The meeting ran late again.
I sat on the edge of our bed—Bradley's bed, technically, though he'd insisted I think of it as ours the day I moved into the Silvercrest pack house—and watched the clock tick past midnight. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, agitated in a way I couldn't name. She'd been like this all week, skittish and snarling at shadows.
I pressed my thumbnail into my palm. The small pain helped.
The door opened just after one. Bradley stepped inside, still wearing his dress shirt and slacks from the strategy meeting. He looked tired, his collar loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. When he saw me waiting, he smiled—that warm, easy smile that had made my heart stutter the first night we met.
"Hey," he said softly. "You didn't have to wait up."
"I wanted to." I stood, crossing to him. "How was the meeting?"
"Long. Tedious." He pulled me close, his hands settling at my waist. "Vincenzo's liaison protocols are a nightmare. Victoria spent an hour arguing about territory access clauses."
Victoria. Of course she'd been there. She was always there—Lycan Prince Vincenzo's mate and the Ironveil Pack's official representative, which apparently meant she had permanent access to every high-level Silvercrest discussion. I'd learned not to ask why a mated Luna needed to attend quite so many late-night strategy sessions.
I tilted my head up, meaning to kiss him, and froze.
The scent hit me like a fist to the chest. White jasmine and musk—sharp, floral, unmistakable. It clung to Bradley's skin in a concentration that made my wolf recoil violently, her snarl echoing through my mind so loudly I nearly staggered.
*Not ours. Wrong. Threat.*
I pulled back slightly, my heart hammering. "You smell like—"
"Victoria, yeah." Bradley's hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing absently. "She had too much wine during the break. Fell asleep in the common room. I helped Marcus carry her to one of the guest suites."
His voice was steady. Warm. The same voice that had declared me his mate in front of hundreds of wolves. The same voice that whispered my name in the dark.
My wolf was howling now, a sound of pure rage and grief that I couldn't let reach my face.
"Oh." I managed a small smile. "That was kind of you."
"She's a friend." He kissed my forehead. "And she's Vincenzo's mate. Can't have a Lycan Luna passing out in our common room. Bad optics."
I nodded. Pressed my thumbnail harder into my palm until the crescent mark burned. "Of course."
Bradley pulled me back against him, and I let him, even though my wolf was screaming to run. The jasmine scent was everywhere—his collar, his throat, the place where his pulse beat steady and calm. Too much wine. A guest suite. Marcus helped.
Lies. Every word a lie.
But I said nothing. I buried my face against his chest and breathed through my mouth until my wolf stopped thrashing.
"You okay?" Bradley's voice rumbled against my ear.
"Just tired," I whispered.
"Come to bed, then." He guided me back toward the mattress, his hands gentle, his aura wrapping around me in that possessive Alpha way that used to make me feel safe.
I climbed under the covers and watched him undress. He moved with easy confidence, folding his shirt, setting his watch on the nightstand. When he slid in beside me and pulled me close, I let my body relax against his even as my mind cataloged every detail.
The scent. The timing. The casual deflection. The hand at the back of his neck.
I'd seen him do that before—touch his neck like that—when he was managing rather than answering. I'd noticed it weeks ago and filed it away as a nervous habit.
Now I understood what it really was.
---
Several days later, I found myself alone in Bradley's private office.
He was at dawn training—he ran it personally every morning, a tradition he'd inherited from his father. I'd come to retrieve the final seating chart for the Mate Ceremony. The event planner needed my approval on the Dusthaven delegation's placement, and Bradley had mentioned leaving the documents on his desk.
The office was quiet. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the dark wood furniture and the framed photos of past Silvercrest Alphas lining the walls. I crossed to the desk, scanning the neat stacks of papers.
That's when I saw it.
Bradley's tablet, glowing on the corner of the desk. Unlocked. A message thread open to Victoria's name.
I should have looked away. Should have grabbed the seating chart and left.
Instead, I picked up the tablet.
The messages were recent. Timestamps from last week, matching nights Bradley had claimed council meetings. My eyes skimmed the thread, and with every line, something inside me turned colder.
*Victoria: Your little charity Omega asked about the seating chart again. She follows you around like a rescue dog that doesn't know it's been adopted for show.*
*Bradley: [laughing emoji] She means well. Just keep it together until after the ceremony.*
*Victoria: I'm trying. But she SMILED at me this morning in the hallway like we're friends. It's pathetic.*
*Bradley: Two more weeks. Then things settle.*
*Victoria: I miss you. Last night wasn't enough.*
*Bradley: Tonight. Usual place. 11:30.*
My hands were shaking. I read the thread twice, then a third time, my wolf silent now—not howling, not snarling, just watching with cold, predatory focus.
Charity Omega. Rescue dog. Adopted for show.
I opened my email on my phone—the burner account Kevin had helped me set up weeks ago, back when I'd first started noticing things that didn't add up. I took screenshots. Every message. Every timestamp. Every casual cruelty.
Then I deleted the evidence of my access from the tablet's activity log—Kevin had taught me how—and set the device back exactly where I'd found it.
I picked up the seating chart with steady hands.
Walked out of the office with my face composed.
Made it all the way to the east wing stairwell before my knees buckled.
I sat on the bottom step, the seating chart crumpled in my fist, and pressed my forehead to my knees. My wolf wasn't howling anymore. The sound in my mind was quieter now. Sharper.
Resolve.
I pulled out my phone and opened the screenshots. Read them again. Let the words sink in until they stopped hurting and started clarifying.
*Just keep it together until after the ceremony.*
Two more weeks. That's all I had to wait.
Two more weeks, and I'd give them a ceremony they'd never forget.
