Chapter 2

Ella

My hands froze in mid air. The kitchen fell into an eerie silence.

I turned to Jackson, my gaze sharp. He shifted uncomfortably, his lips pressing together like he had just realized he said something he shouldn't have.

"What did you just say?" My voice was calm, too calm, but my fingers curled tightly against the counter.

Jackson shook his head quickly. "Nothing."

"Jackson," I put down what I was holding and faced him fully. "What do you mean by that?"

He fidgeted with his fingers, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Nothing," he muttered. "I just meant… Ava was supposed to pick me up anyway."

"Why was that?"

"Dad told me she was picking me up this morning," Jackson muttered. 

So that was it..Marcus had deliberately arranged for Ava to pick up our son without bothering to inform me. The same Ava who'd been giving me those pitying looks for years. The same Ava whose family had practically written a petition against our union.

When Marcus and I first got together, the whispers had been relentless. An omega and the Alpha? Unheard of. Inappropriate. A mistake. The Graysons had been particularly vocal about their disapproval. Old money, power, and ideas about who belonged where and with whom.

I still remembered Ava's mother cornering me at a gathering, her smile sharp as a knife. "My dear," she'd said, voice dripping with false sweetness, "don't you think you're a bit... simple for someone in Marcus's position?"

Simple. That was the polite version of what many called me. The impolite versions still stung when I let myself remember them.

But Marcus had stood by me. "They'll come around," he'd promised. "And if they don't, it's their loss."

I'd believed him. More importantly, I'd worked my ass off to prove myself. While caring for Jackson as an infant, I'd studied healing, trained in emergency response, and learned pack history and traditions. I'd taken on responsibilities that previous Lunas had ignored.

I put Jackson to bed early that night, hoping the medicine would help him sleep through any dairy-related discomfort. Jackson was a kid after all, and he could say irrational things. What I needed to do was to talk to Marcus.

I was curled up on the couch with a medical journal when I heard Marcus's key in the lock. My stomach tightened as I remembered what Jackson had said earlier.

"Hey," Marcus called, hanging his jacket by the door. "Sorry, I'm late. Council meeting ran long."

"Seems to be the theme of the day," I replied, setting my journal aside.

He crossed the room and leaned down to kiss me. I turned my head slightly so his lips landed on my cheek instead of my mouth. If he noticed, he didn't comment.

"Jackson in bed already?" he asked, loosening his tie.

"Yeah. Had to give him the pink medicine."

Marcus frowned. "Is he sick?"

"Not yet, but he will be if the medicine doesn't work." I kept my voice deliberately casual. "Apparently, he had ice cream this afternoon. With sprinkles AND chocolate sauce."

"Ah." Marcus's expression shifted to one of understanding. "I'm guessing Ava didn't know about his dairy issue?"

"No, she didn't." I watched his face carefully. "Interesting coincidence, her showing up at the school today."

Marcus headed toward the kitchen. "Want some tea?"

"What I want," I said, following him, "is to know what's been going on lately and why it was Ava Grayson who picked up our son from school."

He filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "I know you've been occupied with your duties, so I asked her to arrange for someone to pick up Jackson. I didn't realize she'd go do it herself."

"Why her, Marcus?" I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "We haven't exactly been in touch with the Graysons for years. And considering your past relationship with Ava, I thought you'd keep your distance from her."

Marcus turned to face me, his expression puzzled. "Past relationship? We were friends, Ella. That's all."

"That's not how her family saw it. Or half the pack, for that matter." I raised an eyebrow. "And you haven't answered my question. Why Ava?"

"She's my secretary now."

The words hit me like a bucket of cold water. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard. "I'm sorry; what did you just say?"

"Ava's my secretary." He stated it like he was telling me we needed more milk.

"Since when?" My voice rose despite my efforts to keep it level. "And why, as the Luna, wasn't I informed firsthand?"

"Ella, relax. This just happened recently. The position opened up last week when Diane retired. Her arthritis was getting worse."

"That doesn't answer my question." I crossed my arms tighter as if I could physically hold in my frustration. "Why Ava?"

"I'm doing her father a favor. You remember James Grayson?"

"Of course I remember James." My tone softened slightly at the mention of the former gamma. "But what does he have to do with you hiring his daughter without telling me?"

The kettle whistled, and Marcus turned to deal with it, buying himself a few seconds. "Before he passed away, James asked me to look after Ava. She's been struggling to find her place since he died."

"So you made her your secretary? The position closest to you in the entire pack hierarchy?"

"It's not like that."

I knew what James Grayson had done for the pack, for Marcus's father. He'd thrown himself between the old Alpha and an attack that would have killed him instantly. Instead, it had left James with injuries that plagued him for days before finally taking his life. A debt of honor, they called it.

But that didn't explain why Marcus had kept this from me, treating it like some dirty secret I shouldn't know about. Like he'd anticipated my reaction and decided to avoid it altogether. That hurt more than seeing Ava in my kitchen.

"You hired your almost-mate as your secretary," I said flatly.

Marcus slammed his mug down on the counter, tea sloshing over the sides. "For the last time, Ava was never my 'almost-mate.' That's pack gossip, not reality."

"Her mother certainly thought differently. So did half the council."

"Half the council can kiss my—" He caught himself, taking a deep breath. "Look, what matters is what I thought, and I never saw Ava that way. Ever."

"Then why hide it from me?" I challenged.

"Because I knew you'd react exactly like this!" He gestured wildly at me. "Getting all worked up over nothing!" He approached me slowly. "Ella, there's nothing between Ava and me. There never was, not the way you're thinking."

I stared at Marcus, torn between wanting to believe him and the nagging voice in my head that kept replaying all those whispers and looks from pack members who thought I wasn't good enough. The way Ava had stood in my kitchen like she belonged there.

"I just wish you'd told me," I said, my voice softer now. "Finding out from Jackson that you arranged for her to pick him up... it felt like you were hiding something."

"I wasn't hiding anything. I didn't think it was important to bother you when you've been so busy."

"Bother me?" I repeated, feeling my temper flare again. "I'm your mate, Marcus. Your Luna. Not some fragile thing you need to protect from every little decision."

He stepped closer, his eyes darkening. "You're right. I should have told you."

"Damn right, you should have."

His lips quirked up at one corner. "You're sexy when you're angry."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't try to distract me."

"I'm not," he said, closing the distance between us. His hand came up to cup my cheek. "I'm just stating a fact."

Before I could respond, he bent down and captured my lips with his. My body responded instantly, a familiar heat spreading through me. I wanted to stay mad, to finish our discussion, but my traitorous body had other ideas.

"Marcus," I mumbled against his lips, "we need to talk about this."

"Later," he growled, scooping me up like I weighed nothing.

"Jackson—"

"Is asleep," he finished, already carrying me toward our bedroom.

We tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing. His touch was tender and possessive, a contradiction that had always defined us. My hands traced the planes of his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips as he moved above me.

"Mine," he growled.

"Prove it," I challenged.

And he did. He reclaimed every inch of me with hands, lips, and whispered words, erasing my doubts with each touch. I surrendered to the sensations, to the feeling of rightness that had always existed between us despite everything.

The world condensed to the two of us, with shared breaths, racing hearts, and the ancient rhythm that intertwined our souls. His scent surrounded me, claiming me as his in the most primal manner.

"Ella," he breathed, my name a prayer on his lips.

I responded in kind, my body arching to meet his, my senses heightened to catch every nuance of his expression.

"I love you," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. "Only you. Always you."

I believed him. At that moment, with his heartbeat strong beneath my ear and his arms secure around me, I believed him completely. The doubts would return, but for now, they were silenced.

I woke the next morning with a smile and a delicious soreness between my legs. Marcus had already left for work, but the indent of his body remained on the sheets beside me, and I stretched luxuriously, inhaling his lingering scent.

"Things are going to be better now," I whispered to myself, believing it with every fiber of my being.

For a few days, they were.

Marcus came home at a decent hour. He played with Jackson, kissed me like I was precious, and even brought me wildflowers one evening, their stems wrapped in a piece of twine.

But then, slowly, things began to change.

The first time he came home late, I didn't think much of it. Alpha business often kept him occupied well into the evening. The second time, I made him a plate and left it in the warming oven. By the third time, I was starting to notice a pattern.

"Another late night?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light as he slipped into bed beside me.

"Mmm," he mumbled, already half asleep. "Lots to do."

I turned to face him in the darkness. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. Just busy." He yawned. "Go back to sleep."

I did, but not before noticing the unfamiliar scent clinging to his clothes. A sweet, floral perfume that definitely wasn't mine. My stomach twisted into knots, but I pushed the thought away. Maybe he'd been near someone at work who wore that scent. Maybe it was nothing.

But it happened again. And again.

The perfume became more noticeable. More persistent.

I tried to ignore it. I tried to focus on our son Jackson and on keeping our home warm and welcoming. I threw myself into my work at the clinic, healing others while my heart ached uncertainly. The irony was not lost on me; I could mend broken bones but couldn't fix whatever was breaking in my marriage.

I cooked his favorite meals, wore the lingerie he liked, the black lace and deep red silk that once made his eyes light up, and sent Jackson to bed early so we could have time alone, creating those precious moments of connection I desperately hoped would bring him back to me.

But Marcus was always "too tired," "too stressed," or "too much on his mind."

Two weeks passed like this. Then three. I felt myself shrinking, becoming smaller, quieter, and more desperate for his attention. I hated it.

Then came the lipstick.

I was sorting laundry when I found it: a smear of bright red on the collar of his white shirt. It was the kind of red that screamed confidence, which I never wore because Marcus once mentioned he preferred me in softer colors.