Chapter 2

Cynthia did not return to the Radcliffe mansion that night.

It had never really been her home, anyway.

She checked into a quiet downtown hotel. She sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the television.

The live footage was already playing.

Her submitted video had worked. Aurelia was walking out of the police station—and the moment her sister stepped into the open, the reporters descended like hawks.

"Miss Aurelia! Is it true you were speeding?"

"Were you driving under the influence?"

"Did you really try to pin this on your own sister?"

The questions flew like stones. Aurelia stumbled back, her carefully curated composure cracking. She blinked rapidly, her lower lip trembling—that same practiced fragility Cynthia had seen a thousand times. But this time, there was real fear beneath it. The cameras weren't forgiving. The crowd wasn't playing along.

"Please—I—I don't—" Aurelia stammered, shrinking against the station's doorway.

And then, like clockwork, Kane appeared.

He moved through the chaos like a knight in shining armor, shoving past reporters and stepping squarely between them and Aurelia. His presence alone was enough to make several journalists lower their microphones.

"Alpha Kane! Were you aware of the hit-and-run?"

"Is it true your Luna was asked to take the blame?"

"What's your response to the evidence submitted tonight?"

Kane's jaw tightened. But when he spoke, his voice was ice—and absolute.

"Aurelia Ramsdale is under my personal protection," he said, each word deliberate. "Whatever mistakes were made, I will answer for them. You want someone to blame? Blame me. I guarantee you—every single one of you—that she will face nothing further. Now step back."

He didn't just defend her. He staked his name on her innocence. His reputation as an Alpha. His word as a Radcliffe.

And the crowd parted.

Cynthia watched, frozen, as Kane wrapped an arm around her sister and guided her toward the waiting car. He opened the door himself. He made sure Aurelia was settled before he even glanced at the reporters again.

But just before the door closed, Cynthia saw something the cameras might have missed.

Her twin sons—Justin and Harry—were already inside. And as Aurelia slid onto the seat, both boys lunged forward and wrapped their arms around her in a tight, desperate embrace. They held her like she was the one they couldn't bear to lose.

The door shut. The car pulled away.

Cynthia reached for the remote and turned off the television.

The screen went black. But the image stayed burned into her eyes.

She had told herself she couldn't hurt anymore. After the slap. After the confession. After her own sons looked at her like a stranger.

But watching Kane stand like a shield for another woman? Watching her children cling to her sister with a love they had never once shown her?

The cruel truth settled over her like a second skin.

Kane had always had the power to protect her. He simply chose not to. The moment a sacrifice was needed, she was the one he offered up. And her sons had more warmth and loyalty for Aurelia in that single embrace than they had shown Cynthia in five years.

What a complete and utter failure she had been in this marriage.

She closed her eyes. The ache in her chest threatened to swallow her whole.

She picked up her phone and typed a single message to Elena:

Speed up the divorce. I want out before the week ends.

Then she set the phone down, lay back on the unfamiliar hotel pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, she would begin again.

Three days passed.

Three days without Cynthia. Without her quiet footsteps in the hallway. Without the scent of coffee brewing exactly the way he liked it each morning. Three days of silence where her voice should have been.

And then, instead of his Luna, Kane received a package.

He tore it open in his study, still half-convinced it was some kind of mistake. But the letterhead didn't lie. Neither did the signature at the bottom—Cynthia Radcliffe—written in a hand he knew as well as his own.

The divorce papers landed on his desk like a gauntlet thrown at his feet.

Kane gripped the document so hard his knuckles went white. His jaw clenched. His wolf stirred restlessly beneath his skin.

"Where is she?" The question came out low, dangerous.

His Beta, Parker, answered through the mind link. "She's been staying at the Grand Elite Hotel, Alpha. No one has entered her room except her divorce attorney."

Kane let out a slow breath. Still in the city. Still close.

See? he told himself—and his wolf. She hasn't gone far. She's just making a scene. Trying to make me beg.

His fingers loosened slightly around the papers. Five years of marriage, and she had never defied him like this. Never pushed back. Never drawn a line and dared him to cross it.

She wanted him to come crawling.

Well, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"She seems serious this time," his wolf growled from somewhere deep in his chest. "You should go to her."

Kane scoffed aloud. "Serious? Don't tell me you actually believe her little act."

"She is our mate."

"She was never supposed to be. She stole what belonged to Aurelia."

His wolf let out a low, bitter laugh inside his head. "Keep telling yourself that. But when you lose her for good, don't say I didn't warn you."

Kane shoved the wolf's voice down and turned back to his desk. He didn't have time for this. He had real problems to solve.

Aurelia's career was crumbling.

He had paid the victim's family a fortune. He had buried the worst of the news stories. But the damage was already done. Two of Aurelia's major sponsors had pulled out overnight. A prestigious dance gala had rescinded her invitation, citing "public image concerns." And the online comments—Kane had seen them himself—were brutal.

"Hit-and-run princess."

"Lock her up."

"She's finished."

He mind-linked Parker back into the room.

"What's the status on the damage control?"

Parker flipped open his tablet. "The sponsors are hesitant to reinstate her. But we've arranged a series of charitable appearances—children's hospitals, a donation to the city's dance program for underprivileged kids. If she plays the role well, public sympathy might shift."

"See that it does," Kane said flatly. "And get her a media coach. She needs to look sorry, not scared."

"Already done, Alpha."

Kane nodded and turned back to the stack of pack business that had piled up on his desk. Territory disputes. Budget approvals. A dozen small fires that needed his attention.

Hours passed.

By evening, exhaustion had settled into his bones. He rubbed his temples and opened his mouth without thinking.

"Cynthia—coffee."

The words hung in the empty air.

No reply. No soft footsteps approaching. No familiar scent of vanilla and warm coffee drifting through the door.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing.

Then he pressed the intercom. "Someone bring me coffee."

A servant appeared minutes later with a steaming cup. Kane took one sip and nearly set it down again.

Too bitter. Wrong temperature. Not the way Cynthia made it.

He forced himself to drink it anyway.

Across the hall, his sons' rooms were quiet—for now. He hadn't realized how much of their daily lives Cynthia had managed until she was gone. Who made sure their uniforms were pressed? Who remembered Harry's allergy medication? Who sang to Justin when he couldn't sleep?

"She did," his wolf whispered. "She did all of it."

Kane pushed the thought away.

Then the storm hit.

Rain lashed against the windows in sheets. Thunder rolled across the sky like something alive. And from down the hall, Kane heard it—a sharp, terrified scream.

He was on his feet before he knew it.

Harry's nanny, Anna, appeared in the doorway, her face pale. "Alpha Kane—it's Harry. The thunder—he's terrified. He won't stop crying. I've tried everything."

Kane strode past her into his son's room.

Harry was curled into a tight ball on his bed, his small body shaking with sobs. His hands were clamped over his ears, his face buried in his pillow.

"Harry." Kane sat on the edge of the bed and reached for him. "It's just thunder. It can't hurt you."

But Harry flinched away from his touch. "I want Mama!" he wailed, his voice raw. "I want Mama!"

Kane tried again. He tried holding him. He tried explaining that storms passed. He tried to be patient, to be gentle, to be everything Cynthia had always been.

Nothing worked.

Harry screamed louder. His breathing turned jagged. The kind of panic Kane had only ever seen him fall into before—and it was always Cynthia who pulled him back.

"I said—" Kane's voice rose, frustration bleeding into anger—"it's just thunder!"

Harry only cried harder.

Finally, Kane stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to Anna. His voice was sharp, desperate, nothing like the Alpha he was supposed to be.

"Call her."

"Alpha?"

"You heard me!" Kane's fist slammed against the wall. "Call Cynthia. Tell her—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Tell her Harry needs her. Now."

Anna scrambled for her phone.

And Kane stood there in his son's bedroom, rain hammering against the glass, and tried not to think about why his hands were shaking.