A Billion Dollar Revenge

KAILA CAIN POV:

My fated mate was cheating on me. The proof was on his tablet screen—a photo of him and Chantal Gould on the Parker family's private yacht. Chantal had been my college "friend." She'd been a bridesmaid at my wedding.

In the photo, her body was pressed against my husband's bare chest, her lips grazing his chin.

On her wrist was my mother's bracelet. The same bracelet I'd shown Bryton on our first wedding anniversary. The one he'd promised to keep safe for me.

The location tag read Silver Creek Pier. The timestamp was yesterday afternoon—right when Bryton had told me he was held up by a meeting.

A raw, animal sound tore out of me. I clamped a hand over my mouth, but the tears were already coming. My knees hit the floor. I wrapped my arms around myself. He had spent five years making me small, and I had let him.

At Pack dinners, I'd smiled through it while the other Lunas whispered behind their wine glasses, loud enough for me to hear every word. No wolf. No bloodline. Bryton doesn't even bother to show up with her anymore. They'd known my husband was ashamed of me long before I did. Night after night, I slept alone in our bed, his side cold against my cheek, telling myself he was just busy. He wasn't busy. He was tangled up with her.

When the tears finally stopped, something shifted. The grief didn't vanish. It hardened. Curdled. Turned from a wound into a blade. I lifted my head, and through my swollen, burning eyes, my gaze fell to the desk. Beneath the tablet, half-hidden under a stack of reports, was a manila folder.

Rejection Ritual — Finley, B. & Cain, K.

He wasn't just cheating. He was planning to discard me like a contract that had expired. A formal rejection. The ultimate werewolf shame—a public branding of unworthy that would follow me for the rest of my life. And the paperwork was already on his desk, waiting for his signature.

The hollow space inside me filled with ice. I thought of every night I'd waited up for him. Every time I'd swallowed Meredith's insults. Every time I'd told myself he still loved me, that the bond still meant something, that the Moon Goddess didn't make mistakes. I had been drowning for five years, reaching for a hand that was busy holding someone else. No more.

I pushed myself up from the floor. My hand was steady as I picked up his fountain pen. His signature line was still blank. The coward had drafted my obliteration but couldn't finish the job. Five years of my life wasted, and he couldn't even be bothered to finish me off with a stroke of ink. Fine. If he couldn't do it, I would. The ink bled into the paper, dark and final. Then I took a screenshot of the yacht photo, sent it to my encrypted email, and deleted the original.

The sharp click of heels on marble echoed from the hall. Meredith Finley. I rose, slid the envelope into my hand, and pulled my mask of docility over my wrecked face.

She swept in, Chanel perfection, her eyes scanning me like she'd found a rat in her kitchen. "Kaila. Bryton isn't here. You should know he's rarely here at this time." You don't belong here.

"I know. I was waiting for you, Mrs. Finley."