I woke to the unfamiliar scent of cinnamon and vanilla drifting through my apartment. For a moment, panic seized me—someone was in my home. I bolted upright, clutching the sheets to my chest, only to freeze at the sight of broad shoulders moving rhythmically at my kitchen counter.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice raspy from sleep.
Lucien turned slowly, a wooden spoon in hand, his dark eyes taking in my disheveled appearance with unsettling intensity. He looked perfectly at home in my kitchen, as though he belonged there.
"You didn't answer your phone," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "And you nearly collapsed last night. I was concerned."
I frowned, reaching for my phone. Three missed calls from him. I must have slept more deeply than I realized.
"How did you get in?" I asked, pulling my robe around me as I moved toward the kitchen.
"I have my ways." A slight smile played at his lips. "I hope you don't mind. I thought you might need something warm for breakfast."
He gestured to a pot simmering on the stove. Porridge, from the smell of it. My stomach growled traitorously.
"It's nothing special," he said, ladling some into a bowl. "Just something my mother used to make when I was ill."
I accepted the bowl cautiously, our fingers brushing. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me.
"Thank you," I murmured, taking a spoonful. It was perfectly sweetened, with a hint of spice I couldn't quite identify.
Lucien watched me eat, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered for a moment against my neck.
"You have a bit here," he said softly.
The touch should have made me flinch. Instead, I felt a strange warmth spreading through me. His eyes darkened suddenly, pupils dilating as he inhaled deeply.
"What is it?" I asked, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.
"Your scent," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "It's... different."
My heart stuttered. No one had ever commented on my scent before. I'd always been careful to mask it with perfume, especially around Derek.
"Different how?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He leaned closer, his nostrils flaring slightly. "Like an Omega," he murmured. "A hidden Omega."
The spoon trembled in my hand. He knew. Somehow, he could sense what even Derek had never detected—the Omega genes I'd suppressed since puberty.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, pulling away.
Lucien's eyes met mine, and I saw understanding there—and something else. Something that made my pulse race.
"Everyone has secrets, Selena," he said quietly. "Even you."
---
The conference room at Derek's company gleamed with polished surfaces and pretension. I sat quietly in the corner as executives discussed the upcoming quarter's strategy, my notebook open but untouched.
"And what do you think, Selena?" Derek's voice cut through the discussion, silencing the room.
All eyes turned to me. I hadn't been expecting to be addressed directly.
"I—" I began, but Derek continued as if I hadn't spoken.
"Actually, never mind. This is probably too complex for you to grasp." He smiled thinly. "Your job is to look pretty on my arm at the engagement party, not to understand business matters."
Laughter rippled around the table. My cheeks burned, but I kept my expression placid.
"Derek makes a good point," one of the older Alphas commented, not unkindly. "Business can be confusing for those without the right background."
I nodded meekly, lowering my eyes as if embarrassed. Inside, rage boiled like magma. The naive Selena would have been crushed by this public humiliation. The reborn Selena cataloged it alongside every other slight, every betrayal.
"Just focus on planning our wedding," Derek continued, his voice dripping with false affection. "That's more your speed."
More laughter. More pitying glances.
I smiled and nodded, the perfect picture of submission. Let them think me weak. Let them underestimate me. It would make what was coming all the more devastating.
---
The elevator was crowded with employees heading to lunch when Lana stepped in beside me, her designer heels clicking against the metal floor.
"Selena," she greeted with false warmth. "I love your shoes! Where did you get them?"
Before I could answer, she shifted her weight, stepping deliberately onto the back of my right heel. I felt the strap snap as my ankle twisted painfully.
"Oh!" she exclaimed with theatrical concern as I stumbled. "I'm so sorry! Someone should really fix these elevators—they're so uneven."
I grabbed the handrail to steady myself, pain shooting up my leg. The broken heel dangled uselessly from my foot.
"It's fine," I said through clenched teeth. "Just an accident."
Lana's eyes gleamed with malice as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear.
"These things happen to people who don't belong," she murmured. "Maybe you should take the hint."
The elevator doors opened, and she swept out, leaving me to hobble after her on my broken shoe.
---
I limped through the lobby, each step sending jolts of pain through my ankle. Outside the building, the bright afternoon sun made me squint after the dimness of the elevator.
"Miss Moretti."
I turned to find Lucien leaning against his sleek black car, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Even in casual clothes—dark jeans and a simple button-down—he radiated authority.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying not to wince as I put weight on my injured foot.
"I was in the neighborhood," he said smoothly, though I knew it was no coincidence. He straightened, his gaze dropping to my broken heel. "What happened?"
"Accident in the elevator," I said dismissively.
Lucien's jaw tightened as he reached into his car and pulled out a small shopping bag. "Elias picked these up for you."
I peered inside to find a pair of simple but elegant flats in exactly my size.
"How did you—"
"I pay attention," he said simply, handing me the bag. "May I?"
He gestured to my ankle. After a moment's hesitation, I nodded.
His touch was gentle as he examined the injury. "Not serious," he murmured. "But it will bruise."
He looked up at me then, his eyes intense and dark. "You shouldn't have to endure this, Selena."
Something in his tone made my breath catch—a promise, perhaps. Or a threat.
---
That evening, I followed Lana through the city streets, keeping my distance as she made her way to an unmarked door in a discreet corner of the entertainment district.
The Moon's Den—one of the city's most exclusive werewolf clubs, where pack members could let their wolves run free without human interference.
I hesitated at the entrance, knowing my fake press pass was a risk. But Lucien's words echoed in my mind: "You shouldn't have to endure this."
"ID?" the bouncer demanded, his eyes glowing slightly in the dim light.
I handed over the pass I'd created, my heart pounding. He examined it carefully, then nodded. "Through the door, down the stairs. Rules are posted inside."
The club was dimly lit, smoky, and pulsing with bass. Wolves in various stages of transformation mingled with fully human patrons, the air thick with pheromones and excitement.
I spotted Lana immediately, her bright hair unmistakable as she made her way to a secluded booth in the back.
And there was Derek, waiting for her, his hand reaching for her the moment she approached.
I pulled out my phone, my hands surprisingly steady as I activated the camera. Moving closer, I positioned myself where the lighting was best.
"Did you miss me?" Lana's voice carried clearly as she slid into the booth beside him.
"Every second," Derek murmured, pulling her against him.
Their lips met in a hungry kiss, his hands tangled in her hair, her legs parting to allow him closer. The intimacy of it made my stomach turn.
I zoomed in, making sure their faces were clearly visible before recording a short clip. The video was grainy in the dim light, but unmistakable.
Evidence. The first piece of many.
As I slipped away, Derek's voice followed me: "Soon, Selena will be out of the picture for good."
