Chapter 6 Audience
ARYA
I was wondering if I'd really handled worse when the elevator dinged. I straightened my shoulders and stepped out onto the executive floor.
My feet came to a sudden halt, heart batting in my chest when I heard his laughter coming from his office.
My feet carried me forward before I could think better of it. The door to Jaime’s office was partially open, and through the gap, I could see two silhouettes. It wasn’t hard to make them up.
Jaime was sitting on the edge of his desk, relaxed in a way I’d never seen him. And Elira was perched on his desk chair, looking up at him with an expression that made my stomach turn.
They were laughing about something. Looking comfortable like they’d done this a thousand times before.
As if I didn’t exist.
“The council agrees she’s not fit,” Elira was saying, her voice carrying that saccharine sweetness that made my skin crawl. “She hasn’t given you an heir, she doesn’t have any strong wolf background. Heck, she doesn’t even have a wolf talk more of wolf strength,” she let out a scoff that grated on my ears. “She can’t even stand the cold. Which true northern woman doesn’t know how to stand the cold of the north? She’s more of a liability than an asset,” her voice lowers, “she’s not one of us, JJ.”
JJ. That stupid nickname I was sick of hearing.
Jaime’s expression was thoughtful. My throat tightened the longer he went without speaking, without disagreeing with her. When he spoke, his words made my heart stop.
“My grandmother’s choice was sentimental, not strategic.”
“Once the divorce is finalized,” Elira continued without missing a beat, twirling a pen between her fingers, “we can fix everything she’s broken. The pack will finally have the Luna they deserve.”
Divorce?
The word echoed in my head, drowning out everything else.
They were planning this. They weren’t just having an affair and humiliating me. They were planning to replace me entirely.
And Jaime was just sitting there, nodding along like it was a business deal.
I must have made a sound, a gasp, a whimper, or something because suddenly Ryker was there, his hand on my arm, gently pulling me away from the door.
“Arya, don’t,” he whispered urgently, shaking his head. “Not here.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think past the roaring in my ears. The world was quiet and loud at the same time. Deafening and still.
“Come on.” Ryker’s voice was firmer now, managing to tear through the million and zero voices i was hearing. “Let’s go. Please.”
He guided me down the hallway, away from that office and the voices plotting my erasure. We ended up in a small conference room, empty and blessedly quiet.
The moment the door closed behind us, my legs gave out.
Ryker caught me before I hit the floor, lowering me gently into a chair. He knelt in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his face etched with concern and barely contained fury.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice cracked. “God, Arya, I’m so sorry you heard that.”
“How long?” The question came out as a whisper. “How long have you known?”
He looked away, guilt written all over his face. “There was a council meeting last week. A closed session. They didn’t invite you.”
“And?”
“And they discussed concerns about your position as Luna.” He said the words slowly, like they might shatter me. They probably would. “Elira’s father led the charge. He went off about soem things and said the pack needed a stronger Luna. Someone who could produce heirs.”
“Jaime agreed.”
It wasn’t a question, but Ryker nodded anyway.
Something inside me broke then. A quiet snapping, like a thread pulled too tight finally giving way.
“I heard him,” I said, my voice eerily calm. His words replayed themselves in my head like a record on a loop. “I heard him say his grandmother’s choice was sentimental. Not strategic. That’s what I am to him. A sentimental mistake.”
“Arya—”
“I’ve spent five years trying to be enough.” My hands were shaking, so I clenched them into fists. “Five years making myself smaller, quieter, less… everything.” I breathed out, shaking my head as my eyes burned with unshed tears. My chest was heavy with something akin to frustration but did that really burn?
“I’m always trying not to stand out, not to embarrass him, not to be too much or not enough. And it was never going to matter, was it?” I lifted my head, gaze searching Ryker’s. For what? I don’t know.
His jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with an anger I’d rarely seen from him. “You were always enough. More than enough. He’s the one who’s not worthy of you.”
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
The question hung in the air between us.
I didn’t realise I was rubbing the spot where my heart was with my palm until Ryker reached down and took my hand in his. His thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.
“Because you loved him,” he said softly. “Or at least, you loved the idea of what he could have been.”
He was right. I had loved Jaime once. Or maybe I’d just loved the hope of being loved back.
A sharp knock on the door made us both jump. Ryker stepped back quickly, putting acceptable distance between us just as the door swung open.
Jaime stood in the doorway.
His expression was unreadable as he took in the scene; me in the chair, Ryker standing close, my face undoubtedly showing signs of tears.
“What’s going on here?” His voice was cold and controlled as he looked between us. As though gauging the meaning of how close we were.
I stood straight, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Something flickered in his expression. He let out an almost unnoticeable breath, his shoulders straightening as he spoke. “This isn’t the time or place—”
“When is?” I cut him off, and the sharpness in my own voice surprised me. “When would be a good time to discuss your plans to divorce me, Jaime? Should I schedule it with your secretary? Or should I just ask Elira since she seems to have more access to you than I do?”
Silence fell in the already quiet room. And that small voice always on the forefront of my mind almost pushed me to take the words back and apologise like I’d learned to do for five years.
His jaw clenched. “You were eavesdropping.”
“I was existing in my own workplace when I overheard my husband and his mistress planning my replacement.”
“Elira is not my mistress.”
“Then what is she?” I took a step toward him. “What do you call a woman who spent the night in your bed on our anniversary? What do you call a woman who sits in your office discussing my inadequacies while you nod along in agreement?”