TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 130

CHAPTER 87: PLAY MY GAME

EMBER’S POV

I didn’t know what a mating ceremony meant, not really.

I didn’t understand the severity of the band I was about to forge, the permanence of the choice being made for me.

I just knew that my mother told me to smile and my father told me to be grateful and Harrison told me ! was going to make his son very happy.

No one asked what would make me happy.

No one cared.

They took a girl who barely understood herself, who was still figuring out who she was and who she wanted to become, and they erased everything about her.

Stripped away her dreams, her voice, her autonomy. Molded her into something that would fit inside a small man’s box, a wife–shaped container designed to hold someone else’s expectations and nothing

more.

And now I’m sitting at a table with every single person who had a hand in it.

Harrison, cutting his steak with surgical precision, the architect of my destruction dressed up in civility

and good manners.

My mother, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, still performing even now, still pretending she’s something other than the woman who sold her own child.

My father, pushing food around his plate, unable to meet my eyes, drowning in guilt he doesn’t know how

to voice.

Gale, grinning at me across the table, enjoying my discomfort, savoring it like dessert.

Logan, watching Knox with barely contained hatred, already plotting his next move.

Monsters and memories.

r

I’m surrounded by monsters and memories, and the resentment that’s been building inside me all evening

is starting to feel less like an ernber and more like a wildfire, burning through my chest, demanding

release.

They did this to me.

All of them.

The fork in my hand is shaking.

Knox notices. Of course he notices. His hand finds my knee under the table and squeezes, a silent

CHAPTER 2

MY DAME

question, and I force myself to take a breath,

Not yet.

Not yet.

But soon.

The main course arrives + some kind of perfectly seared meat that i’m sure costs more than most people’s monthly groceries – and Harrison sets down his wine glass with the careful precision of a man about to make a move.

“I think,” he says, and something in his tone makes the entire table go still, “that we’ve had quite enough small talk for one evening.”

My mother pauses mid–bite, fork hovering in the air.

“This dinner exists for a reason,” Harrison continues, his pale eyes sweeping across the table like a predator surveying a field of prey. “We are here to address the unfortunate situation that has brought shame upon both our families. The scandal. The trial. The very public airing of grievances that should have remained private.” His gaze lands on me, cold and assessing. “But how can we resolve anything if we continue to dance around the truth?”

No one speaks.

“I propose a game,” Harrison says, and the word sounds wrong in his mouth, too playful for a man who

looks like he’s never experienced joy in his life. “A simple one. We go around the table, and each person

must answer one question honestly. Completely honestly. There must be no deflection, no evasion, no

pretty lies to make ourselves feel better.” He smiles, and it’s the smile of a man who enjoys watching things burn. “Think of it as… a cleansing. A way to lance the wound so it can finally heal.”

“That’s ridiculous,” my mother snaps. “I didn’t come here to play parlor games like some kind of-”

“You came here because I invited you,” Harrison cuts her off, his voice never rising but somehow filling the entire room. “You came here because you wanted something from me, whether that’s money or status or simply the chance to be in the same room as people who matter. So you will sit there, pevika, and you will play my game, or you will leave and never benefit from Crawford generosity again.”

My mother’s mouth opens, then closes. She looks like she’s swallowed something sour, but she doesn’t

argue.

“Wonderful.” Harrison picks up his wine glass again, swirling the dark liquid with an almost lazy grace. “I’ll begin, to demonstrate how it’s done. Someone ask me a question. Anything at all.”

Silence stretches across the table, thick and uncomfortable.

“Come now,” Harrison says, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “Surely someone is curious about something. This is a rare opportunity. I’m offering complete honesty.”

Knox shifts beside me, and when he speaks, his voice is flat and dangerous.

CHAPTER 22 HAY MY GAME

“Fine. Did you know what your son was doing to Ember during their marriage?”

The question is a grenade.

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