Chapter 2

Lana's POV

I didn't give the two Thorne sisters another glance.

I stepped toward Silas, my shadow lengthening under the club's rhythmic, pulsing strobe lights.

I leaned down, and for a second, the world narrowed to the scent of him—expensive bourbon, cedarwood, and the sharp electricity of forest rain.

By ten tomorrow, the scent will be gone from my life forever.

And the thought of it made my chest ache.

"Silas," I said, my voice low, cutting through the bass of the music.

He didn't move. His breathing was heavy, rhythmic, his long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones.

He looked like an angel, beautiful and untouchable.

“You call yourself his wife, Lana? “

“You're nothing but his overeager nanny. “

“Silas can't stand you, and you still cling on.”

The VIP lounge erupted. The people around us jeered openly.

A Gamma chuckled, swirling his glass. "I heard she's been hand-delivering TEA to Silas for three years. Like a faithful little hound waiting for a scrap of attention."

"She's practically a groupie with a marriage license," another added, followed by a chorus of barking laughter.

I ignored them. I turned my gaze directly to Celine Thorne. She sat there like a queen, watching me with a smug, polished pity.

"Tell me, Celine," I said, my voice projecting with a sudden, icy clarity.

"An ARTIST like you—graduated from the Paris Fine Arts Institute—how much do you even make now? Ten thousand a painting? Maybe?"

Celine stiffened, her elegant mask of superiority slipping for a fraction of a second. "What the hell does that have to do with anything, Lana?"

"And you, Mara," I looked at the younger sister, who was already baring her teeth. "How much do you pull from that trust fund each month? Tweenty thousand?"

Mara crossed her arms, her eyes flashing a dangerous amber. "It's none of your goddamn business, human."

"It's just curiosity," I said, a cold, jagged smile touching my lips.

"I wanted to see if 'Noble Shifters' actually get as much pocket money as a lowly 'nanny.' Because Silas pays me a million a month just to exist. And I have full access to the Vane Black Card. Unlimited limit. No questions asked."

The room went deathly silent. The laughter died in their throats, replaced by the suffocating scent of envy.

I saw the flash of pure, unadulterated greed in Celine's eyes—the realization that the "human fluke" had been sitting on a throne of gold while she was abroad.

I signaled the head waiter, who was hovering nervously at the edge of the pit.

"The tab for this entire room is on me tonight. Give them the vintage labels. Drink up, everyone. If the bill is under a million by closing, you're insulting the Alpha of Silver Ridge."

I didn't wait for a response. I didn't care about the money; it was Silas's anyway, and I was done being the only one who felt the cost of our marriage.

With the help of the club's security—who were much more respectful now that I'd offered to pay their year's salary in one night—I hauled Silas's heavy, muscular frame toward the car.

The drive to the Vane Estate was a blur of rain and silence. Once inside the marble foyer, I heaved him onto the oversized leather sofa in the library.

I was sweating, my injured hand throbbing with a rhythmic, stabbing heat.

The moment his back hit the cushions, Silas's eyes snapped open.

The gold glow of his wolf was absent, replaced by a human frost so cold it could have withered a forest in mid-summer.

He sat up with a predatory grace that suggested he hadn't lost a single ounce of coordination to the alcohol.

He hadn't been drunk. Not even close. He had been awake for every insult, every mocking laugh, and every second of my public humiliation.

He had let them tear me down just to see if I'd finally break.

"Want some tea?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My voice was raspy, exhausted.

Silas sneered, his lip curling in a way that made my stomach twist. "I thought you said you were done playing servant, Lana. Or did the audience at the club make you miss the spotlight?"

"I'm asking about the Hangover Tea," I said flatly, ignoring the sting of his words.

He hated the taste. He called it "human sludge" and "bitter filth."

He had no idea that for three years, I had been painstakingly filtering the slow-acting silver poison from his blood—a toxin meant to leave the Great Alpha Vane sterile, weak, and eventually, dead.

His aunt had paid me a million a month to save his lineage, a secret I had carried like a lead weight.

Only a month ago, I had spent twenty-four million of my own accumulated savings at an underground alchemical auction for a Century-Blood Root.

It was currently circulating in his system, mending the final fractures in his DNA, making him stronger than he had ever been.

"All you ever fucking talk about is your 'tea,'" Silas growled. He stood up, looming over me, his Alpha aura expanding until the air in the room felt thick and suffocating.

"Is that all you have to offer? Domesticity and silence? You're like a broken record of a housewife."

"Let's talk about the divorce then," I countered, stepping back to catch my breath. "You saw the message. 10:00 AM tomorrow. Don't let your Beta secretary schedule any meetings. I want this finished."

Silas didn't answer. His gaze darkened, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes were two pools of obsidian.

"I'm sorry I occupied Celine's place for three years," I whispered, the pain finally breaking through my armor, making my eyes sting.

"I know you felt trapped. Just bear with it one more night, Silas. Then you're free to be with your love."

"Are you making room for me?" Silas stepped into my personal space, his voice a dangerous, vibrating rumble in his chest.

"Or are you making room for yourself? Now that the old woman who paid you is dead, you're looking for a higher bidder, aren't you? A human who sells her soul for a monthly check... I wonder who you've already lined up to fill the vacancy in your bed."

The words were pure poison. I had spent every cent I had on his survival—on my grandfather's cancer treatments and the rare herbs that made Silas the powerful Alpha he was today. And he thought I was just a gold-digger looking for a new mark.

"If that's what you want to believe, Silas, I won't stop you. " I turned to walk away, my legs shaking.

"I'm not done with you."

His hand shot out, catching my wrist with the speed of a striking cobra. With a violent, effortless tug, he pulled me back onto the sofa, pinning me beneath the crushing weight of his massive frame. He smelled of bourbon, heat, and a dark, terrifying rage.

"Lana," he hissed, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my lips. "You've been the Alpha's wife for three years, and you haven't fulfilled a single 'marital' duty. Not once. Did you really think the Vane family was a goddamn charity? I want to see if a woman worth a million a month is actually made of gold, or if you're just as hollow as you look."

Before I could scream, before I could remind him that he was the one who had refused to touch me for years, his mouth crushed against mine.

It wasn't a kiss; it was a claim. It was a declaration of war.

I fought him at first, my good hand scratching at his shoulders, my injured hand screaming in protest as I tried to push his heavy chest away.

But then, a thought hit me like a cold wave. The toxin. If this happened, the final transference would be complete. He would be 100% cured, and I would be free.

Freedom, hum.

A rejected human ex-luna, no family, no money—

His hands were sliding up my waist like he owned me. His breath was hot against my neck.

He kissed harder, like he was trying to wake something in me, "Lana...", he was devouring my mouth.

I didn’t move, just let him press me into the sheets.

I kissed him back. My sense of reason vanished.

I wanted him to mark me, to sink his teeth into my neck.

Let me have this. Three years' fruit. Even if it was the first&last time.