In Bed With My Ex's Brother-in-Law

Elena's POV

Someone pounded on my door, yanking me from unconsciousness. I peeled myself from the bed sheets, every muscle screaming after back-to-back nights at the office left me completely drained.

Moving toward the entrance while still half-asleep, I finally had a day off and couldn't wait to rest. When I opened the door, a uniformed security officer stood waiting outside.

"Miss Elena?" He spoke without emotion, stating facts.

Still groggy, I rubbed my face. "Yeah? What's going on?"

"Officer Ken. Mr. Dalton sent me. You need to leave this apartment right away."

His words made no sense. Mr. Dalton—Mark—my boyfriend.

I let out a shaky laugh. "Is this some kind of prank? Because it's not funny."

"No prank, ma'am." A document appeared in his hand, thrust toward my face. Official orders bearing Mark Dalton's signature. Everything inside me went cold.

"Wait… this can't be happening," I managed, my throat tight. "Mark's my boyfriend. Everything's fine between us. He wouldn't do something like this..."

"Your position at Thompson Crest Enterprise has been terminated, according to him."

Terminated. The corporate jargon cut deep. "Excuse me?"

He just stood there, offering nothing more. Frozen in my doorway, confusion twisted into hot fury as I held his gaze.

"Someone made a mistake!" My voice climbed higher. "I'm calling Mark. Right now."

Without waiting, I rushed back inside, snatched my phone, and dialed the number burned into my memory. Straight to voicemail—automated and impersonal.

Panic flooded over the anger. Racing back to the door, my confidence collapsed. "I have to talk to Mark! This is insane. Where am I even supposed to go?"

Officer Ken checked his watch deliberately. "Ten minutes to collect your belongings, ma'am."

"Are you actually serious right now?" Fear sharpened my words. "Where is he? I need to see him!"

"Mr. Dalton isn't available today," he replied, maddeningly calm while I fell apart. Then he dropped the real bomb: "He's busy with his wedding."

The floor disappeared beneath me. My lungs forgot how to work.

Something flickered in his expression—sympathy? amusement? "You really didn't know? Everyone's been talking about it for weeks."

My hands started shaking uncontrollably. Weeks? I'd been drowning in work, surviving on caffeine and deadlines. Mark kept praising how dedicated I was, his voice full of what I'd stupidly thought was real affection.

"You're amazing, Elena. This proposal is brilliant. Just get through these last few days. I've got something special planned for you."

Last night, his text promised a "surprise" after all my effort. Today he delivered a "Surprise Bomb" all right.

I pushed past Ken into the hallway. Across the street, the huge digital billboard that usually showed luxury advertisements was broadcasting something live.

"Thompson-Dalton Union: The Wedding of the Decade!"

Gold letters sparkled across the screen.

Mark Dalton—my lover, my boss—was today promising his life to another woman.

Inside the taxi, I frantically scrolled through social media feeds I never had time to check. Each swipe felt like a knife wound.

Hashtags trending worldwide: #PowerCouple and #FairytaleWedding. I consumed every article desperately, piecing together a picture of calculated betrayal that took my breath away.

My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—was marrying another woman while the entire planet celebrated.

Then I saw her. Bella Thompson. Her profile showed someone almost otherworldly beautiful, but what really knocked the air from my chest was her background.

Sister to Eric Thompson, the most powerful Alpha in the Northeast, leading the prestigious Silver Crest pack.

Understanding hit like a freight train. Obviously. This wasn't about love; it was a business transaction.

She came with everything—connections, influence, a legacy woven into elite werewolf society itself.

What could my late nights, my carefully prepared presentations, possibly compete with an entire empire?

Tears threatened, but something hotter burned underneath—pure, justified rage.

So what if I'm human? So what if I started with nothing? Even if this involved some fated mate thing I'd heard them whisper about, how could he betray me like this?

Two years. Two years of loving him, supporting him, being everything he needed. My reward? An eviction notice from a stranger and watching him marry someone else as my goodbye gift.

I needed answers. Not corporate speak, not polite rejection. I needed to confront him face-to-face.

The cab stopped. Silver Crown Estate rose before me—dramatic Gothic architecture with soaring towers, windows catching light like ice, and gardens that belonged in magazines.

Pain twisted inside my chest. I'd once doodled "Elena Dalton" during boring meetings, imagining this kind of day for us. The irony physically hurt.

Scanning the entrance, I spotted perfectly dressed wolf-shifter guards standing watch, radiating complete authority. A human girl with swollen eyes and broken dreams had zero chance of getting past them. Then I noticed something—a catering van parked at the service entrance, back doors hanging open while workers unloaded champagne crates. A slim opportunity.

Pulse racing, I moved quickly. During the chaos of deliveries, I slipped into the van's dark cargo area, flattening myself between cold metal shelves just as the doors slammed shut. The engine started.

When the van stopped inside the estate grounds, I waited until the drivers walked away before climbing out. My plain dress stood out badly among the staff's uniforms, but I tried acting as if I belonged, heading toward the main hall while my mind spun.

"Excuse me, you can't just wander around," someone said sharply.

Looking up, I found a stern woman holding a clipboard and wearing a headset. Her nametag read: Event Coordinator - G. Pierce.

"Sorry, I..." Quickly wiping my eyes, I forced a wobbly smile. "I'm with the groom's family. Just got here from out of town. Kind of lost. Could you tell me where he is? I have something to give him before the ceremony."

She studied me, noticing my lack of any guest pass. But mentioning "family" combined with the desperate hope in my expression seemed enough. She pointed impatiently toward a separate wing of the estate.

"Groom's preparation suite. Past the courtyard, the building covered in ivy. Room 25. Hurry though, the procession starts in twenty minutes."

"Thank you," I whispered, barely hearing myself over my pounding heart.

I'll admit some grim satisfaction in my ability to sneak around. Getting past distracted guards and into the groom's suite felt like one last desperate act—a ghost haunting its former life.

And there he stood.

Mark admired himself in a full-length mirror, looking absolutely perfect in formal black tails—exactly how I'd once pictured him on our wedding day. His eyes caught mine in the reflection. Brief surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by that familiar, lazy smirk that now felt like it was burning me.

"You actually found your way here?" he said casually, not fully turning around. "I wondered how long before you figured things out."

My fingers gripped my purse strap until the leather cut into my skin.

"What is this, Mark?" My voice came out tight, ready to break.

He finally pivoted, his gaze sweeping over me from my disheveled hair to my off-the-rack dress—a look that lingered with palpable distaste. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he gestured to the opulent suite, the waiting bouquet of calla lilies, the glittering cufflinks on the velvet tray.

"Isn't it pretty clear? I'm getting married." His tone was completely flat, showing zero guilt.

My heart sank, but I forced the words out. "Why, Mark? We were—"

"There is no 'we' anymore," he interrupted sharply, adjusting his already perfect tie. "I'm marrying Bella. I can't be connected to... distractions from before. Some girl from nowhere, with nothing."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying to counter the humiliation flooding through me. "You said none of that mattered to you..."

He laughed coldly, mockingly. "Elena, please. Don't tell me you actually believed what men say to get what they want?"

Shaking his head in condescension, he continued. "You were entertaining. Convenient, admiring, always available. But honestly, you held back like we were living in some Victorian novel. Frankly, you should thank me for keeping you around this long."

Tears came then, hot and unstoppable, each one burning proof of how naive I'd been. This wasn't just heartbreak; it was complete destruction of every memory, every promise I'd treasured.

Mark's expression stayed frozen. He turned back to the mirror, dismissing me completely. "Leave, Elena. You're embarrassing yourself. You served your purpose. I'm done with you."

White-hot rage exploded inside me, burning away the pain. My eyes landed on a champagne flute sitting nearby—probably for his pre-ceremony toast.

I didn't think. I simply acted.

Grabbing the glass, I threw the contents straight at him. Golden liquid flew through the air, catching the light before splashing across his perfectly styled hair and pristine jacket.

"Have you completely lost your mind, you crazy girl?!" he screamed, jumping back as champagne dripped everywhere, destroying his perfect image. Brutal satisfaction cut through my fury.

"Did you expect me to just watch you throw me away and wish you happiness?" My voice came out low, shaking with wild, liberated madness.

I caught his horrified reflection in the mirror.

"Look at yourself now. Your perfect hair is destroyed. Think you'll make it to the ceremony on time? Or maybe I should visit your bride first? I have so many stories about the real Mark Dalton."

Terror and rage fought across his face. He grabbed for a towel, frantically wiping at the sticky mess, his composure completely shattered.

"Guards!" he yelled, his voice cracking as he rushed toward the door and yanked it open. "Get this crazy woman out of here! Now! Throw her out!"

Strong hands seized my arm, another guard ripping my purse away. My screams were raw and ragged, disappearing into the fancy hallway as they dragged me—fighting and scratching—toward the elevator. With one final, disgusted shove, they threw me inside. My purse landed beside me as the doors closed, sealing me in this silent metal tomb dropping downward.

I collapsed onto the cold floor, tremors wracking my body—a volatile cocktail of shattered heartbreak and unspent fury. Drawing my knees to my chest, I clutched my bag like a lifeline. Hot, silent tears carved paths through the remnants of my dignity.

Everything hurt. My pride, my heart, the entire future I'd foolishly built in my mind. Even the will to stand up had abandoned me. What was the point?

The elevator chimed, a soft, polite sound absurdly at odds with my internal ruin. The doors slid open. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t.

Until a pair of impeccably polished black Oxfords stepped into the periphery of my blurred vision, halting directly before me.

The air in the small cabin shifted, grew heavier, charged with a presence that was impossible to ignore.

“Elena Grey?”

I froze. My breathing stopped. Slowly, painfully, I raised my eyes.

Standing before me was, without question, the most devastatingly handsome man I'd ever encountered.

Tall, with a build that spoke of controlled power rather than brute bulk, he was elegance personified in a tailored charcoal suit that likely cost more than my annual salary.

Dark hair swept back from a commanding brow, and his eyes… His eyes were a penetrating, storm-cloud grey, holding an intensity that seemed to see right through the wreckage I presented.

This was Alpha Eric Thompson.

CEO of Thompson Crest Enterprises.

Most powerful Alpha of the Silver Crest pack.

And he was staring down at me with a look that wasn't pity or contempt, but something darker—smoldering, carnal heat.

My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stuttered to a dead halt before galloping against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Why him? Why now?