My Fiance Cheated So I Claimed His Lycan Bosses

RATTLING HIM

Claire’s POV

I didn’t say anything as the city lights blurred past the car windows. Connor drove the way he always did—fast, smooth, like the roads belonged to him. Rain still clung to the asphalt in thin shiny streaks. Less than twenty minutes later the Audi rolled through a private gate and stopped beneath a tall glass-and-steel building that looked more like a quiet fortress than an apartment complex.

“This isn’t your house, Connor,” I said.

He killed the engine and gave me that half-smirk of his. “It isn’t.”

I unbuckled. “Then what is it?”

“My penthouse.” He got out, came around, and opened my door. His hand waited, palm up, like he’d done this a hundred times. “The house is busy right now with some things I have to handle. This place is private. You’ll like it.”

I took his hand. His fingers stayed wrapped around mine a second longer than necessary. Something felt off. I kept thinking about the man who had burst into my office earlier saying Damien’s name. Connor was hiding whatever mess he was in. He always tried to protect me. He just never told me the whole truth.

The private elevator rode up in silence. When the doors opened we stepped straight into the penthouse. It smelled clean—fresh linen and that faint expensive wood scent that always clung to places only rich people lived in. The kind of smell that made you feel like you should take your shoes off even if no one asked.

Connor flipped on the lights. The space was huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire wall, showing the Seattle skyline glittering through the leftover rain. Big leather couches, a few pieces of art that looked like they cost more than my old student loans, and a kitchen island so long and glossy it almost felt rude. The whole place screamed successful doctor with an edge he never fully explained.

I dropped my bag by the door and sank onto the big sectional. The second my body stopped moving, everything from earlier slammed back into me. Tyler and Marcus in that bed. The ring hitting the floor. The five hundred thousand dollars leaving my account. My throat tightened and the tears came fast and ugly.

“Hey, hey.” Connor crouched in front of me and settled both hands on my knees. His palms were warm. “You don’t get to sit here crying over that guy in my place. Not tonight.”

I nodded and wiped my face, but the tears kept coming. He stood, disappeared for a few seconds, and came back with a glass of water that he put carefully into my hands.

I stared at the water, then at him. “What kind of person are you? I’m falling apart and you bring me water? Shouldn’t there be wine or tequila or at least a very large container of ice cream? Preferably the kind with the cookie dough chunks that make you feel slightly better about your life choices.”

He smiled that slow, unfair smile that always got under my skin even when I was a complete mess. It made the corners of his dark eyes crinkle. “You need water first, Claire. You’ve been crying hard. As your trauma surgeon friend, I’m not letting you add a dehydration headache to the list. Drink it. Then we can talk about the rest.”

I drank the whole glass. It felt good on my sore throat. He took the empty glass, set it on the low table, and sat right next to me. His thigh pressed solidly against mine. I could feel the steady heat of him through both layers of fabric. It was annoyingly comforting.

“Stop crying over him,” he said in that low voice. “I told you from the start I didn’t like Tyler. You’re way too good for that guy, but you never wanted to hear it. You always thought I was just jealous.”

“So you’re blaming me now?” I asked, managing a small, watery laugh. Bantering with him still felt like the most normal thing left in the world. Like if we kept talking this way, maybe the rest of the night hadn’t completely wrecked me.

“No.” His grin widened a fraction, but his eyes stayed serious. “I’m not blaming you. Honestly? I’m glad it happened.”

I blinked. “Glad?”

“Yeah. At least now you can finally leave him and stay with—” He cut himself off so fast it was almost funny. He stood up like the couch had burned him and walked toward the kitchen, shoulders tight under his shirt.

I couldn’t let him walk away. Not tonight. “Am I unattractive, Connor?”

He stopped. Turned around slowly. Those dark eyes locked on mine. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just answer it.”

“I can’t.”

“It’s not a big deal, Connor. Stop acting like I’m asking you to recite the Hippocratic Oath or something.”

“Claire.” He covered the distance in two long steps and stood over the couch. The way he said my name made my pulse jump.

“What do you want me to say? We both know you’re hot as hell. So what?”

The words hit harder than they should have. Heat crawled up my neck. I looked at him carefully. He wasn’t joking the way he usually did. He looked honest, and there was something heavier sitting behind his eyes.

“Really?” I asked softly. Then I pushed, because stopping felt worse. “You’re being honest? You think I’m attractive? Then let’s test it.”

He frowned, clearly confused, but he didn’t look away. “What do you mean?”

I stood up slowly. Stepped in until the warmth of his chest reached me. My heart was pounding, but I kept my chin up. I was done looking weak tonight. Done feeling like the girl who always apologized for taking up space.

“I mean, if I want to see if I’m really attractive, I’ll start with you.”