The oven’s timer blared, breaking the tension. I grabbed the gloves and yanked the cake out—a pathetic attempt to salvage my 30th birthday. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Thirty years old, still stuck playing housemaid to a man who couldn’t even fake fidelity.
"Is that for us?" Lukas asked, gesturing to the cake with forced casualness.
"Not everything’s about you," I snapped, slamming the pan onto the counter.
He flinched but quickly recovered, his lips curving into a cold smirk. "Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve been handling pack business, Ayla. You know how important it is."
"Pack business?" I barked out a laugh. "Is that what you call your late-night visits to Celeste’s quarters?"
He froze, the smugness vanishing. "You’re paranoid."
"Am I?" I reached for my phone, already open to Celeste’s latest photo—a smug selfie in what was unmistakably Lukas’ private study. The caption read: The Alpha’s seat is warm tonight.
I held it up, letting him see. "Explain this."
Lukas’ face darkened. "You’re spying now?"
"No, Lukas. I’m noticing. Something I should’ve done years ago."
The silence between us was heavy, oppressive. For a second, I thought he might apologize, maybe even beg. But instead, his lip curled in disgust.
"You’ve always been jealous," he sneered. "That’s your problem. You can’t stand not being the center of attention."
I laughed, bitter and hollow. "Jealous? Of what? Being lied to? Cheated on? Please."
Before he could reply, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed dramatically. "Celeste needs me," he said, shoving the phone into his pocket.
"Of course she does," I muttered.
"Clean up here," he ordered, ignoring me completely. "And don’t forget, we have the pack meeting tomorrow. Try not to embarrass yourself for once."
The door slammed behind him, and I stood there, the cake forgotten, anger bubbling under my skin. My wolf growled, pushing to the surface, but I forced her down. I wouldn’t waste my energy on him. Not anymore.
But I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
An hour later, I was in Celeste’s quarters. The place reeked of cheap perfume and arrogance. Her vanity table was filled with expensive makeup and jewelry—gifts from Lukas, no doubt.
The bed was unmade, sheets scattered and stained. My stomach churned as I spotted the torn lace lingerie on the floor.