Adelina POV
The ceremony at City Hall was a blur of sterile lighting, stamped paper, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of cedar that radiated from the man standing beside me. Twenty minutes later, we were back out on the concrete steps. The winter sun glared off the gray pavement, harsh and blinding, snapping me back to the reality of what I had just done.
"I have some matters to attend to," my new husband said, his deep voice cutting through the city noise. He reached into his tailored coat and handed me a minimalist black card.
I looked down. There was only a phone number and two embossed letters: *K.B.*
I frowned, looking up into his dark, unreadable eyes. "K.B.? Does the 'B' stand for Babe?"
Not a single muscle in his face twitched. "Kain Blackwell," he corrected smoothly. "Babe Vincent was a moniker forced on me in the underground. A stain I am currently erasing. I prefer my real name."
A strange sense of relief washed over me. He was trusting me with his true identity. It was a signal—a rogue trying to shed his disgraced past and start fresh. "Kain Blackwell," I tested the name on my tongue.
A dark, possessive satisfaction flared in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he nodded. "Keep your phone on, Adelina."
Once we parted ways on the steps, I retreated to the armored sanctuary of the Maybach he had arranged for me. The heavy doors clicked shut, sealing out the chaos of Manhattan. Surrounded by the lingering scent of Kain's thunderstorm aura, I found the courage I desperately needed.
I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother.
"Where the hell are you?" Carolyn Parrish's voice shrieked through the speaker the second she answered. "Alpha Henderson is furious!"
"I'm married, Mother," I said, my voice dead calm. "The trust conditions are met. I want the funds released and the deed to Wolfe Manor transferred to my name by tomorrow morning."
There was a stunned silence, followed by a vicious laugh. "You think you can marry some filthy, debt-ridden Rogue and claim the Pack's legacy? I am the executor! I will have the Elders annul this farce before sunset!"
I leaned back against the plush beige leather, my heart pounding, but my tone remained ice-cold. "Try it. But you should know, my new mate has resources you can't even fathom. He would be more than happy to order a full forensic audit of the Parrish Holdings accounts. I wonder what the Pack Elders will say when they see exactly where my father's money has been disappearing to for the last five years."
The silence on the other end was absolute. I had hit the nerve. Embezzlement was a crime punishable by exile.
"You little bitch," Carolyn hissed, her voice trembling with sudden, raw panic. "Fine. You'll have the deed. But don't ever expect to step foot in this Pack house again."
She hung up. I let out a shaky breath, a triumphant smile touching my lips. I had won. I had bluffed my way into reclaiming my home.
An hour later, the Maybach dropped me off at Jase Davenport's building. I needed to sever the final tie to my pathetic past.
Ralph, the older doorman, gave me a sympathetic nod as I walked into the lobby. He knew. Everyone in the Pack probably knew by now.
I took the elevator up to the penthouse. The moment I unlocked the door, the cold, sterile air hit me. The apartment reeked of Jase's signature metallic cologne—a sharp, artificial scent that completely masked any natural wolf musk. It made my stomach turn.
I didn't shed a single tear. I moved methodically, packing only what belonged to me. Clothes, books, and the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets I had bought with my own money, ripping them off the bed and shoving them into my suitcase. I refused to leave anything of mine for Kira to enjoy.
Before leaving, I walked into the kitchen. On the pristine marble island sat a half-empty coffee cup Jase had left behind yesterday. A thin layer of mold had already started to form on the surface of the liquid. To a werewolf's heightened senses, the smell of decay was unmistakable. It was the perfect epitaph for our relationship.
I dropped my apartment key on the marble counter, right next to the rotting coffee.
Ten minutes later, with Ralph's help, I loaded my suitcase into the trunk of a yellow cab. I slid into the cramped back seat, the worn leather a stark contrast to the Maybach. As the cab merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic, I stared out the window, completely broke, entirely wolfless, but finally free.
