The next day at noon, I was on the phone with my mother's care facility when the sharp click-clack of high heels echoed in the foyer, mingled with Marcus's low, easy laughter.
"Marcus, I brought you lunch," Vivian's sickly sweet voice announced.
My hand tightened on the phone. He had never laughed like that with me—so freely, so sweetly, as if his voice were dipped in honey.
And I had never dared to call him by his first name. It felt too intimate. To me, he was always my Alpha—distant, a man I could never truly reach.
He walked beside her, deliberately slowing his long-legged stride to match her shorter steps.
She tilted her head, saying something playful.
He leaned in closer, turning his face to her, listening with a tender smile playing on his lips.
The sight stung my eyes. The difference between being cherished and being used was a stark, physical pain.
"Oh, Raven, you're here too," Vivian said, her smile cloying.
I returned it with a stiff smile. "Vivian."
She pulled an exquisite box from her purse and handed it to me. "I heard about the little mission Marcus has for you with Knox," she purred. "I picked something out for you. I know his tastes better than anyone. He'll love this."
I opened the box. Inside was a set of black lace lingerie, so revealing it was barely decent.
It felt heavy in my hands as a wave of humiliation washed over me. Even Marcus's expression darkened, his brow furrowing slightly.
I guessed his annoyance stemmed from her claim of "knowing his tastes better than anyone."
No Alpha liked to hear his partner speak so casually about another man's preferences.
My throat tightened. "Thank you," I managed to force out.
But Vivian wasn't done. She wrapped her arm possessively around Marcus's and cooed:
"Raven, why don't you go try it on now? Let's see how it looks."
She smiled, the very picture of innocence. "That way I can give you some pointers. We have to make sure this is foolproof."
I stood frozen, clutching the box so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Marcus said nothing—his silence was a tacit approval.
In the dressing room, the mirror reflected a stranger. The black lace barely covered my chest, the straps were as thin as threads, and the cutouts at my waist revealed the dark bruises his fingers had left last night.
I took a deep breath and pulled open the door, walking straight into a roomful of leering eyes.
The living room was crowded with at least a dozen men and women, all heirs from powerful packs, lounging around.
Their gazes fell on me—a mixture of astonishment, mockery, contempt, and naked lust.
Vivian's eyes widened in feigned surprise as she covered her mouth. "Oh my god, Raven, I'm so sorry. It's my birthday tonight, and my friends insisted on coming over early. I had no idea you'd come out dressed like that. This is so awkward."
Her voice dripped with false apology, but her eyes glittered with triumph.
My face burned with shame. I instinctively tried to retreat back into the room.
But Vivian grabbed my wrist, pulling me out in front of everyone. "Don't be shy. Let everyone see Marcus's excellent taste."
The room erupted in laughter. One man let out a loud whistle. Phone cameras were raised, flashes going off.
"Hey, Marcus, is this the little thing you've been hiding? What a bombshell!"
"Damn, that body, that skin... puts those models to shame."
"I heard she used to be the jewel of the Blackthorne family. Looks like she'll do anything for money now."
The vulgar comments washed over me in waves, one after another.
"Didn't Raven used to be a dancer?" a man with bleached blond hair jeered. "Why not put on a little show for us?"
"Yeah, a dance to liven things up!" others chimed in, roaring with laughter.
Blinking back tears, I looked straight at Marcus.
He was leaning back on the sofa, Vivian nestled contentedly in his arms, laughing her head off.
But his eyes were dark, his lips pressed into a thin line. The platinum lighter he was toying with clicked open and shut, his hand trembling slightly—the only sign of the storm brewing inside him.
But he said nothing.
And in that silence, my heart sank deeper and deeper, into a cold, dark abyss.
