forcing us to share this gilded cage for the night.

Seething, Damian snatched his phone and retreated to the balcony, putting as much distance between us as the sprawling suite allowed. He dialed old allies, his voice a hushed growl as he probed for any scrap of intel on the Moon Trial.

I had no intention of eavesdropping, but his low murmurs carried enough for me to catch fragments—keywords that pricked my ears. One name stood out: Lucas Grey.

The Moon Trial was traditionally set by the Wolf King, but our current monarch was ancient, his strength waning. Among his sons, Lucas was the enigma—brilliant, elusive, a phantom known only to the royal court’s inner circle. No one outside that elite had ever laid eyes on him; he shunned the public’s gaze. Yet whispers swirled that the king had chosen Lucas as his heir. Could it be that this trial’s relic, the symbol of the Wolf King’s authority, was Lucas’s design?

It was more than plausible.

Whoever could get close to Lucas, unravel his secrets, would hold the key to winning the Moon Trial.

Damian, it seemed, was banking on that angle, hunting for an edge over the other packs by cozying up to the mysterious prince.

But his beloved didn’t grant him much time to strategize. A call interrupted, and his tone shifted—soft, patient, dripping with devotion as he answered the same questions over and over, never tiring.

I didn’t need to see his screen to know it was Isabelle. My former best friend. The woman who’d stolen my husband on my wedding day.

A bitter pang stirred as I recalled my early days with Damian, bound by our families’ decree. He’d never shown me that kind of patience. Even when his lips brushed my cheek, my heart stayed cold—likely his did too.

Once, I’d harbored a flicker of hope for our arranged union. Not for love, but for mutual respect. Yet Damian couldn’t even muster that, leaving me stunned by his betrayal. Worse, I’d been blind to the affair brewing between my fiancé and my closest confidante—a failure that still stung.

Thank the stars for *him*. The man who’d awakened me to the throes of passion and the dizzying heights of desire.

My thoughts drifted to the lover I’d just cut loose.

Maybe it was the lively chatter on the balcony amplifying my sudden loneliness, or maybe it was a petty urge to one-up Damian, but I found myself staring at my phone. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled his number from the blacklist.

Before I could muster the nerve to call, his name flashed across my screen, his voice thundering through the line, raw with fury. “You’d better explain what kind of game this is, Lila.”

“I already told you, darling.” His voice alone sent a shiver of delight through me, and I couldn’t help but giggle, my tone slipping into a playful, almost coquettish plea for mercy.

He went silent, dragging in deep breaths to rein in his temper before asking, softer now, “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Then get over here. Our usual spot—the villa. I need to see you *now*.”

His voice, magnetic and edged with urgency, sent a rush of heat pooling low in my belly. I could already picture it: the moment I stepped through the door, he’d rip my clothes off, no prelude, no finesse—just rough, greedy hands kneading my breasts, his hard length thrusting into me with desperate need. Every sensitive spot would sing, drowned in waves of pleasure.

But I hadn’t yet bested Damian. I couldn’t let this affair become a chink in my armor, a vulnerability he could exploit.

Swallowing the fire in my veins, I drawled lazily, “Can’t, love. I told you, my bastard husband’s back. I’m stuck with him tonight.”

“You are *not* to touch him. Not even a glance!” His voice cracked, feral, as if his fangs were bared through the phone.

“It’s none of your business anymore, remember? We ended things hours ago—” 

My words cut off as a jolt of electric pleasure surged through me, my body betraying me with a tingling rush. I bit my lip hard, stifling the moan clawing at my throat.

I’d almost forgotten. One nights ago, he’d slipped one of his wicked little toys inside me—a custom-made device, its remote firmly in his grasp. Now, it thrummed to life, rolling and pulsing within me, driving me to the edge.

“Lila, we *will* see each other again.” His voice was a dark promise, laced with menace, before he killed the toy’s vibrations. “If that man beside you hears a single moan or sees you flushed with desire, I swear I’ll carve out his ears and eyes.”

Ignoring his rage and the abrupt end to the call, I stumbled into the bathroom, lips clamped tight. It took every ounce of willpower to fish out the tormenting, exhilarating device with trembling fingers. Only then could I exhale, my body still humming from the aftershocks.

Who knew my gentle, attentive lover had such a ruthless streak?

It was… unexpectedly thrilling. Arousing, even.

In the bathroom mirror, I studied my reflection, cheeks flushed from the rush of ecstasy. I splashed cold water on my face, willing my pulse to steady.

He was just a broke college student, after all. What could he do? My abrupt breakup must’ve pushed him to this rare outburst of possessiveness.

Maybe, once I’d crushed Damian and claimed my rightful place as the pack’s ruler, I’d track him down. Rekindle things. His body, his fire—they still fit me perfectly.