Janine's POV
I had barely pulled into the driveway when Lester burst out of the manor, eyes wild, scanning the grounds like a wolf that had lost the trail. His gaze landed on his car—parked neatly where he’d left it—and then on me. Relief flickered across his face, quickly smothered beneath a clumsy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Janine!” he called, hurrying over. “Where did you go? I was starting to panic.”
Panic. Right. I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.
I offered him a gentle smile. “I was out buying something special for our anniversary celebration next week.”
He blinked like he’d been slapped. “Our… celebration?”
I tilted my head innocently. “Yes. For our anniversary. You do remember that, don’t you?” My tone was light, but I held his gaze, daring him to admit the truth.
He cleared his throat, fingers raking through his hair. “Of course I remember. How could I forget something like that?” He gave a hollow chuckle. “Work’s just been overwhelming lately, that’s all.”
A lie as thin as ash.
“Well, I wanted to keep it a surprise,” I replied. “So you’ll have to be patient.”
He smiled stiffly. “I can’t wait. You shouldn’t have gone alone, though. You could’ve called me.”
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. “You’ve been so busy, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Guilt shimmered briefly in his eyes as he leaned in to brush a kiss over my cheek. It felt empty, like touching a stranger. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” I lied, slipping past him into the house.
Behind me, he exhaled heavily—relieved that I hadn’t caught him with Avery earlier when I’d taken his car. If only he knew.
Upstairs, I entered the master chamber, my stomach twisting at the memory of what had happened there. The door creaked again, and I turned, expecting Lester.
It was Avery instead.
She lounged against the frame, lips curved in a smug little smile, eyes glittering with malice.
“You saw us,” she said lightly.
I kept my face smooth. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She pushed off the door and sauntered inside. “Don’t insult me. I watched you watching us.”
Silence was my only reply.
Her smile widened. “You should’ve stayed. Maybe you’d have picked up a few tricks.”
I shrugged. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep. I think Lester’s downstairs waiting for you.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected. Her grin wavered, then returned sharper than before. “Fine. I’ll go finish what we started. You’re welcome to observe.”
She left, heels clicking down the hall.
I pulled out my phone and typed to Killian.
Phase one completed. Prepare yourself.
His response came back with a heart emoji.
—
For the next two days, Lester barely left my side. He hovered like a nervous guard wolf, making it nearly impossible to put the rest of my plans in motion. His instincts must’ve sensed the shift in me, though I wore my mask of calm perfectly.
I finally snapped and sent Avery a message.
Looks like Lester’s forgotten about you. He hasn’t stepped away from me once. Keep fooling yourself—he belongs to me.
Within minutes, Lester’s phone lit up with her calls and messages. He ignored them all—until he couldn’t.
When he returned, his face was grave.
“My love,” he began gently, “a sudden pack summit just came up. I have to leave tonight. It’ll take three days.”
I feigned disappointment. “But our celebration is in four days.”
“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I swear I’ll be back in time.”
Inside, I was almost giddy. Three days. Exactly what I needed.
—
Those three days disappeared like smoke on the wind, each hour devoured by frantic preparation. I barely slept, moving through the manor like a restless shadow, gathering documents, arranging transfers, double-checking every detail of the escape I had been planning for so long. And whenever doubt crept in—whenever my heart tried to soften, whispering memories of the mate I once loved—Avery would, almost on cue, send me another picture.
A photo of her curled against Lester on a hotel balcony under a foreign moon.
A shot of their hands entwined, her engagement ring from Killian replaced by the mark of my husband’s bite.
A blurry image of their silhouettes on rumpled sheets.
She thought she was breaking me.
Instead, every single image carved my resolve deeper into stone. I archived them carefully, labeling each one, building the evidence that would bury them both.
Then the day arrived—the anniversary of the bond I once believed was sacred. The same day Lester was meant to return home.
I stood alone in the living room, the manor eerily quiet, and typed one final message.
Happy anniversary. Your gift is waiting on the table.
I set the divorce documents down beside the photos—mine and hers—then blocked both their numbers.
With a suitcase in hand, I stepped outside. Killian was already there, watching me with a knowing smirk.
“Ready?” he asked.
I took his hand.
A private jet waited on the tarmac, engines humming like restrained thunder. Questions fluttered through my mind—about his wealth, his reach—but I was too drained to care.
As the plane began to move, Killian sent an email to every major pack news channel.
And just like that, the hunt began.
