TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 398

CHAFTER MY DEVENCE PLAN

CHAPTER 324: MY REVENGE PLAN

EMBER’S POV

And what do you say to that?

I, of all people, who spent the whole morning learning exactly how much a person needs the fantasy sometimes, the silly unreal thing that isn’t another catastrophe.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Yeah, of course. We stay in the fantasy.” I link my arm back through hers, and I bump her shoulder, and I pitch my voice deliberately light, giving her the off-ramp. “Besides, we’re not done humbling Knox. We’ve barely scratched the surface. A man that rich, Queenie. There’s so much more spiritual damage to do.”

She laughs gratefully, and squeezes my arm, and the door closes again, gently, over the thing beneath, and I let it, because she asked me to and because some doors you only open when the person’s ready to hold what’s behind them.

“Okay,” she says, scrubbing her eyes, brightness firmly restored. “Okay. Yes. More darnage.”

And maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline, or the giddy bulletproof feeling of having walked out of that shop alive, but the mischief is fully in me now, and I can’t resist.

“Actually,” I say, “I haven’t told you what my dearest future husband did.”

“Ember.” She stops walking entirely. “What did that man do?”

So I fill her in on the ridiculous prank he unleashed this morning.

The fake panic, the staged breach, the heart-in-my/throat sprint to the safe room braced for Rafael, and the candlelit ambush waiting on the other side of the door, because the love of my life decided the way to make up for our fight was to fake a home invasion.

Queenie’s face goes through approximately nine emotions.

“He-” She stops. Starts again. “He faked an attack. He made you think Rafael was in the house.”

“Well, in his defence, he never mentioned Rafael. But oh goddess, I had a heart attack.”

“Oh, what a beautiful moron he is! He thought that was-” Her voice climbs into something strangled. “He thought that was romantic?”

“There were candles after,” I offer.

“Candles.” She says the word like it’s personally offended her. She presses both hands to her face, then drops them, and there’s a dangerous, gleaming light kindling in her eyes that I’m coming to recognise and love. “Ember, I need it permanently on the record that if I had been there, I would have thrown a heavy shoe at his perfect, stupid head. I would not have allowed it,” Queenie says, deadly serious. “The man possesses the emotional bandwidth of a heavily contoured brick. He is a beautiful, terrifying idiot”

MA

“That’s what he said.” I laugh.

14. Fis

Honestly, he is so incredibly lucky his tongue belongs in a museum, and he has you screaming like an unhinged woodland creature every night. Otherwise, he would be standing in the corner with Nate.”

I choke on my own saliva. “Queenie!”

“I’m just saying,” her grin turns slow and wicked. “Which is why your revenge is no longer optional. It’s a duty. And lucky for you-” she leans in, “-I have ideas.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

And this is how I end up in the back of a shop I will not name, in a part of the city Knox would have a stroke about, while Queenie pitches me increasingly unhinged schemes for the spiritual destruction of my

fiancé.

“Okay, hear me out.” She’s holding up something I decline to describe. “We fill the entire master suite with

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear-”

“I heard enough. No.”

“Fine. Fine. Then we-” she pivots, grabbing something else, eyes alight, “-what if, and this is just an

option, we-”

“Queenie, that’s illegal in several countries.”

“It’s art in the others.”

“Put it down.”

She puts it down. She picks up something else. She pitches it. Iveto it. She pitches a wilder one.

The poor guards have refused, point-blank, to come inside – they’re stationed at the door with their backs to the shop, two enormous men staring fixedly out at the street and radiating a desire to be anywhere else in the universe, and every so often Queenie calls out a question to them just to watch them suffer.

“Reyes! Professional opinion! If a man came home to find-” and Reyes, without turning around, says, “I am not paid enough for the rest of that sentence, ma’am,” and Queenie howls.

We toss ideas back and forth, escalating, ridiculous, half of them genuinely funny and all of them

genuinely too much, until Queenie, breathless, says:

“Okay, okay, but seriously, what would actually get him. What would crack that man’s whole composure? He’s unflappable. He’s a wall. What’s the one thing-”

And that’s when it comes to me.

EVENCE PLAN

The whole thing. Complete. Devastating. Perfect. I see it assemble in my head all at once, every piece of it, and I must make a face, because Queenie stops mid-sentence and stares at me.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify