Chapter 3
I stared at Maximilian’s sleeping face, my fingers closing around the second phone he always kept hidden. He’d claimed it
was for “work,” and for years I never questioned it.
One try. The screen lit up.
His passcode? Scarlett’s birthday.
The screen lit up with their wedding photo, her white dress stabbing at my eyes.
He’d actually taken wedding photos with her…
My hand trembled as I opened his messages.
He called her “my dearest Honey,” “my only Mate.”
The message threads went back months, maybe years-long, intimate exchanges that made my stomach twist.
Every time he told me he was leaving the pack for “business,” he was running off to be with her.
I used to sulk about how he never came with me to the hospital. Every checkup, I went alone. The healers would ask, “Where’s the father?” and I’d lie through a strained smile-“Busy with Alpha duties.”
He always texted back late, offering the same vague excuses: [I’m doing all this for Buddy’s future.]
[Prenatal appointments aren’t a big deal. I’d ju
s.]
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But he never missed a single appointment wi
Every scan, every craving, every swollen ankle-he was right there, doting on her like she was the center of his universe.
He texted her daily: [I can’t wait to meet our pup.]
[You and the baby are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.]
I kept scrolling, the nausea building. Then I found their chats from every time I was pregnant-and every time I lost the baby.
The car crash a year ago? Planned.
Scarlett had wanted to “feel the thrill” of hitting someone. Maximilian told her to go for it-“Just don’t kill her.”
They talked about it like it was nothing. As casual as discussing the weather.
My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms until blood welled up in tiny red crescents.
I opened his photo gallery.
Thousands of images. All Scarlett. Her sleeping face. Her baby bump. Her holding his hand, laughing, glowing.
So many photos. Him cooking for her. Rubbing her swollen feet. Holding her close, her head resting on his chest-as if she were the one he vowed to love.
Then I found the videos.
Over ninety of them. I clicked through a few, and bile surged in my throat.
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like a twisted documentary.
Some videos were even roleplay.
Maximilian… dressed as a servant. Kneeling. Begging to touch her.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Then I saw a folder labeled:
“First.”
“Second.”
“Third.”
Up to Sixth.
My vision blurred. I opened the sixth, revealing Maximilian and Scarlett stood laughing beside a surgical table.
She picked up a scalpel, her hands delicate, practiced.
Before them lay my unborn pup. Tiny. Fragile.
Scarlett tilted her head and giggled. “Look how small it is.”
The screen blurred behind my tears.
The blade hovered, then moved downward.
It felt like the steel cut through me.
My stomach twisted, bile rising. I doubled over the edge of the bed and vomited until there was nothing left.
Inside me, the mate bond frayed-thin, brittle threads snapping one by one.
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I lay there, soaked in sweat and tears, barely breathing.
Morning came.
As if nothing happened, Maximilian entered with breakfast on a tray-milk, toast, caramel pudding, and scrambled eggs.
Scrambled eggs.
In ten years, he never once remembered I was allergic to eggs.
I used to tell myself he was just forgetful. That this was his way of showing love-clumsy, distant love.
Now I knew better. He never cared.
The memory of those videos rushed back, and I lurched over the sheets, retching again.
Maximilian reached for me, voice laced with pretend concern, eyes cold and unreadable.
“You’re still not feeling well?” he said softly. “I’m so sorry, Juliette. You’ve suffered so much.”
“It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “I want to go back to the packhouse.”
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cause more trouble. Give it time.”
I didn’t respond.
His phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand, Scarlett no doubt waiting on the other end.
“Rest well,” he said. “I’ll come for you soon.”
Then he was gone.
“Do you still hope for anything from that traitor?”
My wolf’s voice was faint, worn thin with grief.
“No.” I stared at the ceiling.
“I’m going to make them pay. For everything.”
