EVER FITZPATRICK POV:
Time seemed to slow down. I could see the panic on Ethan's face, the useless way he started to raise his hands to stop me.
Scarlett just crossed her arms, a spectator enjoying the show. She seemed to relish my pain.
I didn't give her the satisfaction for long.
With a flick of my wrist, the bag containing a ninety-eight-dollar filet mignon and black truffle sauce sailed through the air.
"No!" Ethan yelped, but it was too late.
The bag hit him square in the face and burst open. Lukewarm steak, sticky sauce, and mashed potatoes splattered across his head and chest.
A piece of steak slid down his cheek, leaving a greasy trail on his expensive silk robe.
Scarlett's shriek pierced the hallway's quiet. "Oh my god! Ethan! You psycho bitch!" She scrambled back, terrified of getting any of the mess on her.
I looked at Ethan's pathetic state, a sprig of asparagus clinging to his golden hair. His handsome face was now a comical, tragic mess. I felt no triumph. Just a cold, vast emptiness.
"We're over, Ethan," I said. My voice was so calm it surprised me. "Enjoy your breakup gift."
I didn't look at him again. I turned and walked away. My boots were silent on the plush carpet, but every step was heavy with finality.
I could hear Ethan's enraged shouts and Scarlett's curses behind me, but I didn't stop.
Inside the elevator, I watched the doors slide shut, sealing me off from the drama.
I walked through the lobby without seeing anyone and pushed through the glass doors into the night.
Hopping on my worn-out electric scooter, I gunned the engine and fled the place that had just suffocated me.
I don't know how long I rode, just that I did, until my phone buzzed with a notification from the app. A customer complaint. I had thrown food at him. The platform had suspended my account and confiscated my deposit.
I stared at the message and a laugh escaped my lips. It was a broken sound that quickly turned into sobs.
I had lost my love and my job in the same night.
I parked by a bench in the local park and sat on the cold metal, letting the tears stream down my face.
After a while, a black Bentley glided to a stop in front of me.
The window rolled down. A well-dressed, silver-haired butler leaned out. His eyes scanned the park and settled on me.
"Miss Ever Fitzpatrick?" he asked, his voice polite but distant.
I froze, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. I looked at him, wary. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"My employer wishes to see you," he said, ignoring my question. He gestured to the car. "Please, get in, Miss Fitzpatrick."
I followed his gaze to the back seat. The windows were tinted, hiding whoever was inside. "Mr. Beaumont sent me," the butler added. Hearing this name instantly put my inner wolf on alert.
Beaumont. The name hit me like a hammer. Just then, a familiar Porsche pulled up nearby. Ethan got out, already changed into fresh clothes, his face still grim. He saw the Bentley, and when his eyes landed on the license plate, his face went white. He looked like a mouse that had just seen a hawk.
I understood. This "Mr. Beaumont" was someone Ethan couldn't afford to cross.
Curiosity, and a strange premonition, made me stand up. Anything to get away from Ethan.
I walked to the Bentley. The butler, whose name I would learn was Alfred Price, opened the rear door for me.
Inside sat an imposing older man in a dark suit. His gray eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and he held a black ebony cane topped with a carved wolf's head. This was Alistair Beaumont, the elder of the Beaumont Pack.
"Miss Fitzpatrick," he said, his voice low and commanding. "We have a deal to discuss."
I sat on the soft leather seat, watching Ethan through the window. He stood frozen, not daring to come closer. I knew, in that moment, that my life was about to be irrevocably changed by whatever this deal was.
