Chapter 5: The King’s Fever

The East Wing of the Vane Estate was a mausoleum of memories I had spent five years trying to burn.

As I walked through the corridors, every shadow seemed to whisper my name. I passed the antique vase Silas had bought me for our first anniversary, now covered in a thin layer of dust. I passed the portrait of his grandfather, whose eyes seemed to judge me for returning. I had put the twins to bed in the oversized velvet-draped suite, and the transition was already affecting them. The air in the Northern Territory was thick with primal magic, and my children were soaking it up like parched earth.

Leo had fallen asleep clutching a silver letter opener he’d requisitioned from the desk. "To protect you, Mommy," he’d said, his slate-gray eyes fierce before they finally closed. Luna had simply whispered to a moth on the windowpane until it glowed with a faint violet light, then drifted off.

But I couldn't sleep. My skin felt too tight for my body, a restless energy buzzing under my surface. Being back in this house was like wearing a hair-shirt—every corner reminded me of a different humiliation, a different time I had bowed my head and stayed quiet.

Thirsty and agitated, I slipped out of my suite. I had changed into a silk robe of charcoal gray that flowed around my ankles like liquid smoke. My hair was loose, a silver river down my back. I didn't need a flashlight; my eyes adjusted to the dark with a violet tint I only allowed myself when I was alone.

I was headed toward the kitchen when a flicker of light from the Great Library caught my eye.

I should have turned back. Every instinct I had honed as a CEO told me to walk away, to keep the distance. But the scent—that intoxicating mix of cedar wood, expensive bourbon, and him—was a magnetic force I couldn't resist.

I stepped into the library. Silas was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, the only light coming from a single dim lamp. He looked wrecked. The sharp, untouchable Alpha King was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he was being eaten alive from the inside out.

He wasn't working. He was staring at a small, charred object in his hand. As I stepped closer, my heart stopped.

It was my old locket. The one with the picture of my mother. The one that was supposed to have burned in the car.

"I watched it burn for three days," Silas said. His voice was a ghost of a sound, a hollow rasp that vibrated in the quiet room. He didn't look up, but he knew I was there. A wolf always knows when his mate—or his prey—is near. "The fire was so hot the rescue teams couldn't get close. I stood on that cliff and felt my soul being ripped out of my chest, inch by inch. I searched the wreckage for weeks. This was all I found."

I stood in the doorway, my hand gripping the cold stone of the archway so hard my knuckles turned white. "You’re talking to yourself, Mr. Vane. That’s a sign of a crumbling mind."

Silas finally looked up. My breath hitched. His eyes were bloodshot, the gray clouded with a terrifying, agonizing grief. He stood up, his massive frame looming in the shadows, and he moved toward me. His steps were slow, predatory, and yet somehow fragile.

"You look like her," he whispered, stopping just inches away. The heat radiating from him was intense, a feverish warmth that made the air between us crackle. "You talk like her. You even have that same stubborn tilt to your chin when you’re trying to be brave."

He reached out, his hand slamming into the wall behind my head, pinning me between his body and the cold stone. He leaned down, his nose grazing the air near my neck, inhaling deeply. He was hunting for the scent—the moon-lilies and rain that used to drive him wild.

But my scent-masker held. He found nothing but the cold, sterile smell of the laboratory.

"Why can't I smell you?" he hissed, his voice dropping into a guttural growl. "Every living thing has a scent. But you... you smell like nothing. Like a void. What are you hiding under that expensive skin, 'CEO Vance'?"

"I’m hiding a woman who has no interest in your delusions, Silas," I spat, forced to look up at him.

The proximity was suffocating. I could see the pulse jumping in his neck, the way his lips parted as he watched me. Despite the hatred, despite the five years of pain, my body betrayed me. My heart hammered against my ribs, and a treacherous heat pooled in my lower stomach.

"Your eyes," he breathed, his gaze fixed on mine. "In the boardroom... they flashed. Violet."

"They are contact lenses," I lied instantly, my voice sharp. "A branding choice. The 'Ice Queen' needs a look, doesn't she? Now, move. You’re invading my space, and I’ve already told you the consequences of making me uncomfortable."

Silas didn't move. Instead, his gaze dropped to my lips. The obsession in his eyes was palpable, a dark, suffocating hunger. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me—and for a terrifying second, I realized I might let him.

"If you aren't her," Silas growled, his face so close his breath warmed my lips, "then why did that boy have my birthmark on his shoulder? Why does he have my voice? Why does my wolf want to tear his own throat out just to get a single look from you?"

"Coincidence is a cruel mistress, Silas. Maybe the Moon Mother is finally punishing you for your mistakes."

I shoved against his chest. I expected him to be a mountain, but to my horror, he let out a choked, wet sound and stumbled back. He clutched his chest, his face turning a sickly, ashen gray. He fell back into his chair, gasping for air as if he were drowning on dry land.

"Silas?" My "Ice Queen" mask slipped. I took an instinctive step toward him, my hand reaching out.

"Don't," he wheezed, waving me away with a trembling hand. "It’s the bond... it’s broken. Since the night of the crash... my wolf has been... dying. Fenris won't accept Genevieve. He’s starving himself. He thinks his mate is dead, so he wants to die too."

I stood there, watching the most powerful man in the Northern Hemisphere crumble. A part of me—the part that still loved him—wanted to kneel beside him, to take off the masker and let him smell me, to save his life.

But then I remembered the cold look in his eyes when he handed me the divorce papers. I remembered Genevieve’s jasmine scent in my home. I remembered the freezing water of the Atlantic.

"Then I suggest you find a way to feed him," I said, my voice returning to a razor-edge. "Because if you die before you sign over the remaining shares of this company, I’ll have to deal with your board. And I’d much rather deal with a broken King than a pack of desperate Alphas."

I turned on my heel and walked out, my silk robe billowing behind me. I didn't look back, even when I heard the sound of a glass shattering against the library wall.

I reached my room and locked the door, leaning my back against it as I let out a breath that came out as a sob. I touched my neck—the scent-masker was hot, vibrating against my skin.

I was winning. I was breaking him. But as I looked at my children sleeping peacefully, I realized the terrifying truth: Silas wasn't just losing his company. He was losing his life. And the only thing that could save the Lycan King was the very woman he had cast out to die.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking. I had come for revenge, but I hadn't realized that watching him die would feel like dying all over again.