Jealousy Alpha's Regret novel Chapter 131

Jealousy Alpha’s Regret

Chapter 131

The room was imunslate, fed made, surfaces dusted but

nmistakably empty of Iris’s presence. Only the faintest trace of her

floral scent lingered in the air. I opened closes and drawers, finding

them organized but barres of her belongings, She’d been thorough in

her departure,

searched the corner cabinet where the sometimes kept personal

items, hoping to find something–anything–tha wight reveal more about her design work. Nothing. It was as if she’d carefully removed

every trace of herself from our shared space.

Frustrated, I suddenly remembered the upstairs studio. Iris occasionally spent time there, though I’d rarely bothered to check

what she was doing. I took the stairs two at a time, driven by a

curiosity I didn’t care to examine too closely.

The studio door creaked as I pushed it open. Moonlight spilled through the large windows, illuminating the empty space. But in the corner sat a basket of discarded sketches, caught in the silvery beam like they were waiting for me to find them.

I lifted the papers, rifling through them impatiently. Men’s portraits, one after another, but all without faces. Just the outlines of male figures, carefully red but deliberately anonymous. I checked the

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Chapter 131

dates scrawled in the corners–all from before our marriage.

My jaw clenched as a thought struck me. Noah Phillips. Had she been

drawing him all this time? Even after our mating ceremony, had her

mind been occupied with someone else?

“Fuck this,” I snarled, throwing the sketches to the floor. They

scattered across the polished wood, the sound sharp in the silent

room.

Johnson appeared in the doorway, alarm on his face. “Mr. Grey? Is

everything all right?”

I stood in the center of the mess I’d made, anger pulsing through me.

“Take all of this out and burn it. Everything of hers–I don’t want a

single trace left. Remove her scent from the house.”

The conflict in Johnson’s eyes was clear, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Back in my car, I lit a cigarette, the smoke filling the confined space as I tried to make sense of my reaction. Why did I care who she’d drawn? Why did it matter what hidden talents she possessed? Our marriage had been a business arrangement, nothing more.

Yet something about those faceless drawings had gotten under my skin. The thought of Iris spending hours sketching another man,

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while lying next to me each night…

“It doesn’t matter,” I told myself firmly. “None of it matters.”

My phone rang again the next morning as I sat at my desk, staring at

the latest stock reports. Ethan Lowell’s name appeared on the screen.

I answered, keeping my voice neutral despite the immediate tension I

felt.

“Grey,” I answered flatly.

“Sebastien.” Ethan’s smooth voice came through. “I wanted to inform

you personally that I’m offering Iris Stone a position at Polaris

Studio.”

My grip tightened on the phone. Polaris meant Iris would be entering

another werewolf family’s territory. The Lowells were powerful,

nearly equal to the Greys. The implications weren’t lost on me.

“Her choices are no longer my concern,” I replied, my tone

deliberately indifferent though something uncomfortable churned in

my stomach.

After ending the call, I found myself looking up articles about Iris’s

design work. The reviews were unanimously positive–phrases like

“breathtaking innovation” and “remarkable talent” appeared

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