All Chapters of TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING: Chapter 331 - Chapter 340

EMBER’S POV“He’s going to divorce me.”“You’re not married.”“He’s going to divorce me preemptively.” I’m losing a war with six shopping bags in the back of the car while Daxon and Reyes unload the rest in a haunted silence that says they’ve seen more today than they have in their entire jobs. “He’s going to invent a brand-new kind of divorce specifically for this.”“Ember, breathe,” Queenie says, practically vibrating with glee. “The damage is already done. It’s set in stone. Literally.”She clutches a spool of ribbon to her chest like a religious artefact.“Do you understand the sheer poetry of this? Just picture it. The most terrifying Lycan on the continent is going to walk out his front door in a perfectly tailored suit to survey his estate, and he is going to make direct eye contact with six feet of—”“Don’t.”“—premium, monumental yard-penis—”“Queenie, I swear—”“—and I want front-row seats.” She’s radiant. “I want to see the exact moment his soul leaves his body. I’d pay a f

EMBER’S POVCatherine doesn’t so much as glance at him. She’s looking at me.“When I met you,” she says, slower now, “you were a woman being taken apart by procedure. You stood in that chamber, and you told the truth, and they very nearly buried you alive for it. And by the end you had the look of someone who’d already given up on being saved.” Her voice gentles, and it’s worse than if she’d been cruel. “I know that look, Ember. I’ve seen it on more women than I could ever count. It’s the look of someone who stopped expecting good things a long, long time ago — because in her experience, every good thing was only ever the quiet part before the next bad one.”I can’t speak. The bag is crushed flat against my chest.“And now.” She spreads one hand, taking in the whole absurd scene — the bags, the ribbon, me. “Now I walk into this house, and there is an abomination at the front gate, and I was informed by a staff member that there are five hundred rubber ducks somewhere in this building—

EMBER’S POVKnox finds me a couple of hours later, after Queenie’s left and the light’s gone gold across the mountains.I’m sitting cross-legged in the middle of the enormous bed we share, pretending to sort the day’s spoils and actually just running my palm over the ridiculous soft weight of a coat I absolutely did not need, feeling that dangerous, unfamiliar thing again.The one I keep waiting to be punished for. Peace.He stops in the doorway.“Ember.”“Mm?”“We need to discuss the gate.”“Do we, though?” I don’t look up. “Or could the gate simply be a beautiful, unspoken mystery between us, a thing we never—”“It’s six feet tall.”“It’s abstract.”“Ember.” He comes into the room, and there’s a slow, deliberate danger to the way he moves, and I finally look up, and his face is fighting very hard to be stern and losing at every seam. “A council elder photographed my front gate. She is going to show people. She told me to my face — I want you to understand she said this directly to m

EMBER’S POV“I need to make calls. If he’s reaching into a public street in daylight, if he’s got people carrying his messages three feet from you, then the perimeter is already compromised. We need to check the street surveillance. Where exactly were you at the time? I want the intersection, the timestamp, everything. Where was your detail? If they were standing more than a foot away from you, I will personally strip them of their rank and throw them in the cells. If he can get a messenger that close, he could have gotten a blade that close. We need to lock down the estate. No one gets in or out. I don’t care if the entire Council is waiting at the gates, I need to—”“Knox.”“—get a team watching the stranger too. I need to run his background check and ensure he is truly clean. Fcuk—” He stops and drags a hand hard through his hair. And when he turns back to me, the King cracks for a second, and the man underneath shows through, raw, all the fear he keeps locked under the crown bleed

EMBER’S POVWhere we’re going turns out to be a room in the sub level I didn’t know existed, all matted floor and low light and the specific smell of a place where people hurt each other on purpose.It’s cold. I’m still half-asleep. I hate everything.“So how does this—” I start, and he’s already moving.“Stance.” He circles behind me. “Feet apart. Wider. Weight back on your heels, not your toes, or the first person who touches you puts you on the floor.” His hands land on my hips.And my entire brain shorts out.Because his hands are large, and they are warm even through the fabric.They close over the curve of my hips and adjust me, tilting, squaring, and his chest comes up flush against my back, solid and unhurried, and his mouth drops to my ear.“Centre of gravity here,” he says, low, clinical, one hand pressing flat and warm against my lower belly. “You fight from here, not from your shoulders. Feel it?”What I feel is that I have forgotten how lungs work. What I feel is the enti