My Step Brother's Claim; The Alpha's Open Marriage

Chapter 3

Greta

The rain started the second I pulled into the underground parking of The Grand Continental. It was the most expensive, heavily guarded hotel in the city’s neutral zone—a place where pack politics didn't exist and Omegas, Betas, and Alphas alike minded their own business.

I sat in the dark for ten minutes, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. My chest felt hollowed out. Antonio’s words kept playing on a sick, endless loop in my head.

You are a mistake. I am done with this pathetic bond.

He didn't just cheat on me. He humiliated me. He let our son call another woman "Mommy." My wolf was dead silent in my mind, curled up in a corner, bleeding out from the severed mating bond.

I grabbed my purse, and took the private elevator straight to the penthouse suite I’d booked. The agency sent a simple text:

Room 402. He will be there at midnight. Leave the door unlocked.

I paced the floor of the massive, cold room. The clock on the wall ticked. 11:55 PM.

What the hell was I doing? I was a Luna. A mother. I should be calling the pack elders. I should be fighting for my territory.

But I didn't want to fight. I wanted to burn it all down. I wanted to do something so filthy, so unforgivable, that Antonio would choke on it.

I was still fuming inside me when the door swung open. I froze in the center of the Persian rug as the air in the room instantly vanished. A heavy, suffocating aura flooded the space, smelling of dark pine, expensive whiskey, and pure, predatory dominance.

He stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. He didn't look like a call boy. He looked like a nightmare.

He was dangerously tall, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and dark jeans that hung low on his hips. Intricate, dark ink crawled up his neck and disappeared under his collar. His jaw looked like it was carved from granite, covered in a shadow of dark stubble. But it was his eyes that made my breath hitch—they were a piercing, lethal silver.

"You the one paying for my time?" he drawled. His voice was a low, rough gravel that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Yes," I managed to say. My voice cracked and I hated how small I sounded.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his massive arms over his chest. His silver eyes dragged up and down my body, taking in my messy hair, my stained dress, and my red, swollen eyes. He didn't look impressed. He looked disgusted.

"You look pathetic," he sneered, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

My mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He pushed off the door and started walking slowly toward me like a predator stalking cornered prey. "You smell like cheap tears, a broken mating bond, and a weak Alpha. What did he do? Cheat on you with your sister?”

"My best friend," I snapped back, anger finally piercing through my grief. "And I did not pay ten thousand dollars for you to insult me."

He laughed. It was a dark, mocking sound. "Sweetheart, ten grand doesn't buy my manners. It barely buys my attention. If you wanted a therapist to hold your hand and tell you you're pretty, you called the wrong agency."

He stopped mere inches from me. I had to tilt my head all the way back just to look him in the eye. The heat radiating off his body was insane. He wasn't a normal wolf.

"You're arrogant," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs.

"I'm expensive," he corrected, leaning down so his lips brushed my ear. "And I don't deal with crying women. Stop whining. Do you want to ruin your perfect little reputation or not?"

"Yes," I breathed out, the word tearing from my throat. "I want to forget my own name tonight."

He grabbed my jaw, his large, calloused fingers gripping my skin tight enough to bruise. He forced my face up. His silver eyes darkened to a terrifying pitch black.

"Take off the wedding ring," he ordered roughly. "Now. I don't take another man's property."

My hands shook as I slid Antonio's diamond off my finger. I dropped it on the glass coffee table. It landed with a hollow clink.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Before I could even blink, his hands were in my hair. He slammed his mouth over mine in a bruising, aggressive kiss. There was no romance. There was no gentle coaxing. It was absolute, raw possession.

I gasped into his mouth, and he took complete control, backing me up until my spine hit the cold bedroom wall.

I clawed at his shoulders, my nails scraping against his tattoos.

He growled—a deep, chest-rattling sound that made my knees completely give out. He caught me by the waist, his grip bruising and possessive. For the first time in seven years, Antonio's face faded from my mind. All I knew was the scent of pine and the rough, cruel hands of a total stranger.

The cold air hit my bare skin, pulling me out of a heavy, dreamless sleep.

I cracked my eyes open. The massive king-sized bed was empty. The sheets beside me were tangled and completely cold. The sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I sat up, pulling the blanket over my chest. My entire body ached. A massive, purple bruise was forming on my collarbone. He was in the bathroom and the shower was on.

Reality crashed back down on me. I was Greta. I was a Luna without a pack. My husband was filing for divorce. My son hated me.

I crawled out of bed, grabbing my dress from the floor. My purse was sitting on the dresser. I opened my wallet, pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed them on the nightstand.

A tip. For services rendered.

The TV was surprisingly on.

I hurriedly pulled my dress over my head. I wanted to be out before he came out of the shower.

"We are live this morning from the financial district," a news anchor’s bright voice filled the room. "The Lycan king has officially touched down in the city. Pack leaders across the region are bracing for what many are calling a hostile business takeover."

I zipped up my dress and reached for my shoes.

"The Lycan King himself is leading the integration venture," the anchor continued. "Known for his ruthless business tactics and brutal pack rule, he has explicitly stated he is here to dismantle the Geraldine territory..."

Wait. The Geraldine territory? That was Antonio's pack.

I snapped my head up to look at the massive flat-screen TV. My breath completely left my body. My blood ran ice cold in my veins.

There, standing on the podium in a tailored, ridiculously expensive black suit, was the man from last night. The same dark, tattooed neck. The same lethal, granite jawline. The same piercing silver eyes.

The banner at the bottom of the screen flashed in bold red letters: BAXTER THORNE. LYCAN KING OF THE CREST MOON.

My legs gave out as I hit the carpeted floor hard. He wasn't a call boy. He was a Lycan and was the King of the crest moon pack. He was Antonio’s absolute worst enemy.

I ran out without thinking.