Chapter 2

Seraphina POV:

The line rang twice before Audrey Sullivan picked up, her crisp voice cutting through the quiet kitchen. "Calling me this late? What has Julian done to you this time?"

Audrey was my closest friend and one of the sharpest contract attorneys practicing before the Federal Werewolf Court. Hearing her familiar voice made my throat burn, and my own came out hoarse. "Audrey, I want to dissolve my Mate contract."

Papers rustled on the other end, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "Are you serious, Sera? Petitioning the Federal Werewolf Court for a unilateral contract termination against a reigning Alpha will tear you to shreds!"

"I'm done," I said, closing my eyes as Finn's voice, screaming that he wished Chloe were his mother, echoed in my head. "There is nothing left for me here."

Audrey fell silent for two seconds before adopting her cold, professional tone. "Fine. You legally hold a three-percent stake in Black Stone Group's core mineral veins through the original dowry agreement. If you're walking away, we'll make sure you reclaim every cent you're owed."

"I don't just want the assets. I want my life back." I opened my eyes, the submissive warmth I had worn for seven years disappearing from my gaze.

"Then we need solid proof that he breached the mate fidelity clause during your marriage," Audrey instructed briskly. "Under werewolf law, emotional betrayal by a marked mate causes severe spiritual damage. Only concrete evidence of infidelity will force the Pack Elders to waive his Alpha immunity."

"I'll find the proof. I'm done living with him, and I'm moving out tonight."

I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket. Stepping around the shattered pieces of the platter and the cold rack of lamb on the floor, I left the kitchen, crossed the dimly lit corridor, and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the master bedroom.

The room was saturated with Julian's scent—crisp cedarwood and biting winter snow. A werewolf's unique scent was supposed to anchor their mate, and for years, Julian's dominant Alpha scent had made me feel safe. Now, it made my stomach heave.

I headed straight for the vast walk-in closet, passing the racks of custom couture gowns Julian had forced me to wear to maintain his public image. From the bottom shelf, I pulled out a worn black nylon duffel bag and packed three plain cotton T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, and a travel toothbrush.

Crouching at the very back of the wardrobe, I pressed my palm against a dusty cedar panel and entered a sixteen-digit code. A hidden compartment clicked open. Inside lay a scuffed, military-grade laptop—the weapon of "Lanyin," the ghost architect behind the federal neural network.

My fingertips trembled slightly as I brushed the cold alloy casing. For seven years, I had buried my true genius to play the obedient wife. I slid the laptop into the bottom of the duffel bag and zipped it shut. Its weight against my hip steadied my breathing.

Carrying the bag to the vanity, I studied the pale woman in the mirror and curled my lip into a cold smile. I opened the top drawer, took out the unlimited obsidian-and-gold supplementary credit card that symbolized my status as Black Stone's Luna, and tossed it onto the glass tabletop beside my brass house keys.

I slung the bag over my shoulder, left the bedroom, and headed down the grand spiral staircase. At the bottom, Martha Tucker, the castle's housekeeper, emerged from the side hall after completing her nightly patrol of the pack grounds.

Martha's eyebrows drew together when she spotted the nylon bag in my hand. "Luna? Where are you going at this hour?"

"Julian assigned me to handle some external pack business on the West Coast," I lied smoothly, keeping my expression blank. "I'll be back in a few days."

As an Omega servant bound to the castle, Martha didn't dare question the Alpha's orders. She bowed her head respectfully. "Shall I have a pack warrior drive you to the airfield?"

"No, thank you. I've already arranged for a ride."

I stepped past her before she could notice that Julian's scent was absent from my clothes and pulled open the heavy iron front doors. The cold autumn wind of late-night New York hit my face, clearing the last fog from my mind. I walked down the stone driveway to the streetlamp beyond the pack boundary and opened my rideshare app.

Ten minutes later, a black Toyota sedan pulled up to the curb. I yanked open the back door, tossed my duffel onto the seat, and climbed inside.

"Queens, 42nd Street," I told the driver, watching Black Stone Castle shrink in the dark rearview mirror as the car pulled away.