Alexa Gibson POV:
I cleaned up the glass.
I picked up each shard, my fingers numb to the sharp edges. The small cut on my index finger had stopped bleeding, leaving a thin, red line.
I didn't go to the banquet.
After the broken glass was cleaned up, I took off that deep red gown. I changed into my oldest jeans and a worn gray T-shirt.
The burnt suit jacket was still on the ironing board. I folded it carefully, the scorched mark facing inward, and placed it inside a garment bag. I zipped it shut, the sound final, and pushed it into the deepest, darkest corner of the walk-in closet. Burying my love for Kaleb.
I sat by the window all night, watching the moon traverse the sky.
The next morning, a soft knock came at the door. It wasn't Kaleb. It was Mark, his Beta. He stood there, holding a beautifully wrapped gift box, his eyes refusing to meet mine.
"The Alpha asked me to give this to you," he mumbled, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
I took the box without a word and closed the door in his face.
The box was from a high-end boutique, tied with a satin ribbon. I tore it open. Inside, nestled in layers of tissue paper, was a scarf. It was made of the finest silk, shimmering with an iridescent sheen. The brand name, "Sylvana," was embroidered in delicate silver thread at the corner.
I lifted it. The silk was cool and weightless against my fingers. A scent wafted from it. Kaleb's scent, cedar and musk, was there. But underneath it, woven into the very fibers, was another fragrance. Something exotic and sweet that I didn't recognize.
It wasn't my perfume.
A bitter laugh threatened to bubble up my throat. A guilt gift. An expensive yet perfunctory trinket, meant to appease my temper from the night before.
I dropped the scarf on the coffee table as if it were contaminated and opened my laptop. The brand was unfamiliar. "Sylvana."
The search results loaded instantly. It was an exclusive, incredibly expensive designer brand, famous for infusing their silks with signature, long-lasting fragrances. Luxury for the elite.
I clicked on the official website.
And my blood ran cold.
The face of the brand, splashed across the homepage in a stunning, larger-than-life photograph, was Cynthia Ryan. She was laughing, her head thrown back, a cascade of a dozen different Sylvana scarves swirling around her like a rainbow. Her smile was confident.
My eyes locked onto one scarf in particular, a shimmering piece draped elegantly around her long, graceful neck.
It was identical to the one lying on my coffee table.
Rage, hot and acidic, churned in my stomach. He hadn't even bothered to pick something out for me. He'd just grabbed a piece from his mistress's latest campaign.
My fingers flew across my phone's screen, composing a message to Chloe Miller, a colleague at Carlisle Enterprises I often consulted for information. I'd taken a low-level administrative job there after the mating, something to keep me busy.
"Chloe, can you help me check something about the brand 'Sylvana'?"
Chloe was a gossip savant, a walking encyclopedia of luxury brands and high-society drama. Her reply was almost instantaneous.
"Alexa! Oh my god, why are you asking about Sylvana?" Her voice was a rush of excitement. "That's Cynthia Ryan's new big deal! Her grandfather, Professor Julian Ryan, apparently pulled some major strings to get her that campaign. It's all anyone was talking about last night."
I stood very still. "Last night?"
"Yeah, at the pack banquet! You missed it! Cynthia was there, looking like a goddess. She was wearing the signature scarf from the collection, and Alpha Kaleb even made a toast and publicly complimented her impeccable taste. Everyone said they looked like the perfect power couple."
The air was punched from my lungs. The one he had praised her on, in front of the entire pack, while I was at home, shattered.
"Thanks, Chloe," I managed, my voice a strangled whisper. "That's all I needed."
I hung up the phone.
I stared at the scarf on the table. The beautiful, expensive, lying piece of silk. It was a symbol of his betrayal, a trophy from his victory with another woman, now presented to me as a pathetic apology.
I picked it up, my fingers recoiling from the feel of it. I walked to the grand stone fireplace that dominated the living room. With a flick of a switch, flames roared to life.
Without a moment's hesitation, I tossed the scarf into the fire.
The delicate silk curled instantly, turning black at the edges.
I watched until there was nothing left but ash.
Kaleb came home late. He looked tired but pleased with himself, a faint smile playing on his lips. He saw me sitting on the sofa in the dark and walked over, his arms reaching for me in a gesture that was both proprietary and automatic.
"Did you like my gift?" His voice was a low, rumbling murmur, a tone of condescending affection he probably thought was charming. "I thought of you when I saw it."
My body went rigid. I shifted, just enough so that his hands landed on the empty cushion beside me. I turned to face him.
I looked up into his handsome, lying face, and for the first time, he saw the ice in my eyes.
"Gift?" I asked, my voice flat and empty. "I didn't receive any gift."
He froze, his arms dropping. He frowned, that familiar crease appearing between his brows.
"Alexa, stop being childish."
I stood up, putting more distance between us. The smell of his cologne, mingled with the faint, lingering scent of Cynthia's perfume that clung to him, made my stomach turn.
"I'm tired," I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. "I'll be sleeping in the guest room from now on."
