TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 117

TIEST KING

CHAPTER 78: PETTIEST KING–2

“Like trouble,” he mumurs.

“Good trouble or bad trouble?”

“The best kind.”

Behind us, Rayana makes a gagging sound.

“Oh, please. She looks constipated. Must you two be so nauseating? Some of us are trying to recover from life–threatening injuries over here.”

Knox’s smile turns sharp. He looks at me, then at Rayana, and something wicked flickers in his eyes.

Before I can ask what he’s planning, his hand slides around the back of my neck and he pulls me into a kiss.

It’s not a quick peck, or a casual goodbye.

It’s a real kiss. Deep and slow and thorough, his tongue sliding against mine, his other hand settling on my hip to pull me closer.

He kisses me like we’re alone, like we have all the time in the world, like Rayana isn’t sitting right there watching with mounting fury.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and flushed and more than a little dazed.

“What was that for?” I manage.

He leans close, his lips brushing my ear.

“Pettiest king, remember?”

A surprised laugh escapes me. I glance over at Rayana, whose expression has curdled into something between disgust and barely concealed rage.

“You’re both horrible,” she announces. “Absolutely horrible. I hope you have a terrible time at your stupid

ceremony.”

“We’ll try our best,” Knox says cheerfully. “Don’t wait up.”

He takes my hand and leads me toward the door, where Nathaniel is waiting with his usual stoic professionalism.

“The suite is secure,” Nathaniel reports. “I’ll remain here with Miss Cross. The nurse is already set up in the guest room. If anything changes, I’ll contact you immediately.”

“Thank you, Nathaniel.” Knox claps him on the shoulder. “Try not to let her manipulate you into anything.”

“I’m immune to manipulation, sir.”

CHAPTER IS RETTIEST KING ?

“ARE YOU IMMUNE TO COMPASSION?” Rayana shrieks from the bedroom. “BECAUSE I’M DYING IN HERE AND NO ONE CARES!”

Nathaniel doesn’t even blink. “Have a pleasant evening.”

We escape into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind us, muffling Rayana’s continued protests about abandonment and cruelty and the general heartlessness of everyone she’s ever known.

The silence feels like a gift.

“She’s going to be impossible when we get back,” I say.

“She’s impossible now. At least when we get back, we’ll have had a few hours of peace.” Knox squeezes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “You handled her well.”

“I’ve had practice with difficult personalities.”

“Gale?”

“My mother.”

He huffs a quiet laugh.

“Fair point.”

We walk toward the elevator, and I find myself leaning into his side, soaking up the warmth of him.

It’s strange how natural this has become. The touching. The casual intimacy. The way my body gravitates

toward his without conscious thought.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For not letting her get between us.”

“Why would I let her get between us?” He sounds genuinely confused. “She’s my past. You’re my…” He trails off, something complicated shifting across his features. “You’re what matters.”

My heart stutters.

He didn’t say present. He didn’t say future. Justwhat matters.

I file that away to examine later, when I’m alone and can properly obsess over every word choice and

hidden meaning.

For now, I just squeeze his hand and let him lead me toward whatever comes next.

The grand ballroom has been transformed.

It’s hard to believe this is the same space that hosted the Christmas Eve gala just a week ago.

Gone are the formal arrangements from the earlier Summit events – the stiff seating charts and political positioning and carefully calculated sight lines.

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