Lucian came back while I was having soup.

I had asked Martha to make a clear broth. It was meant to soothe the intense cramps caused by the silver burning my insides. I had changed into a simple black lounge set and was sitting at the far end of the long dining table.

I mechanically stirred the soup with a spoon.

An hour later, I heard a noise from the foyer.

He was back.

He looked exhausted. His suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened. As he walked in, his sharp nose twitched instinctively—he was scenting the air.

Then his body went rigid.

He smelled it.

Even though I had used the strongest scented soap, even though I had doused myself in perfume, as a prime Alpha, his sense of smell was terrifyingly acute when he was on alert. He could detect every anomaly in the air.

But he seemed unwilling to investigate further. He just frowned, probably dismissing it as some hormonal fluctuation.

He went straight to his study. Ten minutes later, he came out and sat across from me.

Ten feet of polished mahogany separated us, but it felt like the entire Atlantic Ocean.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the clinking of my spoon against the porcelain bowl.

Finally, after I’d finished the last spoonful, I pushed the bowl away.

"Chloe, you really went too far this time," he finally said, his voice cold. "Do you have any idea that Victoria almost had a miscarriage? How could you embarrass me like that in front of our allies? How could you be so vicious?"

I looked up at him. There were dark circles under his eyes—he had spent the entire night at the hospital with Victoria.

He never asked where I had been.

He never asked why I was covered in cake.

He never asked if I was okay.

I spoke calmly, my voice devoid of any emotion.

"You're right, Lucian. I was wrong. I apologize for everything."

My submission stunned him.

The old Chloe would have slammed her fists on the table. She would have screamed. She would have unleashed her wolf's dominance to challenge him.

But today, I was like a pool of still, dead water.

"Perhaps," I continued, looking him straight in the eye, "I should go and kneel before Victoria to beg for her forgiveness."

He frowned, trying to scent my emotions, to catch a lie.

But he failed.

Because I truly felt nothing at all.

My unnatural calm seemed to make him uncomfortable, but he quickly interpreted it as "remorse."

His dominant aura softened.

"If you truly understand what you did wrong, then stop causing trouble for Victoria," he said. "She's a fragile Beta. She can't handle the stress."

"I understand," I nodded.

He reached out to touch me, an attempt to release some calming pheromones to mend the rift.

I instinctively pulled my hand back and stood up.

"I'm tired, Lucian. I'm going to rest."

It was the first time in five years I had ever rejected his touch.

His hand froze in mid-air. His expression darkened.

"Chloe, about last night… I'll make it up to you. Next month, we'll go to the beach house in the Hamptons. Just the two of us. Like real mates."

I turned and walked towards the stairs without answering.

I had heard him make that promise a hundred times before.

And every single "next time" had been shattered by a phone call from Victoria.

Now, those promises meant nothing to me.

I went upstairs and locked myself in the bedroom.

I lay on the bed, listening to him pacing in his study below.

I could feel him through the mate bond—he was confused, unsettled, but mostly, he was guilty.

He felt he needed to compensate me.

He didn't know yet that he had already lost everything.

Lying in the dark, I listened to his restless footsteps downstairs. He thought this was just another fight, something a new designer bag could fix tomorrow.

He had no idea there was no longer a Luna in this house.

I opened my eyes and pulled the business card out from under my pillow—the informant's number.

It was time to show him the truth.