The Werewolf I Love

Seven years. Seven long years since I'd last set foot in New York City. The skyline stretched before me, a glittering canvas of ambition and betrayal. I stood on the balcony of our Manhattan penthouse, the cool evening air caressing my skin. My fingers absently traced the platinum band on my left hand—a habit I'd developed whenever the past threatened to overwhelm me. "You're thinking about them, aren't you?" I didn't need to turn to know Leonardo had joined me. His presence was like a physical force, powerful and reassuring. The mate bond between us hummed with his concern. "They're just ghosts, Violet," he said, his arms encircling me from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck.

The day before the wedding, the extravagant custom-made Victorian-style dress my husband ordered finally arrived. I gently touched my slightly rounded belly and asked him for a divorce. Colton's secretary called, her voice trembling as she explained, "Mrs. Carpenter, this is all my fault. I misunderstood your preferences. Please, don't blame Mr. Thompson." Colton's calming voice came through the phone, leaving me with just one sentence: "Don't regret this." I packed my things and left without a backward glance. After gathering my belongings, I was ready to leave, dragging my suitcase behind me, when I ran into Colton just coming home. He saw the suitcase in my hand and furrowed his brow, his voice cold and detached. "Mina, you're still upset?

My husband, Jeremiah, let me die from an allergic reaction because he couldn't pause his video game. He dismissed my kidnapping as a prank and refused to come to the hospital when I was miscarrying our child. But the final straw came when he ordered doctors to carve skin from my body for his mistress's minor burn. He thought he had broken me, but he was wrong. I exposed his affair, took his company, and left him with nothing. Years later, he crashed my wedding to another man, begging for a second chance. "Elena lied to me! She manipulated me! It was always you, Celina!" I looked at the monster who had destroyed my life, my family, and my child. Then I picked up a wine bottle and smashed it over his head.

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

The pack run had been Marcelo's idea. He'd announced it three days prior at the weekly council meeting, his Alpha tone leaving no room for debate. A show of unity, he'd called it. A reminder that the Black Moon Pack moved as one body, one purpose. I'd watched him from my seat at the far end of the table—the Luna's chair, though I'd stopped feeling like a Luna months ago—and said nothing. Petra Voss had nodded approvingly. The other council members had murmured their agreement. Rosalina, seated closer to Marcelo than protocol allowed, had smiled that soft, adoring smile she always wore around him. I should have known then. The territory's northern river was swollen from early spring melt, the current fast and mean.

The lingerie felt like a mistake the moment I slipped it on. I stood in our penthouse bathroom—all marble and chrome, cold as a morgue—staring at my reflection. Black lace. Nothing too obvious. The saleswoman at La Perla had promised it was elegant, sophisticated. I'd nodded like I knew what I was doing, like I hadn't spent the last five years sleeping alone in a king-sized bed while my husband worked through the night in his study. Five years. Our anniversary. I twisted my wedding ring. The platinum band caught the light, throwing fractured rainbows across the mirror.