I Paid the Alpha King for One Night

Delilah POV

The taxi ride back to the Mcclain Estate was a blur of grey buildings and rising panic. When I finally stepped into the foyer, the silence of the house hit me like a physical weight. It didn't smell like a home; it smelled of lemon polish and cold, stagnant air.

I sprinted up the stairs, my heels clicking frantically against the marble, and locked myself in the master bathroom.

My hands shook as I tore off the ruined silver dress, kicking it into the corner. I turned the shower on, cranking the handle until the water was steaming, bordering on scalding. I stepped in, hissing as the heat hit my skin, and grabbed the loofah.

Scrub. Scrub it off.

I dragged the rough sponge over my skin until it turned raw and red, desperate to erase the scent of him.

Sandalwood, storm, and musk.

It was clinging to me, seeping into my pores, branding me. But the harder I scrubbed, the more my inner wolf whined in protest. She didn't want to lose it. She was clawing at my chest, mourning the loss of the intoxicating comfort we had felt in that stranger's bed.

Stop it, I hissed at her, tears mingling with the spray of the shower. "He was a mistake."

Suddenly, the bathroom door banged open.

I shrieked, grabbing a towel to cover myself just as Jaden stormed in. He was still wearing his tuxedo from last night, his tie undone, his face twisted in a snarl that was more petulant than threatening.

There you are, he spat, his voice echoing off the tile. "Do you have any idea how foolish I looked last night? My wife, disappearing in the middle of the most important Gala of the year?"

He didn't ask if I was hurt. He didn't ask where I had been. He only cared about the optics.

I... I was sick, I stammered, clutching the towel tighter against my chest, terrified he would catch a whiff of the Alpha scent that still lingered faintly beneath the steam. "I had a migraine. I took a cab home."

You're always sick, Jaden sneered, stepping closer. His scent—faint, sour, and unimpressive—assaulted my nose. "You're weak, Delilah. A pathetic excuse for a Mcclain wife. Everyone was asking where you were, and I had to lie for you."

He loomed over me, trying to intimidate me, but as he turned his head slightly, the morning light from the high window hit his neck.

I froze.

There, just above his collarbone, was a mark. It was fresh, angry, and red. Three distinct lines curved into his skin.

A claw mark.

The fear that had been choking me moments ago evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.

What is that? I asked, my voice surprisingly steady.

Jaden blinked, his momentum stalling. "What?"

I pointed a trembling finger at his neck. "That mark, Jaden. That's a claw mark. From a she-wolf."

His hand flew to his neck, covering the scratch. His heartbeat spiked—I could hear the frantic rhythm of it even over the running water.

Don't be ridiculous, he snapped, his eyes darting away. "It's from training this morning. A branch snagged me."

You don't train, I said, stepping out of the shower, water pooling at my feet. "You haven't joined the pack run in six months. You tell everyone you're too busy with 'finances'."

Cornered, his face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. "You're delusional," he shouted, backing away toward the door. "This is why I can't stand being around you! You're paranoid, suffocating, and useless! Clean yourself up. You look like a drowned rat."

He slammed the door behind him, the sound vibrating through the walls.

I stood there, shivering, water dripping from my hair. He was lying. I knew it. My wolf knew it.

I wrapped the towel around me and walked into the bedroom. Jaden was gone, but in his haste to escape my accusation, he had left his phone on the nightstand.

As if on cue, the screen lit up.

A message preview popped up. The sender was saved simply as "B".

"The morning sickness is driving my wolf crazy. Jaden, you promised you'd get the supplements to calm my wolf from the Pack Healer."

The air left my lungs.

B. Brielle Sims.

The pop star. The wolf who had skyrocketed to fame singing "ancient ballads" that were actually my songs—melodies I had written in the dead of night, poured from my soul, only to have Jaden call them trash and then secretly feed them to his mistress.

And now... morning sickness.

I stared at the screen, my vision blurring. I had begged Jaden for a pup for two years. He had told me we weren't ready. He had told me he didn't want the burden.

But he was giving a pup to her.

He had stolen my art, my dignity, and now, the family I had prayed for.

A cold, dark rage settled in my chest, silencing my weeping wolf. The tears stopped. The fear of the man in the hotel room, the fear of Jaden—it all burned away into ash.

I didn't scream. I didn't throw the phone.

I walked to the east wing of the estate, to the dusty storage room no one ever entered. I pushed aside a heavy stack of boxes and pressed the hidden latch on the wainscoting. The panel clicked open, revealing my sanctuary.

It was a tiny, windowless space, just big enough for a desk and my keyboard. The walls were plastered with my original sheet music—the proof of my soul that Brielle was currently butchering on the radio.

I sat down at my encrypted laptop and opened a secure line. My fingers flew across the keys, typing a message to the only person in this world I could trust—Charley Knowles, a human hacker who owed me a life debt.

"Charley,"I typed, my jaw set so hard it ached. "I need a favor. I need Jaden Mcclain's financial records, his call logs, and his location history for the last year."

A reply pinged back instantly. "Target acquired. What's the endgame, D?"

I looked at the sheet music on the wall, then down at my trembling hands.

"Total destruction,"I whispered to the empty room.

I hit send. I was done being the victim. If Jaden wanted a war, I would give him one he would never survive.