Alexa POV

I sprinted through the sliding glass doors of the JFK Private Aviation Terminal. My heart slammed against my ribs, still reeling from the stranger’s sharp, electric touch. I kept my eyes forward, weaving through the crowd with one thought only: escape. But primal instinct forced me to glance back.

He was still there.

The towering Lycan stood among the crowd, his dark, deadly eyes locked firmly on me.

Dread washed over me. I raised my hand and waved for a taxi, sliding into the worn leather backseat and slammed the door shut.

“Manhattan. Now,” I gasped.

The cab merged into traffic. I slumped against the seat and pulled out my phone and replayed the dashcam footage in silence.

Floyd's hand was on Charlotte's hip. Charlotte's smile. The way they moved together, as if they had already done it a hundred times before.

I realized clearly: their affair had lasted months, maybe longer. Every late night and solo Floyd's business trip suddenly made sick sense.

I did not cry. The hidden True Alpha blood in my veins turned every hurt cold and hard. By the time the cab reached the Alexander Pack Manor’s gates, I had settled my resolve. I would not beg or break. I would give them what they wanted, then leave for good.

I paid the fare and walked up to the manor doors. Inside, the scent of lilies and floor wax greeted me, mixed with bright laughter from the living room. They were celebrating.

I walked toward the noise and paused in the arched doorway.

Uncle Barret read his newspaper calmly in his armchair. Aunt Kenda sipped tea. Floyd and Charlotte lounged comfortably on the sofa, acting as if they belonged while I was the intruder.

Floyd’s face paled the second he saw me, his hands shaking as he set down his drink. Charlotte instantly put on her warm, fake smile and hurried over.

“Alexa! We were so worried about you with this bad weather!”

I sidestepped her. She stumbled, and her innocent mask slipped for a split second before she recovered. “Alexa? What’s wrong?”

Barret slammed his newspaper onto the coffee table with a sharp crack.

“How dare you disrespect your sister like this?” he barked.

I didn't answer.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and AirDropped the dashcam footage to the living room TV.The screen flickered to life.

Charlotte's voice filled the room.

"Tell me I'm better than her."

Floyd didn't hesitate.

"You are. God... you are."

Their intimate voices echoed through the silent living room.A sharp gasp escaped Kenda. Her teacup slipped from her trembling hands and shattered across the rug, tea splashing over the expensive carpet.

For a long second, no one moved.The color drained from Floyd's face.

"Alexa, wait!" His voice cracked. "Please, let me explain!"

Charlotte reacted just as quickly. Panic flashed across her face as she looked toward Barret. Then she collapsed onto her knees, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook violently as perfectly timed sobs poured out of her.

I remained where I was, my arms folded across my chest.

To my own surprise, I felt almost unnaturally calm.

I'd expected the lies.The excuses.The desperate performance.What I hadn't expected was to feel nothing at all.

My eyes shifted to Barret.The head of the family.My uncle.The man who had stood beside my father's hospital bed and promised he would always protect me.

I waited for him to keep that promise.

To throw the two traitors out of this house.

Barret's face shifted from disbelief... to shock... to seething fury.

His glare locked onto Floyd, burning with unmistakable rage.For one brief moment, hope flickered inside me.Then something changed.

The fury in his eyes cooled into calculation.

Slowly, deliberately, his gaze left Floyd and settled on me.

The hope inside me died.

Barret slowly raised one thick finger and pointed it straight at me.

"How do you handle household chores like this?" Barret shouted, spittle flying over the coffee table, "By exposing our family's flaws on a TV screen like a reality show? You have no manners, no shame! No respect! You dare bring this trash into my house!"

In that moment, I finally understood. He did not care about my betrayal or my pain. He only cared about scandal, stock prices, and the Kensington alliance. He had never cared about me.

Kenda eagerly protects his daughter, glaring sharply at me. “This is your fault, Alexa! Your coldness and obsession with work pushed Floyd away. You treated him like an employee, not a fiancé. You drove him to her.”

Their shameless audacity left me speechless.

Buoyed by the family’s support, Floyd straightened up and shifted all blame to me. “Kenda is right,” Floyd said, his voice becoming more confident, “Alexa, you’ve never been emotionally invested. I tried. God knows I tried. But you’re like a wall. I need real connection. Charlotte gave it to me. She understands me.”

Charlotte peeked through her fingers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Sister, I didn't intentionally fall for him. It just happened. Please forgive me."

Barret cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his shirt. He looked at Floyd, then at Charlotte, and then turned to look at me.

“To avoid public scandal,” Barrett coldly announced, “the engagement will proceed as planned.”

I let out a dark, humorless laugh. The sound scraped my throat. "You expect me to marry him again?"

Barret looked at me as if I were an idiot. "No. The engagement will be transferred to Charlotte. She and Floyd are clearly a better match. The board needs a family union. The stock price can't afford a scandal."

Kenda nodded in agreement, stroking Charlotte's hair. "Alexa, you need to make concessions for your sister's happiness. Think about the company. Think about the family."

Floyd walked over to Charlotte, taking her hand. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a hint of pity.

"Alexa, I'm sorry things turned out this way. But you and I were never meant to be. You'll eventually find someone. "

I looked at the four of them—uncle, aunt, sister, fiancé—united to rewrite the truth and paint me as the villain. Years of trying to prove myself, of swallowing my pride for this family, shattered completely. All my lingering affection vanished.

I felt a cold, hollow resolve settle over me. No tears, no anger. I simply nodded slowly.

A faint, icy smile touched my lips, never reaching my eyes. “Okay,” I said softly.

The room fell completely silent. “Okay?” Charlotte repeated, confused and tense.

I turned and walked out, leaving them frozen in their petty victory. No one called after me. To them, I was already gone.

I stopped outside my father’s old study, the former True Alpha’s sanctum. He had taught me honor and leadership, and he had believed in me. I was now without family, fiancé, or pack—effectively a rogue in this house.

Yet the cold in my blood did not weaken me. It ignited into unshakable fire. I would never beg for a place that never wanted me. I would build my own future.

I turned toward the stairs. It was time to pack and leave. They had chosen their side. Now I would choose mine.

Alexa POV

I walked toward my bedroom without a single glance back. The soft cream walls and vintage French oak furniture that had once been my safest haven now closed in around me, turning the familiar comfort into a gilded, suffocating cage. I dragged my worn Louis Vuitton duffel down from the closet top and tossed my clothes inside one after another. My trivial belongings did not matter, though. The true leverage rested in the bag’s side pocket: an encrypted hard drive holding every corrupt detail of the Thompson project.

I stopped in front of my vanity. Gilded frames lined its surface, each holding a photo of Barret and Kenda. Their grins felt deliberate, as if they had long hidden a cruel secret at my expense. I swept the frames up in one sharp motion and tossed them straight into the metal trash can. Glass shattered with a crisp, satisfying crack. I did not spare the broken shards a second look.

A sharp knock sliced through the heavy silence of the room. Georgetta, the Beta head maid, pushed the door open without waiting for my permission. Her expression was carefully blank, the stale camphor scent of her uniform drifting in to blanket the air.

“Barret wants the Maxwell engagement ring,” she said, her voice flat and devoid of any warmth. “He’s having it polished for Charlotte to wear tomorrow.”

I stared at her for a long beat, letting the sheer absurdity of the situation sink into my bones. Slowly, I twisted the heavy diamond ring off my finger and flicked it hard toward her chest. It bounced off her collarbone and clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, stripped of all its value, no more precious than a cheap carnival trinket.

Then I left. For good.

I took the narrow back staircase instead of the grand main hall. I would never give these traitors the satisfaction of watching me flee with my tail tucked. The dim back corridor reeked of harsh bleach. I slipped through the industrial kitchen, passing wide-eyed Omega maids and frozen, silent chefs. Not a single person moved to stop me. Not one dared speak. I did not slow my pace until I cleared the towering iron front gates, standing alone on the frigid street with nothing but my duffel bag. I was adrift now—no Pack, no family, no mate. Completely rogue.

I hailed a yellow cab and dialed Andrea Silva before the vehicle’s doors fully clicked shut. By the time we rumbled over Soho’s cobblestone streets, I had spilled every ugly truth: Floyd’s schemes, the damning dashcam footage, Barret’s cold betrayal, and the farcical engagement ring. Over the speaker, I heard her Beta wolf rumble a low, dangerous growl.

The taxi screeched to a halt outside Andrea’s attic loft. The second the heavy metal door slid open, her signature warm citrus scent washed over me. It usually calmed my frayed nerves, but tonight, the familiar fragrance only pressed heavier on my chest, amplifying the chaos swirling inside me.

Andrea was pacing frantically behind her marble kitchen island, her heels striking the hardwood in sharp, rapid succession. Each loop grew tighter, her fists clenched so fiercely her knuckles blanched white. The moment she laid eyes on me, she snatched a bottle of tequila off the counter.

She slammed two shot glasses down on the coffee table hard enough to make them rattle, then filled both to the brim in a single, furious pour. It looked less like a toast and more like an attempt to drown her burning rage.

I curled my fingers around one glass but made no move to drink. After a thick, heavy silence, I forced the truth out loud.

“Andrea… I think the board is going to dismiss me soon.”

The words hung thick and unshakable between us.

“Once I’m out, Barret won’t hesitate. He’ll strip every single thing I’ve built from the company and use it to solidify his power.”

Andrea froze. The room dropped into a deathly quiet for a single heartbeat—then she exploded.

“What?” She spun toward me, her voice cracking like a whip, disbelief and fury blazing bright in her dark eyes.

“That company is as much yours as it is anyone’s! Every deal, every sleepless night, every sacrifice—you bleed for that empire!” She raked a frustrated hand through her hair, then slammed both palms against the marble countertop, the crash echoing sharply through the loft.

“No. I won’t let them get away with this.” She resumed pacing, faster and more agitated than before, her breathing ragged. “We’ll leak the dashcam footage. Hand it straight to the press and expose every last one of Floyd’s lies.” Her tone turned cold and razor-sharp. “We’ll ruin his reputation and drag the entire Maxwell family into the public eye.”

She stepped forward, locking her gaze firmly on mine. “Ermine Maxwell and your uncle only care about one thing—their pristine reputation. If that video goes public, public opinion will tear them apart. They’ll have no choice but to fold.”

Her fingers tightened on my shoulders, hope and desperation warring in her voice. “This might be the only way to stop them from taking everything from you.”

I knew her plan was solid, but I had my reasons for refusing. I held her gaze steady and shook my head. “No. A scandal like this will trigger an immediate SEC investigation. Alexander Pack’s stock will crash overnight. I won’t burn my father’s entire empire just to take down Floyd. I need a cleaner solution.”

Andrea frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “What kind of cleaner solution?”

“Barret’s calling an emergency Elders’ meeting. He’s going to strip me of my VP title and my voting rights.” My voice was steady, unyielding. “I need a backer—someone with enough capital and absolute authority to crush Floyd and Barret in one fell swoop. I need a contract marriage.”

She blinked in shock, then let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “You’re serious. Who on earth are you going to proposition on such short notice?”

I closed my eyes, and the memory of the airport flooded back: the chaos of JFK’s private terminal, the thunder of jet engines, and him. A Lycan. Tall, immaculately composed, exuding a cold, unrivaled authority that commanded every room he stepped into. His scent lingered in my mind: expensive tobacco, crisp cedarwood, and the biting chill of frozen winter air.

“There was a man at the airport tonight,” I said slowly, opening my eyes. “A Lycan. His aura was so overpowering it left me breathless. That cedar-and-ice scent cut through everything around him. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Andrea’s face drained of all color. Her anger vanished entirely, replaced by raw dread. She gripped the edge of the counter until her fingers whitened.

“Cedarwood and ice? There’s no mistaking that signature.” Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “Alexa… that’s Alaric Maxwell. The Ghost of Wall Street. The Lycan King.” She paused, the weight of the words sinking in. “And he’s Floyd’s uncle.”

Ancient, cold, fearless White Wolf blood stirred awake in my veins. I turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the sprawling city skyline. A sharp, faint smile tugged at my lips.

"That's wonderful," I whispered. "I've decided to marry him."

Andrea opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The shot glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floorboards, tequila pooling around the jagged shards like spilled amber.