Claimed by the Alpha King: His Secret White Wolf

Caroline POV:

The rich, buttery scent of puff pastry and savory mushrooms filled the kitchen. I slid the final Wellington beef onto a warm plate, its golden-brown crust a perfect shield for the tender filet mignon within. Three years. Three years I'd spent perfecting this life, this home, this role as the supportive partner to a rising star. Tonight was our anniversary, and everything had to be perfect.

The soft chime of the electronic lock echoed from the foyer. A surge of warmth spread through my chest. My husband-Colten was home. I quickly untied the apron from around my waist, tossing it onto the marble island and smoothing down my silk dress. My heart hammered against my ribs in a familiar, happy rhythm.

I walked towards the entrance hall, a smile already blooming on my face.

The heavy oak door swung inward.

And my smile froze, cracking like thin ice.

It wasn't just Colten. Standing beside him, her lips curled in a permanent sneer, was his mother, Meredith. She clutched a ridiculously expensive designer handbag like a weapon.

"Good heavens, what is that smell?" Meredith's voice, sharp and grating, cut through the warm air. She scanned our meticulously decorated Beverly Hills home as if it were a roadside motel.

The warmth in my chest turned to a cold, sinking stone. I forced my feet to move, taking her ridiculously heavy cashmere coat. "Hello, Meredith. It's the Wellington beef. Colten's favorite."

Colten avoided my eyes. He brushed past me when I reached for an embrace, his body stiff. "Long day, Caroline. I need a drink."

He headed straight for the crystal decanters on the bar cart, his back a rigid wall between us. The distance was a physical thing, a cold draft in our warm house. As he passed, a scent wafted from the collar of his shirt. It was subtle, expensive, and floral. It was not my perfume.

A knot of ice formed in my stomach.

Meredith settled onto the cream-colored sofa, running a gloved finger over the armrest as if checking for dust. "Caroline, dear," she said, her tone anything but dear, "we need to talk about your position."

"My position?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Colten is an A-list star now," she declared, her eyes sweeping over me with disdain. "He has a brand to maintain. An image. He needs a partner who complements that image. Someone with... standing."

The implication hung in the air, thick and suffocating. A girl with no family name, no pack of influence, was no longer suitable. I looked to Colten, my silent plea screaming across the room. Say something. Defend me. Defend us.

He just swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the clinking of ice the only sound he offered. His silence was louder than her insults. It was an agreement.

My throat felt tight, as if a hand were squeezing it. "I'll just get the decanter for the wine," I managed to say, my voice a strained whisper. I needed to escape their dual gaze, to breathe air that wasn't poisoned with contempt.

I turned and walked back toward the kitchen, my steps feeling heavy and loud on the polished hardwood floors. The magnificent dinner I'd prepared now seemed like a monument to my own foolishness.

In the relative shadow of the kitchen entryway, I reached for the heavy crystal decanter. My hands were trembling.

That's when I heard Meredith's voice, lowered to a conspiratorial hiss. "You have to get rid of her, Colten. And you have to do it cleanly. Before she gets any ideas about your earnings."

I froze, my fingers gripping the decanter so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Then came Colten's voice, stripped of all the warmth and affection I knew. It was cold, clinical, and utterly detached. "I'm already having the lawyers draft the agreement, Mother. She won't get a dime of what I've made since the new film deal. I'll make sure of it."

A tremor shot through my arm. The heavy decanter slipped, its base cracking against the edge of the marble island with a sharp, sickening clink.

The sound exposed me instantly.

The hissing from the living room stopped. A dead, heavy silence fell over the house. I couldn't hide. I couldn't pretend I hadn't heard.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, I forced myself to walk back out, the decanter held in my white-knuckled grip. I placed it on the coffee table with a deliberate, firm thud. My eyes locked onto Colten's.

"Explain what you just said."

He had the audacity to look surprised, but there was no panic in his eyes. He set his glass down. The mask of the loving partner dissolved, replaced by the cool, calculated expression of a businessman closing a deal.

"It's over, Caroline," he said, his voice flat.

He reached into the leather briefcase he'd dropped by the sofa and pulled out a sheaf of papers bound in a crisp blue cover. He tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed next to the decanter, a declaration of war.

DIVORCE AGREEMENT. The words were stamped across the front, each letter a separate stab to my heart. The air left my lungs in a rush, leaving me gasping, drowning in my own living room.

"You should be grateful," Meredith sneered from the sofa, a triumphant smirk on her face. "He's offering you a severance package. More than a girl like you deserves."

I ignored her. My entire world had narrowed to the man I had loved, the man I had supported, the man who was now a complete stranger. "The perfume," I heard myself say, the words tasting like ash. "On your collar. Is it Sloane Sterling's?"

Colten's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something-annoyance? guilt?-crossed his face before it was gone. "Yes," he admitted, his voice devoid of remorse. "Sloane understands my world. She can help my career. She's my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word, once ours, was now a weapon he used to execute me. The past three years of my life, every sacrifice, every late night I'd spent supporting his dreams while putting mine on hold, every ounce of love I'd poured into him-it all curdled into a giant, bitter joke.

He took a step closer, his face softening into that familiar, practiced look of sincerity. The one he used on camera. "Caroline, listen. This doesn't have to be ugly. I need you to be smart about this."

He was trying to use his actor's charm on me. The thought was so repulsive it made my stomach churn.

"I'm proposing a public relations divorce," he continued, his tone now gentle, persuasive. "We release a joint statement. 'Amicable split.' We're seen having coffee next week. We support each other on social media. It protects my image. When my new movie comes out, you can even come to the premiere. It will be good for both of us."

I stared at the face I once adored, a face I now wanted to claw. The sheer, unmitigated selfishness of his request was breathtaking. He hadn't just cheated and left me; he wanted to use our breakup as a prop for his career.

A guttural sound, something between a gasp and a laugh, escaped my lips. I pushed him, hard. The shove was so unexpected he stumbled back a step.

His mask of civility finally dropped. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Don't be a fool, Caroline! What are you without me? You're nothing! A failed artist living off my success!"

A cold, sharp anger sliced through the pain. "A parasite?" I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. "Who was it that begged their art school contacts to get you your first three auditions, Colten? Who stayed up all night running lines with you when you were just another wannabe actor?"

"You ungrateful bitch!" Meredith shrieked, rising from the sofa. "Don't you dare speak to my son that way! Our lawyers will bury you!"

My eyes fell to the divorce agreement on the table. That hateful blue folder. Without another thought, I snatched it up. I didn't open it. I didn't care what was inside.

My hands found the center of the thick stack of paper. With a strength born of pure rage, I ripped it in half.

RRRRIP.

The sound was violent, final. It echoed in the pristine, silent living room.

Colten and Meredith stared, their mouths agape in stunned disbelief.

I threw the two halves of the shredded agreement at Colten's chest. The papers fluttered and scattered at his feet.

"You can have your divorce," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "But I will not be a part of your goddamn show."

I turned my back on them, on the ruins of my life, and walked toward the grand staircase. Each step was a deliberate, defiant act. My spine was a rod of steel. I would not let them see me crumble.

Not yet.