Chapter 4

Aria's POV

The next morning, Damon made an announcement in the hall in front of everyone.

His voice rang through the hall, every word carrying the weight of an Alpha. "From today on, no one makes Aria scrub floors. No more laundry. No more maid's work."

Damon took my hand, almost reverently, his eyes brimming with affection. "She is my Luna. The mistress of this pack. If anyone disrespects her again, I'll throw them out of Blackmoon territory myself."

Every maid in the room lowered her head.

Eric scoffed. Donna's fingers curled into fists. But neither could defy a direct order from their Alpha.

My heart gave a hard thump.

Four years.

For the first time in four years, Damon was acknowledging me in front of the whole pack.

But the feeling lasted exactly one second. Then the image of Damon with Anissa flashed through my mind again, burned into my retinas like a brand.

I didn't care anymore.

Nothing he gave me would matter now.

"Darling." I kept my voice even, laced with a deliberate tenderness. "What would you like to eat today? I'll make it for you."

"You'd cook for me?" A flicker of genuine delight crossed Damon's face. It made me sick. Four years, and he thought giving me a title would wipe the slate clean?

I curved my lips into a smile. "Of course. What do you want?"

"Blueberry muffins." Damon's voice went soft. "You made them for me once. They were incredible."

Once. Back when I was fool enough to believe he loved me.

"All right." I rose on my toes and pressed the lightest kiss to his cheek. "I'll go make them."

Damon reached for me, wanting to pull me into his arms, but I'd already turned away.

The maids had all been called to the hall, so the kitchen was empty. I moved through it from memory, pulling blueberries, flour, eggs, and butter from the fridge and pantry. The recipe was simple. But I was adding something extra.

I stirred the batter, my face blank. Once the flour and eggs blended into a thick golden liquid, I poured in the blueberries, then slipped a small bottle from my apron pocket.

I'd bought it at a pharmacy on the way back last night. Sleeping powder. Strong enough to put a full-grown Alpha out for five hours straight.

I tipped the powder into the batter and folded it in with the blueberries. It dissolved in seconds. No one could ever tell it was there.

I felt no guilt.

Damon deserved it.

The muffins rose in the oven, filling the air with a warm, cloying sweetness.

I carried them to Damon's office. He was signing documents, and when I walked in, his eyes lit up with pure anticipation. "Smells incredible."

"Try one?" I set the plate in front of him and sat down across from him, resting my chin on my folded hands. The posture made me look like a good, obedient wife.

Damon grabbed a muffin eagerly and tore off a huge bite. Pure satisfaction washed over his face. "Good," he mumbled, mouth full.

"Have some more." I reached over and gently wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth.

Damon took two more bites, then suddenly yawned. "Aria..."

"I'm so tired..." His chewing slowed, his words starting to slur.

"You're just exhausted, darling. You need to rest." I guided him to the sofa, patient and gentle.

Damon sank onto the cushions without protest. I pushed his shoulder. Nothing. His breathing was deep and even, like a baby in a dead sleep.

He'd never suspect I'd drugged his blueberry muffins.

He'd just assume the exhaustion of running a pack had finally caught up with him.

The only printer in the house was in Damon's office. I went to my room, fetched my laptop, and came back. The divorce agreement template I'd downloaded last night was still open on the screen.

I went through the document clause by clause, checking for errors, then started filling it in—my name, Damon's name, the wedding date, grounds for separation. The asset division section: I left it blank. I didn't want a penny from him. His money made me sick. I just wanted to sever every tie.

Four years of Damon's kindness, four years of beautiful memories surfaced—him taking my hand for the first time, kissing my forehead under the moonlight, kneeling down to tie my shoelaces. I closed my eyes. Every one of those memories was pain now.

Fake. All of it was fake.

Damon had been acting. He'd chosen to lie to me. Chosen to sleep with Anissa. Chosen to hide behind a mask of devotion, playing the loving husband while he betrayed me.

I opened my eyes, ice running through me, and hit print. The machine hummed to life. I signed my name on the printed copy, careful and precise.

Now I just needed to reach Ronan Thorne.

I pulled up his email address and sent the message I'd drafted.

Alpha Ronan, I need your legal help. I'd like to speak with you in person. Tomorrow, noon, Moonlight Cafe. If you're willing, I'll be waiting.

I let out a breath.

Now all I could do was wait.

Damon showed no signs of waking.

I wiped down the printer, erased every trace, and went back to my room.

Ronan Thorne. Damon's closest friend. Every time he visited the manor, Donna would fawn all over him—"Alpha Ronan, Alpha Ronan"—then order me to serve the tea. He never once looked at me when he took the cup. I might as well have been invisible.

Would he even agree to meet? The man was obsessed with being the best. The strongest Alpha. The top lawyer. He craved the spotlight, thrived on having everyone look up to him. That was why he'd chosen a career that put him at the center of a courtroom, where he could make everyone shut up and listen.

But helping an Omega file for divorce against his best friend? That didn't exactly polish his reputation.

I didn't expect him to reply so fast.

Noon. Moonlight Cafe. Don't be late.

Ronan said yes.

Ronan actually said yes.

I stared at the words, my heart hammering.

Wait. This could be a trap.

Ronan was Damon's friend. He'd always thought an Omega like me wasn't good enough for Damon. Maybe he'd agreed to meet just to fish for information, record everything, and hand it over to Damon so he could use it against me in the Werewolf Court.

He was capable of anything.

But I had to see him. He was my only shot. My pack had been taken over by Damon. A packless Omega had no standing in court. I didn't even have money—Damon had never given me any.

I needed a lawyer just to walk into the Werewolf Court. Without one, the judge wouldn't even glance at my paperwork. If Ronan agreed to take my case, the court would be an open door.

I needed him. I called an Uber to the cafe.