Seven Years As His Secret

The midnight air still burned with the violent, suffocating scent of an Alpha's pheromones.

But to a human like me, it was nothing.

I looked down at the nightlight on the bedside table. Zenas had given it to me himself. It changed color based on the strength of his pheromones.

Right now, it glowed as bright as a real moon.

"Leaving already?"

Zenas didn't even blink. He coldly buttoned his custom suit, refused to spare me a single glance, and slammed the door behind him.

He left behind a wrecked bed and a room choked with dead silence.

I walked barefoot across the cold carpet, staring at my flawless face in the mirror.

Usually, he would wait until I fell asleep before he left.

Just because I asked for a private apartment?

Seven years.

Ever since he dragged me out of a bloody nightmare and kept me like a caged bird in this downtown penthouse, I thought every deep, lingering night meant true love.

How ridiculous. He was the supreme ruler of the most dangerous werewolf pack in North America, yet he was too stingy to give me a small house of my own.

I didn't cry. I didn't call him to interrogate him like a jealous wife.

I knew his temper better than anyone—obediently submissive, he was a god; defiant, he was a monster.

Even though I was the only human who knew his true identity, I never dared push my luck.

I turned and walked straight to the walk-in closet, heading for the built-in safe at the very back.

The password was the day we got together.

Inside sat six sets of priceless, multi-million-dollar colored diamond jewelry from underground auctions. They were trophies he had spent fortunes on, each piece branded with his arrogant desire to claim me.

Naturally, they were the most expensive pieces in the auction house.

I took out the very first set he gave me.

As for the other five, I photographed the details with my phone and emailed them straight to the encrypted inbox of New York's biggest underground private pawnbroker.

"Five sets. All or nothing. Cash today."

A second later, a reply came: "Ms. Stone, standard deal. Thirty percent value."

"Seventy percent. Delivered tonight."

"Deal."

I tossed my phone onto the floor, locked the safe, and felt not a shred of regret.

That night, I slept more peacefully than ever before.

The next morning.

My best friend Roxy's ear-piercing call jerked me hard out of deep sleep.

"Ava! Look at the financial daily headline right now!"

I lazily swiped my screen.

A blazing exclusive news alert and a grid of nine HD photos stabbed straight into my eyes.

In the photos, Zenas, the supreme ruler of the North American Hale Corporation, was meeting in secret with Natalia, the prized heiress of the Russell family, at a private luxury estate.

What stung the most was the custom cashmere overcoat Natalia wore draped over her shoulders.

On the inside left collar, my handwriting was embroidered in gold thread—the letter A.

The whole internet knew that logo. It was my brand's signature, drawn by my own hand.

I scrolled down. The comment section was already flooded.

[A match made in heaven! So jealous!]

[Omg, true power couple goals!]

It was full of blessings. No one knew he was keeping me hidden away like a cheap canary.

I thought for a moment and logged into the internal network of the Hale Pack.

The live comments updated instantly.

Every single werewolf was mocking me—a dirty, shameless human mate squatting in a place I didn't belong.

I stared at the screen, the corners of my red lips curving into a faint, cold smirk.

I even casually liked a top comment cursing me for not knowing my place.

"Ava! What is wrong with you? That jerk is publicly parading another woman around! You used to say you kept it secret to protect your career, but what about now?"

On the other end of the line, Roxy's voice shook with rage. "Where are you? I'm going to tear that scumbag apart!"

I cut her off, my voice as calm as if we were discussing the weather.

"Roxy, save your anger."

"I pawned all the jewelry. Tonight, the highest-end Michelin three-star restaurant in Manhattan. My treat."

I hung up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the cold, cruel skyline of Manhattan.

The glass reflected my breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous face.

Was I sad?

Seven years of affection turned out to be nothing more than a transactional game priced out in cold cash.

I pulled away from the glass, typed out a message, and hit send to the number that had haunted my life for seven years:

[I'm done playing. We're over.]