Chapter 3

"If Mrs. Reed dies, I will burn your clinic down with you inside it," Lucas told Dr. Mercer over the phone.

I heard every word because Lucas had arrived at the hospital twelve minutes after the stranger ended the call. He stood across the consultation room in shirtsleeves, his black tie hanging loose and rain darkening the shoulders of his coat.

Mrs. Reed was alive. Estate security had found her unconscious beside my bathroom with a split scalp and three broken fingers, while the men and the sealed bottle were gone.

Lucas ended the call and reached for the blood on my sleeve. "Let me see where you are hurt."

"It is from my mouth," I said as I moved away.

His hand stopped in the air. For one second his face lost the cold control that made boardrooms and Packs obey him, then the Alpha returned.

"You are coming home with me," Lucas said. "Mercer is being detained, every entrance to the manor is locked, and my physician will monitor the pregnancy."

"Your physician?" I asked.

"Someone Mercer never supervised," Lucas replied. "Cole will remain outside your room, and no one enters without my approval."

He was solving the emergency with orders, guards, and locked doors. He still could not hear the one person standing in front of him.

"We are getting divorced," I said.

Lucas's jaw tightened. "This is not the time."

"You announced another Luna in front of three hundred people, someone has been suppressing my wolf, and men using your medical system attacked Mrs. Reed," I said. "If this is not the time, when would be convenient for you?"

Lucas took one step closer, then checked himself. "I did not know about the pregnancy or the medication."

"You knew I was sick," I replied. "You watched me swallow the pills because Mercer told you they were good for me. You never asked why they hurt."

His eyes dropped to my stomach. Nothing showed beneath the gown, yet the way he looked at me made the room feel smaller.

"How far along?" Lucas asked.

"Early enough that you cannot turn this into another Blackwood arrangement," I answered.

Pain crossed his face, but he buried it quickly. "They are my children too."

"They are not another asset for you to secure," I said. "My lawyer will send the papers in the morning."

Lucas caught the edge of the table instead of touching me. I remembered the first winter of our marriage, when he came home after midnight and found me asleep over dinner I had reheated three times.

He had carried me upstairs without waking me, removed my shoes, and left a glass of water beside the bed. The next morning he had complained that I waited up too late, never saying that he had tucked the blanket around me.

I had survived our marriage by collecting care he never named. Each small kindness became a patch over a wound he opened again the following day.

"Ivy, I can protect you," Lucas said.

"I am not your Luna, and I do not want to be the wife you store safely at home," I replied. "We are getting divorced. I am tired."

The last word hurt more than shouting would have. Lucas looked at the dried blood on my gown, the report in my hand, and the empty place where my ring had been.

"Where will you go?" Lucas asked.

"Somewhere your name does not open every door," I answered.

He ordered a Blackwood driver to take me wherever I chose, but I refused and called a licensed taxi through the hospital desk. Lucas followed me to the entrance, stopping under the awning when I turned on him.

"Do not follow me," I said.

"There are people hunting you," Lucas replied. Rain struck the pavement between us as he added, "Hate me tomorrow. Stay alive tonight."

For one weak second, I wanted to let him put me in his car and make every decision. Then I remembered Seraphina wearing the Moon Brooch while Lucas explained that nothing in my life needed to change.

"You do not get to choose where I feel safe," I said before entering the taxi.

Lucas stood in the rain as we drove away. He did not follow, but a black SUV pulled into traffic two cars behind us, and I knew he had sent guards anyway.

I was too exhausted to fight again. My body ached, nausea burned my throat, and even lifting my hand to silence my phone felt impossible.

Ten minutes later, the driver cursed and pumped the brake pedal. The taxi did not slow.

"Hold on," he shouted as the light ahead turned red and a loaded truck entered the intersection.

I covered my stomach with both hands. Behind us, the Blackwood SUV accelerated, and the taxi's brake pedal struck the floor without resistance.