Aria's POV
After signing the inheritance papers at Mr. Castellano's office, I drove home in a daze.
The house blazed with warm light. Through the front window I saw them-Ethan, Clara, and Marcus around the dining table like a perfect family portrait. Ethan laughed at something Clara said, his hand resting on the back of her chair. Marcus sat between them, grinning up at his father. Clara ruffled the boy's golden hair; Ethan caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Domestic bliss.
Everything I'd been too blind to see for two years snapped into clarity. The late nights he called "Pack business." The way Marcus flinched whenever I tried to hold him. Clara's constant presence, always with some excuse. They'd all known. Everyone except me.
I forced myself to breathe. Not yet. Not here. I needed to play this smart.
I walked in and schooled my face to careful neutrality. The laughter died the instant I stepped inside.
"Aria." Ethan stood quickly, putting distance between himself and Clara, as if that erased what I'd witnessed in his office. "You're home early."
"Am I?" I crossed to the kitchen and filled a glass of water, more to occupy my hands than anything. My heart pounded in my ears.
"Can we talk?" His voice was low, careful.
I turned slowly. "About you and Clara?"
"It's not what you think. Clara's going to be staying here as Marcus's nanny. He needs consistency, and frankly, you're not around enough-"
"Not around enough?" I cut him off. "I've been running this Pack for you, Ethan. Every meeting, every decision-while you were off doing what, exactly?"
His jaw tightened. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"Marcus needs to be taken care of."
"I disagree. This is my home. I didn't agree to a live-in nanny."
"She's not just a nanny. She's helped raise Marcus since he was born. He needs her here."
Of course. Because she was his real mother.
"That's not my problem," I said. "If you want Clara housed, buy her an apartment. She's not living under my roof."
"You're just tired." He raised a hand, his tone measured-managing me, like my opinion was a tantrum to be waited out. "We'll discuss this after dinner."
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Bad woman!"
Marcus appeared out of nowhere, small face twisted with rage. "You're really bad! You're mean to Clara!"
"Marcus, that's enough-" Ethan started.
But the boy was already charging at me, hands outstretched. He slammed into me with surprising force. I stumbled back, my hip colliding with the corner of the side table-exactly where I'd hit the floor in Ethan's office earlier. Pain exploded through my lower back; my vision went white.
"Marcus!" Ethan grabbed him by the shoulders. "What the hell are you doing?"
"She's mean!" Marcus wailed, but his eyes were dry-nothing but calculated defiance. "She's mean to Clara and mean to you and I hate her!"
Ethan reached for me. "Aria, I'm sorry, he didn't mean-"
I jerked away. "Don't touch me."
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the swimming in my vision. My tailbone throbbed from earlier; now my hip would bruise too.
Clara burst in and gathered Marcus into her arms, stroking his hair while he buried his face in her neck. The devoted mother, perfectly performed.
"He's just a kid," she murmured, kissing his temple. "Please forgive him."
"What a touching scene of motherly devotion," I said. "I'm starting to wonder if he's actually your biological pup."
Clara's expression tightened-clearly she wasn't sure how much I'd overheard.
"Aria, as your friend, I'm very disappointed in you-"
I turned and walked upstairs, each step sending fresh jolts of pain through my hip.
I spent the next hour in the guest bathroom, running the hottest water I could stand. My hip had already darkened to purple, matching the bruise on my tailbone. Two injuries in one day. Both from the same "family."
By the time I emerged in pajamas, the house had gone quiet. A knock at the door.
"Come in."
Ethan stepped inside, closing the door carefully. He looked tired. Worried. Like he actually gave a damn.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fantastic. Your son has quite the arm."
His jaw tightened. "He's been disciplined. It won't happen again."
"Right. Like the last dozen times really stuck."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I know today has been difficult. But Clara needs to stay here. Marcus needs her. She's been more of a mother to him than-"
"Than me?" I finished. "Yes, I'm aware. Hard to bond with a child who's been taught to hate me since birth."
"That's not-" He caught himself, changing tactics. "This isn't about you and Clara. This is about what's best for Marcus. He's settled here. Taking Clara away would disrupt his entire world."
I stared at him, this man I'd believed was my husband, my mate. This man who'd convinced me I was broken. This man who'd built his entire Pack's success on my labor while keeping his real family hidden in plain sight.
He was still lying. Still manipulating.
Fine. Let him think he'd won.
"I have a condition," I said.
Wariness flickered across his face. "What kind?"
"My birthday is next week. You forgot last year, and the year before. So this year, I want a proper gift." I kept my voice light. "The penthouse at Meridian Tower. Top floor. In my name only."
He went very still. "That's a fifteen million dollar property."
"Is it?" I tilted my head. "I think it's fair-as a birthday gift, and as compensation for what you've done."
The muscle in his jaw jumped. For a moment I thought he might finally drop the pretense. Instead, he pulled out his phone.
"Fine. Consider it an early birthday present."
"And the transfer note," I added. "For Aria's house fund. Happy birthday."
He tapped at the screen, expression darkening with every second, then turned the phone toward me. Fifteen million dollars. Transfer note included.
"Happy birthday," he said flatly.
"Thank you, Ethan." I let the endearment drip with acid. "You're so generous."
He pocketed his phone. "Clara stays."
"Clara stays," I agreed.
He nodded and left.
I waited until the door clicked shut, then pulled out my phone and opened the banking app.
Balance: $15,150,000.00
Two years as Luna-hosting banquets, negotiating alliances, building his reputation. My card had never seen a single paycheck, not a penny of Pack money. The only funds I'd ever had were fifteen thousand saved from part-time jobs during school.
Now, because I'd caught him with Clara-because she was the leverage that finally forced his hand-he remembered I existed.
How pathetic.
