Watching Sarah touch him is its own particular torture.

She drapes herself across Paul’s arm at dinner, laughing too loud at jokes nobody made. Her fingers trail his sleeve, his shoulder, the back of his neck. Possessive touches that announce ownership to the entire room.

I refill water glasses and clear empty plates like the servant I supposedly am not.

Look at me, I want to scream across the candlelit table. Acknowledge that I exist to you.

Her laughter rings out again, bright and false and aimed at me like a weapon.

Paul smiles at whatever she whispers against his ear. His eyes slide past my face without acknowledgment, and the ache transforms into fury.

After midnight, I find him alone in his office.

“You say I’m your mate.” The words hiss through my teeth before the door clicks shut behind me. “You say I belong to you completely.”

Paul looks up from his paperwork, pale eyes tracking my approach with wary attention.

“But I’m still invisible here, Paul.” My voice trembles with rage I can’t contain anymore. “Still serving your wife breakfast every morning she demands it.”

“Morgan, lower your voice before someone hears you,” he says carefully.

“Still flinching every time she threatens to kill me in these hallways.” I ignore his warning completely. “How exactly am I different from a slave to you?”

His jaw tightens with visible frustration, muscle jumping beneath stubbled skin.

“You know why things have to be this way right now.” He rises from his chair slowly. “The alliance between our packs depends on maintaining appearances.”

“The alliance.” I laugh, and the sound scrapes bitter across my throat.

“This isn’t funny, Morgan,” he warns, voice dropping dangerously low.

“I’m so tired of hearing about your precious alliance with Silver Moon.” The accusations pour out like poison I’ve been swallowing for weeks now.

“Morgan.” His tone carries a warning I refuse to heed tonight.

“You say I’m your mate, but you parade Sarah around like she actually matters to you.” The accusations pour out like poison I’ve been swallowing. “You claim me in private but won’t protect me in public.”

“I protect you every single day,” he growls, stepping closer.

“Do you?” I stand my ground despite his advancing presence. “What am I supposed to feel, Paul?”

“You’re a free woman here, Morgan.” His voice strains with mounting frustration. “You can make your own choices now.”

“Can I really?” I step closer, reckless with fury now. “Zane wants me, and he’s made that perfectly clear to both of us.”

Paul’s entire body goes rigid at his brother’s name.

“He wouldn’t hide me away like a shameful secret nobody can know about.” The words land exactly where I aimed them.

His eyes flash silver with possessive fury, and I brace for the explosion I’ve provoked.

But instead, his expression smooths into careful blankness that terrifies me more than his rage.

“Then choose him,” he says quietly, the words devastating in their calm delivery.

“What did you just say to me?” I whisper, heart stuttering against my ribs.

“If my brother is what you want, I won’t stop you from having him.” His voice carries no emotion I can identify. “You have my permission to pursue whatever makes you happy.”

We both know I’ll never choose Zane over what burns between us. But the permission feels like abandonment wrapped in reasonable words.

I leave without responding, his dismissal burning through my chest like acid with no antidote.

***

“Ricky, I can’t accept this gift from you,” I whisper, throat tight with emotion.

“You can and you will, because I love you.” Her tone brooks no argument. “For when you’re finally ready to leave that situation behind entirely,” she continues firmly.

“What if I’m never ready to walk away from him?” I whisper the fear aloud.

“Then you call me anyway, and I’ll remind you that you deserve more.”

Her words echo through my skull during the entire drive back to Blood Ridge.

Men who want you find ways to have you completely.

Evening light paints the packhouse gold when I climb the front steps. Paul stands in the hallway, and I approach before common sense can stop me.

Sarah’s perfume hits my nostrils first—floral, expensive, unmistakable in its implications. The scent clings to his collar, his jaw, the hands that held me just days ago.

My stomach lurches violently at the physical evidence of where he’s been.

“You smell like her.” The words escape before I can trap them safely.

Paul’s expression hardens into the cold Alpha mask I’ve learned to dread seeing.

“She’s my wife, Morgan.” His voice carries no apology or explanation whatsoever. “I’m the Alpha of this pack, and I can do whatever I please.”

The dismissal is brutal, deliberate, calculated to wound me as deeply as possible. I force myself to nod even as a piece of my heart withers completely.

“Of course you can, Alpha Paul.” My voice comes out hollow, scraped empty of everything. “I understand my place in this hierarchy perfectly now.”

His jaw tightens at my formal address, but I continue before he can speak.

“I’ll clean your bedroom tomorrow morning like a good servant should.” The words drip acid. “Make sure the sheets are fresh for you both to enjoy together.”