Chapter 2

I held it back.

Kyle's face was as dark as a thundercloud. "Finn Hunter, get the hell off my turf."

"I'm not talking to you, Kyle Carlyle," Finn said, not even bothering to look his way. His gaze stayed fixed on me.

He noticed the way I was holding back my trembling, and he smirked. "I'm talking to the lady who just declared her independence."

He offered his hand. Not for a handshake, but inviting me to take it.

"Need an escort? I was just about to ditch this boring party myself," he said.

I glanced at his hand. He had long fingers, sharp knuckles, and a silver wolf-head bracelet on his wrist, the signature accessory of the Hunter family heir.

Then, I placed my hand in the crook of his arm.

The instant my fingertips brushed his skin, a spark shot through me. His muscles tightened, and I could feel his pulse thundering, matching mine beat for beat.

"It's an honor, Mr. Hunter," I said.

As we headed for the door, I heard Kyle's low growl, the kind of primal snarl an Alpha emitted when he was humiliated in front of everyone.

But I didn't look back. Not even once.

At exactly ten o'clock the next morning, there was a knock at the door of Kyle's suite, 0726 at the Royal Hotel.

He opened the door in his bathrobe, hair a mess, his eyes still red from last night's drinking. He assumed I was there to "apologize."

But instead, there were three people standing outside.

The woman in front looked to be in her fifties, dressed in a perfectly tailored Ralph Lauren suit, with a Birkin briefcase worth thirty grand in her hand.

Her pheromones were as sharp and precise as a scalpel. It was classic for a top-tier supernatural lawyer, someone who could control every nuance of her scent.

"Mr. Kyle Carlyle?" she said, her smile as cold as ice. "I'm Margaret Lambert, Ms. Winston's legal representative."

Behind her, an assistant carried a silver case.

"May I come in?" she asked, but was already stepping into the suite before he could answer.

Margaret walked to the center of the living room and signaled for her assistant to open the case. Inside was a portable holographic projector.

"According to Chapter 12, Section 7 of the Supernatural Coexistence Act, and Amendment 3 of the Luxoria Wolf Council Charter," she said, pressing a button. Blue neon text flickered to life in the air.

She continued, "My client, Ms. Claire Winston, officially filed a petition for the forced dissolution of the Moon-bound Contract with the arbitration tribunal at exactly nine o'clock this morning."

The holographic display flickered and shifted.

Evidence began to materialize, one piece after another.

[Photo evidence: Shots of Kyle and Anna getting cozy at the Vaburg villa, timestamped last August. The exact week of my birthday.]

[Financial evidence: Transfers from Kyle's private account to Anna, twenty thousand dollars every month, with the note: For my little bunny.]

[Communication evidence: Complete screenshots from the frat group chat, every humiliating message Kyle sent about me.]

[Surveillance Evidence: Hotel hallway footage, looping Kyle and Anna walking into suite 0726, Anna's birthday. Not mine.]

Margaret said, "This evidence has been submitted to the Council's arbitration tribunal, the supernatural division of the Luxoria High Court, and..."

She paused, her voice laced with a trace of delight. "The editorial office of the Luxoria Post's supernatural section."

Kyle's face turned deathly pale. "Are you insane? If this goes public, it'll destroy me..."

Margaret cut him off. "Exactly. That's the whole point."

She pulled a set of legal documents from her briefcase and placed them with deliberate care on the marble coffee table. The nonchalant way she did it was even more humiliating than if she'd thrown them down.

The cover of the file bore the Winston family's wolf-head crest, stamped in bold gold letters, "Petition for dissolution of the Moon-bound Contract."

It read, "Reasons: Irreconcilable differences, emotional abuse, infidelity. Applicant: Claire Elara Winston, Alpha heir of the Winston family."

"You have thirty days to respond. If you don't, it'll go through automatically," Margaret said, heading for the door. She turned with effortless grace. "Oh, and by the way, Kyle?"

She used that classic old-money sneer one only heard from the East Side crowd.

She said, "Next time you keep a human side piece, at least pick one who won't drop your private villa's location on Instagram. Total rookie move."

The door clicked shut behind her.

Now, Kyle was alone in the suite, with that file on the coffee table, a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.

His hands shook as he flipped to the last page. There was my signature.

Not the delicate, romantic script I used for love letters. This was a bold, lawyer's signature, sharp and final, "Claire Elara Winston. Irrevocable."

Right then, his phone started blowing up. It was a reporter from the Luxoria Post calling.

Kyle slumped onto the couch, and for the first time, reality crashed down on him.

The Claire Winston who always forgave him? She was gone for good.

She was buried in the rainstorm on I-95, back in a life that was long gone.