Jealousy Alpha's Regret novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Iris’s POV

I glanced up from my sketch pad to find Megan Claire’s eyes fixed on

me from across the office. She’d been “assigning” me random tasks all

morning–busy work that had nothing to do with my actual job. I

knew exactly what she was doing. With Sebastien gone on his

mysterious business trip, she thought she could put me in my place.

“Iris,” she called out sweetly, waving a stack of papers. “Would you

mind printing these documents for me? The printer by my office isn’t

working properly.”

I caught Lisa’s sympathetic glance from the desk beside mine.

Everyone in the office had noticed Megan’s behavior, but nobody

dared say anything. I took a deep breath and slowly got to my feet.

“Just taking a break anyway,” I muttered to myself as I crossed the

room. At least it would get me away from her cloying perfume for a

few minutes–a scent that seemed to be triggering my pregnancy

nausea more each day.

I took the papers without comment and headed toward the printing station. My wolf bristled beneath my skin, sensing the power play but reluctantly submitting for now. This wasn’t the hill I wanted to die

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1. on.

When I returned with the printed documents, Megan was waiting

with that same saccharine smile. “Iris, I need a coffee. Could you grab

me an Americano, no sugar? Use my special mug–the white one with

the gold rim.”

The office fell quiet, several designers pretending to be absorbed in

their work while clearly listening to our exchange. I stood there, the

freshly printed papers still in my hand, feeling heat rise up my neck.

“Anything else?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

“That’s all for now,” she said, turning back to her computer. “Thanks,

sweetie.”

I set the papers on her desk and walked back to my station, every

muscle in my body tense. This had been going on for days–Megan

treating me like her personal assistant instead of a designer. I knew

she was testing boundaries, seeing how far she could push before I

broke.

I returned to my jewelry design, losing myself in the intricate pattern

I was creating. Forty minutes later, Megan’s voice cut through my

concentration again.

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“Iris, did you forget my coffee?”

I didn’t look up, my pencil still moving across the paper. “I was

finishing this design concept. It’s due tomorrow.”

“The coffee, Iris,” she repeated, her voice hardening. “I asked you

almost an hour ago.”

I finally looked up, aware that the entire office was watching us now.

My eyes met hers, and something inside me shifted. I’d spent too long

being the accommodating one–with my family, with Sebastien, with

everyone. I was done.

“Claire, I’m not sure what gave you the impression that fetching

coffee is part of my job description,” I said, my voice steady despite

my racing heart. “I’m a designer, not your assistant. You want coffee?

The break room is right over there.”

A few of my colleagues stifled gasps. Megan’s eyes widened slightly

before narrowing to slits. She rose from her chair and strode over to

my desk, leaning down until her face was uncomfortably close to

mine.

“I’m your supervisor, Iris,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“And if I ask you to get me coffee, you get me coffee.”

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I held her gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “Actually, Marcus is my

supervisor. And I have work to do–real design work, not running

errands for someone who seems to have plenty of free time herself.”

Her face flushed. “If this project goes sideways because you’re not

being a team player, you’ll be the one taking responsibility.”

I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. “Team player? Is that

what you call this?” I gestured between us. “Look, I thought you were

busy with important creative director stuff. That’s why you’ve been

giving me all these menial tasks, right? But if you’ve got enough time

to micromanage me fetching your coffee, maybe you should be the

one handling the simple stuff.”

Lisa made a choking sound, clearly trying not to laugh. Megan’s face

cycled through several emotions–shock, rage, and finally, a forced

smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I suppose I got a bit carried away,” she said, voice tight. “You go

ahead and keep working.”

I nodded once and returned to my design, refusing to show any

satisfaction at her retreat. This wasn’t over–we both knew it–but I’d

established a boundary, and that was enough for today

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As I glanced at my calendar that evening, a realization hit me. The

cooling period was officially over. According to werewolf law,

Sebastien and I could now complete the formal dissolution of our

mating bond.

“Time to end this properly,” I murmured, picking up my phone. I

typed out a simple message to Sebastien: [The cooling period is over.

When you get back, we should schedule the mark dissolution ritual

and finalize the divorce papers.]

I hit send before I could overthink it, then set my phone down and

tried to focus on the book I’d been reading. But my thoughts kept

circling back to what would happen next. The mark dissolution wasn’t

just paperwork–it was a ritual that would sever the mystical

connection between us. Once completed, any lingering bond would be

gone.

For two days, my message went unanswered. I checked my phone.

repeatedly, growing increasingly frustrated with each passing hour.

This was classic Sebastien–ignoring me when it didn’t suit him to

respond.

“He’s the one who wanted the divorce in the first place,” I muttered to

myself as I got ready for bed on the second night. “Why is he suddenly

unreachable?”

A troubling thought crossed my mind–what if he could somehow

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sense my pregnancy? Wolf mates could often detect subtle changes in

each other’s scents and energies. But we’d barely been around each

other, and I’d been careful with scent–masking products.

By the third day, my patience had evaporated. During my lunch break,

I decided to take a more direct approach. I dialed his number,

listening to it ring until it went to voicemail. No answer. I tried again

immediately, with the same result.

“Fine,” I said to the empty apartment after returning home that

evening. I tossed my phone onto the bed in frustration. “I can’t

believe he’s going to make me chase him for a divorce he wanted.”

I flopped down beside my phone, staring at the ceiling. ‘I’m not going

to keep calling. If he wants to play games, he can play them alone.”

Maybe Megan’s return had changed his mind. Maybe he was

reconsidering everything now that his ex was back in the picture. Or

maybe he was just being difficult because that’s who Sebastien Grey

was a man who needed to control everything, including the end of

our relationship.

“Whatever his reasons,” I whispered to myself, “this marriage is over.

He can’t hide forever.”