revenge in silk wanted by the lycan

The resort room smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. I'd spent three hours cooking Derek's favorite—herb-crusted lamb with rosemary potatoes, the kind that made him close his eyes and hum after the first bite. The kind he used to say tasted like home. I checked my phone again. 10:47 PM. The text I'd sent this morning sat there, marked as read. Anniversary dinner at Moonstone Resort. I miss you. I love you. His reply had been quick. I'll be there. But the chair across from me stayed empty. The candles had burned halfway down. The lamb had gone cold. I called him. The phone rang once, then cut to silence. Rejected. My wolf whimpered somewhere deep inside me, that soft, broken sound she'd been making ever since the poison. The poison that was meant for him. The poison that nearly killed me but saved his life. The poison that left my wolf damaged, fractured, barely there. I waited. Ten more minutes. Twenty. My phone finally lit up with his name, and my heart jumped before I could stop it. Before I could remember that hope was dangerous. Can't make it. Business meeting ran late. Stay at the lodge—it's too late to drive. I'll have the nanny take care of Ricky. I stared at the words until they blurred. At least he cares about my safety, I told myself. At least he thought about that. But my hands were shaking as I gathered my purse. My wolf wasn't whimpering anymore. She'd gone completely silent. The house was dark when I pulled into the driveway. Derek's car sat in the garage—the car that was supposed to be at a business meeting. I should have turned around. I should have stayed at the resort like he told me to. But my feet carried me to the door. My key turned in the lock. And then I smelled it. Sex. Heavy and thick in the air. The scent of arousal, of sweat, of another woman. No. No no no no. Sounds drifted down from upstairs. From our bedroom. Moans. The creak of bedsprings. And Derek's voice, rough and breathless in a way I hadn't heard in years. "f**k, just like that—" My legs moved on their own, climbing the stairs even as my mind screamed at me to stop. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely grip the doorknob. I pushed it open. Derek was on our bed. Our bed with the navy sheets I'd washed yesterday. Our bed where I'd given birth to Ricky because the contractions came too fast to make it to the hospital. Isabel was beneath him, her red hair spread across my pillow, her legs wrapped around his waist. And Derek—Derek was moving with a desperate intensity I'd never seen, his face twisted in pleasure, his hands gripping her hips like she was the only thing keeping him alive. "Derek." My voice came out broken. Barely a whisper. His eyes snapped to mine. For one second, our gazes locked. Then he thrust into her one more time, hard and deep, and let out a loud groan of pure pleasure. His whole body shuddered. He didn't look away from me. He didn't stop. He rode out his release while I stood there watching, while my world crumbled into dust. Only after he was finished did he pull back slightly, breathing hard. His voice came out flat. Annoyed. Like I was interrupting something important. "I told you to stay at the hotel. What the hell are you doing here?" The tears were already falling. I couldn't stop them. "You told me to stay away so you could—so you could f**k your secretary? In our bed? On our anniversary?" Isabel turned to look at me from beneath him, and the smile on her face made my stomach turn. She shifted her hips deliberately, making Derek groan again, making sure I could see everything. I lunged forward. My fists hit his back, his shoulders, but it was like hitting stone. He didn't even flinch. Of course he didn't. He was an Alpha in his prime, and I was—I was nothing. A weak Luna with a broken wolf. A Luna who took poison and barely survived. A Luna who screamed for six hours bringing his son into the world, who tore and bled and almost died on that delivery table. "How could you?" I was sobbing now, my voice cracking. "How could you do this to me? I'm your mate, Derek. I took poison for you. I almost died for you. Aren't I enough? Why am I not enough?" He rolled off Isabel and stood up, naked and furious. "Enough?" He shoved me back, not hard, but enough to make me stumble. "I am sick and tired of you throwing that poison in my face, Aluna. I didn't ask you to drink it. You did that on your own. Out of your own foolishness. And giving birth to my pup? That's your job as my wife. That's what you're supposed to do." Each word was a knife. "And no," he continued, his voice getting louder. "You're not enough. Look at yourself. You're weak. You're ugly. You walk around in those frumpy clothes with your hair in that ridiculous ponytail. You can't even stand next to me without making me look bad." He gestured to Isabel, who was sitting up in bed now, the sheet barely covering her body. "Look at Isabel. She's strong. She's confident. She's beautiful. She's everything you're not." The floor disappeared beneath me. The air left my lungs. I stood there, swaying, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel the complete and total destruction of everything I thought I knew. I don't remember walking down the hallway. I don't remember passing Ricky's room. But suddenly I was at the top of the stairs, and small footsteps padded out of the bedroom behind me. "Mommy?" I turned. Ricky stood in his dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes. "Baby, go back to bed—" "I don't want you to be my mommy anymore." The world stopped. Ricky's little face twisted into something cruel, something he'd learned from his father. "All my friends laugh at me for having a weak mommy. I want Isabella to be my mommy. You're so weak. And you smell bad." He ran past me, down the stairs, straight to the kitchen where Isabel had appeared in one of Derek's t-shirts—the gray one I'd bought him last Christmas. "Isabella!" Ricky jumped into her arms, and she caught him, spinning him around while he giggled. Derek came down the stairs and joined them, wrapping his arms around both of them. They looked like a family. A perfect, complete family. And I was the piece that didn't fit. The broken part they were ready to throw away. I made it to the guest room before I collapsed. The sobs came from somewhere so deep inside me I didn't know I had that much pain left to give. I pressed my face into the pillow and screamed until my throat was raw. They didn't need me. My husband. My son. They had each other. They had Isabel. They had everything, and I had nothing. I don't know how long I cried. Long enough for my eyes to swell. Long enough for the sun to start rising. Eventually, I dragged myself to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was a stranger. Hair in a messy ponytail, held together with a rubber band. Twenty pounds heavier than my wedding day, the weight I'd gained with Ricky and never lost. The oversized glasses I'd started wearing because I stayed up too late helping Ricky with homework, reading pack documents for Derek, trying to be useful. Trying to be needed. When did I become this person? This woman who made herself small and quiet and convenient? I used to design clothes. Men's fashion. I had a portfolio that made recruiters from Chen Company—one of the biggest fashion houses in the world—send me emails begging me to join their team. I'd turned them down. For Derek. For Ricky. For this family that didn't want me. My phone sat on the counter. I picked it up with shaking hands and scrolled through my deleted emails until I found it. Chen Company would like to offer you the position of Senior Designer... The offer was still open. The position was still mine. I hit reply. The next morning, I came downstairs with my suitcase. Derek was at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading something on his tablet. He looked up when he heard me, and his eyebrows rose. "Going somewhere?" I set down my suitcase and looked him in the eye. "I, Aluna Onyebuchi, reject you as my mate." The coffee mug froze halfway to his mouth. For three seconds, he just stared at me. Then he started laughing. "Really, Aluna?" He set down the mug, still chuckling. "You're rejecting me? Where the hell are you going to go? You're nothing without me. I clothe you. I feed you. I house you. Where are you going to live? Under a bridge?" Isabel appeared in the doorway wearing a different shirt of Derek's—the blue one this time. Her expression was syrupy sweet, dripping with false concern. "Oh, Aluna." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Please don't reject Derek because of me. I mean, yes, you're not fit to be his Luna, but where will you go? What are you even worth?" She tilted her head. "You can sleep in the guest room. Be the nanny and cook. That's the only thing you're useful for anyway." I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on Derek. "I'll have my lawyer send you the rejection papers." Derek's face went dark. Red crept up his neck, and his hands clenched into fists. "Fine. Leave. But don't come crawling back begging me to take you back, because I won't." I picked up my suitcase and turned toward the door. "Are you really going to abandon your son?" I stopped. My hand tightened on the handle until my knuckles went white. "He said it himself. I'm weak. He doesn't want me to be his mommy. So Isabel can be his mommy." Behind me, I heard Isabel's sharp intake of breath, that little gasp of fake shock. Then her voice, high and sweet and poisonous. "Ricky! Sweetie, come here!" Little feet thundered down the stairs. "Look, baby," Isabel cooed, scooping him up the moment he appeared. "Your mommy is leaving you. She doesn't want you anymore." "Mommy?" Ricky's voice was small. Uncertain. "Mommy, please don't go." I turned around. My baby boy looked at me from Isabel's arms, his eyes wide and wet. I walked over to him. "I'm sorry, baby. But Mommy isn't wanted here. Mommy has to go." His face changed. The softness disappeared, replaced by something hard and cold—an expression he'd learned from Derek. "Fine. Leave. I don't need you anyway." He turned his face into Isabel's neck. "I want Isabella to be my mommy now. Not you." Something inside me shattered so completely I knew it would never heal. I stood up. Picked up my suitcase. Walked out the door. Behind me, I heard Derek's voice, cold and final. "Good riddance." The door closed. The lock clicked. And I stood on the porch of the house I'd called home for five years, with one suitcase and a broken heart, and absolutely no idea who I was anymore. But I knew one thing. I was done being their nanny. Done being their cook. Done being weak. It was time to remember who Aluna Onyebuchi really was.