Chapter 6

Marcus's eyes blazed with Alpha fury as he stared down at Celeste. The air in the room grew thick with his dominance, pressing against her like invisible chains.

"You think you can threaten me in my own house?" His voice was deadly calm. "You poisoned Raven. You attacked her. And now you dare to show disrespect to your Alpha?"

Celeste's wolf whimpered under the crushing weight of his aura, but she forced herself to stand straight. Her healing wounds screamed in protest, but she wouldn't bow. Not anymore.

"I didn't do anything wrong and I'm not apologizing." she said through gritted teeth.

Marcus's patience snapped. He turned to the pack guards who had appeared at his call. "Don't hold back," he said. "Give her the punishment she deserves."

The guards hesitated. They had known Celeste for years. She had healed their children, managed their finances, been nothing but kind to their families.

"Alpha," one of them said carefully, "perhaps we should wait for the pack elders to—"

"Now!" Marcus roared.

They dragged her to the courtyard behind the house. The silver whip gleamed in the sunlight and ready to strike. Celeste's hands were bound to an iron post with her back exposed.

"Admit your mistake," the guard said before the first lash fell.

The silver burned through her dress and into her skin. Pain spread across her back as her wolf howled in agony. Silver wounds couldn't heal properly—they would scar forever.

"I did nothing wrong," she whispered.

The second lash fell. Then the third.

With each strike, they asked the same question.

And each time, her answer remained the same.

By the thirtieth, she could barely feel her legs. The silver poisoning was spreading through her system, making her wolf whimper in pain.

Through the haze of pain, she heard Raven's voice from the house. "Marcus, don't you think this is enough? I feel terrible that she's being punished because of me."

The thirty-third lash sent lightning through her spine. Celeste's vision went black, and she collapsed against the post, unconscious.

When she woke three days later, her body was on fire. Not from the lashes—though those still burned—but from the fever that had taken hold. Her wolf was too weak to fight the silver poisoning.

The pack doctor had done what he could, but silver wounds required time and rest to heal.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Damien's name flashed on the screen.

"I'm three hours away," his voice was rough with concern. "Pack light. We leave tonight."

Celeste forced herself to sit up, ignoring the way her back screamed in protest. She needed to pack, but as she looked around the basement room, she realized she had almost nothing left that mattered.

Just her ID. Everything else in this house belonged to Marcus or held memories she wanted to forget.

Her phone rang again. This time It was Sarah, her former assistant at Marcus's company.

"Luna Celeste," Sarah's voice was frantic. "Please tell me you're coming back. Everything's falling apart here. Ms. Raven tried to handle the Morrison account, and she accidentally sent our competitor's proposal to them instead of ours. We lost a two-million-dollar deal!"

Celeste almost laughed—if her throat hadn't hurt too much. The Morrison account was her baby. She'd spent months nurturing that relationship.

"And that's not even the worst part," Sarah continued. "She somehow deleted the entire client database. Five years of contacts, gone. Alpha Marcus is furious, but he's blaming everyone except her."

Another call came through—it was Michael, one of the board members.

"Celeste, thank God you picked up. We need you back immediately. Raven's incompetence is going to bankrupt us. She gave our trade secrets to a reporter, thinking it was a potential investor!"

The desperation in his voice was almost amusing. These same board members had stood silent when Marcus humiliated her in meetings, letting him take credit for her work.

"Our company stock has dropped thirty percent in three days," Michael pleaded. "Only you know how to fix this. Please—"

Celeste cut him off mid-sentence. "I don't work for the company anymore. Handle your own problems."

She hung up and immediately blocked the number.

For four years, she had been Marcus's shield. When investors were angry, she took their calls. When deals went wrong, she fixed them quietly. When the pack finances were struggling, she used her own connections to save them.

She had never told Marcus about any of it. She hadn't wanted him to feel obligated to her.

What a fool she had been.

Celeste dragged herself to the study upstairs, her movements slow and painful. From her bag, she pulled out a small flash drive and connected it to Marcus's computer.

She copied everything—the security footage of Raven drugging the tea she later claimed Celeste had poisoned. The financial records showing how much money Celeste had quietly funneled into the pack from her accounts. The medical reports from her miscarriage that Marcus had never bothered to read.

And one more thing. A recording from Raven's phone that Celeste had found while cleaning the Luna suite. Raven's confession to a friend about her European lover, about how she had planned to return and reclaim Marcus, about how easy it was to manipulate him.

She saved it all to the drive and placed it in the safe alongside the rejection papers.

Her phone buzzed with message after message from Marcus.

*Celeste, the shareholders are panicking. Where are you? Raven made some mistakes, but she's learning. I need you to smooth things over.*

*Stop being dramatic and get back to work. This is bigger than your feelings.*

*Damn it, Celeste, answer me! If you don't handle the Morrison situation, I'll dock your salary for the entire month.*

The messages grew more desperate as the minutes passed.

*Fine. I'm sorry about the whipping. I was angry and went too far. But you can't just disappear when the pack needs you.*

*Raven feels terrible about everything. She wants to apologize. Can't we all just move past this?*

Celeste blocked his number and deleted every trace of him from her phone.

A car horn honked outside. Through the window, she saw a sleek black car waiting in the driveway. Damien.

She had erased herself from this house as completely as Marcus had erased her from his heart.

Outside, beside a limited-edition Bentley Mulliner Bacalar, a guy stood in a perfectly tailored suit.

Damien held a faux but everlasting white tulip bouquet, the sunlight outlining his figure.

He met her eyes.

“Celeste ,” he muttered, “I’ve come to take you home.”

Chapter 7

When the black Bentley car pulled up, her heart jumped and sank at the same time.

Damien stepped out. He looked exactly the same as three years ago—tall and confident. But his eyes were different now. Colder.

“Celeste.” He said her name like it was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.

She walked toward him slowly. Her back still hurt from the whipping. Everything hurt, actually.

“You came.” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

His eyes moved to her bag. Just one small backpack. That was it. Three years of marriage, and this was all she had.

“This is everything?” he asked.

She nodded. “I didn’t need much there.”

Something flickered across his face. Anger, maybe. Or pity. She wasn’t sure which one it was.

“Forget it.” He walked toward her. “We’ll get you new things once we get home. Whatever you want. Clothes, jewelry, books. Anything.”

Celeste shook her head. “I don’t need those things anymore.”

“Celeste—”

“I really don’t.”

He stopped walking. For a moment, they just looked at each other. He was trying to figure out what had changed. Why the girl who used to love shopping and pretty dresses now stood before him with nothing but a backpack and hollow eyes.

“Let’s go,” she said, moving toward the car.

She turned to walk to his car. That’s when his breath caught.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice was sharp. “What happened to your shoulder?”

Celeste knew what he had seen. The raised marks across her shoulder blades where the silver whip had cut deepest. Even through the shirt, they were visible.

His hands were on her before she could stop him. His gentle fingers touched the spot where her shoulder blade pushed against her skin .

“Did Marcus do this to you?” Damien’s grip tightened. “Did he hurt you?”

“Damien—”

The fury in his voice made her wolf whimper. Not from fear. This was what it sounded like when someone actually cared.

“I’ll kill him.” He turned toward the house as if ready to march inside. “I swear to God, I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.”

“He’s not here.” She grabbed his arm. “And I don’t want you to fight him.”

“You’re defending him?” His eyes blazed. “Look at yourself, Celeste. You’re skin and bones, you’re covered in scars, and you’re defending the man who did this to you?”

“No,I’m not defending him.” Celeste placed her hand over his. “I’m telling you this is my fight. Not yours.”

“Your fight?” He laughed,humorless. “You’ve been fighting alone for three years. Look how that turned out.”

The words stung because they were true. But she couldn’t let him see that.

“Damien, listen to me.” Celeste stepped closer. “I called you because I chose you. Not because I need you to save me. I chose you.”

The anger remained, but it softened. Something in her voice must have convinced him.

“You chose me,” he repeated, testing the words.

“Yes.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head.

“Alright.” He bent down and picked her up before she could protest. She gasped at the sudden movement, but he was gentle, careful of her healing wounds.

“But we’re doing this my way from now on.” He said.

Celeste wanted to argue, but she was so tired. His arms were warm. And for the first time in years, someone was being gentle with her.

“You’re too thin,” he murmured as he carried her to the car. “When did you eat last?”

She couldn’t remember. Food had lost all taste weeks ago.

He settled her into the passenger seat like she was made of glass. The leather was soft, expensive. The car smelled of his cologne—dark and woody, making her feel safe.

“Buckle up,” he said. “We’re going home.”

*********

Marcus got home at eight o’clock, just like every other night. He called her name as he walked through the door.

“Celeste?” he called, dropping his briefcase by the door.

Usually, she would have been waiting. She would have taken his coat, asked about his day. The routine they had fallen into over the past three years.

“Celeste?” His voice echoed in the empty hallway.

He checked the kitchen first. Then the living room. The study. Their bedroom.

Nothing.

He felt irritation in his chest. She’d been moody lately, but this was taking it too far. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

“The number you have dialed is not available.”

His frown deepened. He tried texting instead.

*Celeste, enough with the dramatics. I know you’re upset about Raven staying here, but she’s family. You’re being childish.*

The message bounced back immediately. A red exclamation mark appeared beside it.

She’d blocked him.

“Sir?” One of the maids appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Celeste asked me to tell you something.”

Marcus looked up sharply. “What?”

“She left this afternoon. Said to tell you she left your anniversary gift in the safe.”

The irritation in his chest shifted to something else. Amusement, maybe. Of course she had. Celeste never could resist making grand gestures when she was upset.

This was just another one of her games. Run away for a few days, make him worry, then come back expecting apologies and attention.

He almost smiled as he climbed the stairs to his study. Every year, she insisted on celebrating their wedding anniversary. Always with some handmade gift or carefully planned surprise. He had learned to expect it. Even looked forward to it, if he was being honest.

The safe opened with a soft beep. He reached inside, expecting something wrapped in tissue paper. Maybe a photo album or one of her painted canvases.

Instead, his fingers closed around a single sheet of paper.

He pulled it out, still smiling slightly.

The smile died the moment he read the header.

LETTER OF RESIGNATION