He Mocked His Costco Wife—She Owned the Whole Mall

"You dropped something," Lola pressed, her red-soled shoe tapping the concrete just an inch from my toe. "What kind of badge did you just drop?"

I shifted my weight, pressing my heel firmly over the heavy silver. "Nothing that concerns you."

"Move your foot, Selene."

"It is an inventory tag," I said.

Lola took a step forward. Her expensive floral perfume clashed violently with the stale, metallic smell of the freezer aisle. "Show it to me. Now."

"I have work to do," I said.

I crouched fast, sliding my bare hand under the dirty tread of my boot. My fingers clamped over the freezing metal. I kept the intricate wolf crest pressed flat against my palm, hiding the details from her view. I stood up and shoved my fist deep into my jeans pocket.

"Warehouse inventory tag," I repeated, my voice completely flat. "Aisle seven clearance."

Lola narrowed her eyes, scanning my face for any sign of a lie. "You guard a piece of tin like it is a diamond. Pathetic."

"If you are buying the plaza, you should go. Regional managers hate waiting."

Lola scoffed. She flipped her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. "Clean up these peas, warehouse girl. Try not to slip and break your neck."

She pivoted and walked away. I stayed perfectly still until the sound of her expensive shoes faded around the corner.

An hour later, I pushed open the peeling front door of our apartment. The hinges groaned loudly, a sound Aaron usually complained about. Today, he ignored it entirely.

Aaron stood in the center of the cramped living room, adjusting the lapels of a charcoal-gray suit. The fabric hugged his shoulders flawlessly. It looked custom-made.

"Do not step on the rug," Aaron said. His eyes remained locked on his own reflection in the cracked floor-length mirror. "Your boots track in mud."

I kicked off my work boots by the door. My socks were damp with melted frost. "Where did you get the suit, Aaron?"

"Lola," he answered. He smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on his sleeve. "She knows I have that pack networking event tomorrow. I cannot show up looking like a rogue."

"You let her buy you clothes now."

"She has taste, Selene." He finally turned around. His gaze swept over my stained blue uniform, and disgust curled his upper lip. "Someone has to make sure I look presentable."

I dropped my keys on the counter. The metal clattered sharply against the cheap laminate. "I worked a double shift today. My back is killing me."

"Did you get paid?" he asked, completely ignoring my exhaustion.

"Yes."

"Good. Send me the money for Dylan's advanced combat tutoring. The instructor needs the deposit by eight tonight."

He did not ask how my back felt. He did not ask if I had eaten anything. He just held out his hand like I owed him.

"How much?" I asked, my voice dropping low.

"Eight hundred," Aaron said. He turned back to the mirror and adjusted his silk tie. "And add another two hundred. I need new dress shoes to match this cut."

My entire paycheck. Two weeks of lifting frozen boxes, shivering in a sub-zero freezer, and enduring Lola's taunts.

"I need groceries," I said, stepping closer to him. "The fridge is completely empty. We have nothing for dinner."

"Eat at work," Aaron snapped. "You work at a wholesale club. Steal a pizza."

"You want me to risk my job so you can buy shoes?"

Aaron spun around, his jaw rigid. "I want you to support your family! Dylan is falling behind the other pups. Do you want your son to be a failure?"

"I want my mate to contribute," I shot back. I stepped further into the living room, closing the distance between us. "When was the last time you brought home a paycheck? When was the last time you paid the rent?"

"I am building connections," Aaron said, his tone heavy with condescension. "Pack politics require finesse. You have to spend money to make money. You would not understand. You stack boxes for a living."

My chest tightened. Three years ago, I walked away from the Alpha estate. The elders demanded a grueling hardship trial to prove I could lead from the bottom. I chose this brutal, penniless existence. I chose Aaron, a low-ranking wolf with absolutely no prospects, believing a bond forged in poverty would be pure. I wanted a man who loved me, not the reigning heir.

Now, I saw the exact truth. He did not just hate my poverty. He hated me.

"Send the money, Selene," Aaron ordered. "Now."

I pulled out my phone. The screen was still spider-webbed with cracks from when Dylan threw it against the wall last month. I opened my banking app. Available balance: One thousand and forty-two dollars.

I typed in the transfer amount. One thousand.

My thumb hovered over the memo line. A dozen bitter words fought their way up my throat. I wanted to type blood money. I wanted to ask him if Lola's perfume washed out of his new suit. I wanted to scream that I was the only reason he had a roof over his head.

Instead, I typed a single word.

Tuition.

I hit send. The green checkmark flashed on the screen, draining my account down to double digits. Forty-two dollars to last me two weeks.

"Sent," I said, my voice entirely hollow.

Aaron's phone chimed on the coffee table. He did not even look at it. He just kept admiring his reflection.

"Make sure my blue shirt is ironed for tomorrow," he said. "And do not burn the collar this time."

He grabbed his keys and headed straight for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Out," he said, not bothering to turn around. "Lola is treating Dylan and me to dinner at The Obsidian Room. Do not wait up."

The door slammed shut.

Silence filled the tiny apartment. I stood alone in the center of the faded rug, staring at the empty space where my mate had just stood.

Not a single thank you. Just a demand, a transaction, and a quick exit.

I sank onto the lumpy sofa. The broken springs dug into my thighs. My muscles ached with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the heavy silver badge.

The Alpha crest stared back at me. A crescent moon encircled by thorns.

Tonight was supposed to be the end. Midnight.

My phone buzzed in my lap, vibrating against the rough denim of my jeans.

I picked it up. A black notification banner stretched across the cracked glass. No sender name. Just an encrypted sequence that only the high council used.

Theo. My trial guardian.

I tapped the message, watching the text decrypt line by line into a final, undeniable order.

"The succession ceremony is set for next Monday, leaving exactly seven days on your trial."