Chapter 137 137
Aurélie POV
But there was one email I hadn’t opened.
That alone was enough to unsettle me.
Théo was meticulous when it came to IT security we almost never received junk mail. This one came from an unknown sender, with an image attached. It had been sent earlier that morning, and Fabrice clearly hadn’t seen it yet.
The moment I clicked it, my world shattered.
The photo showed Damien with Clémence at the Saint Wolf party.
He was wearing the exact same clothes.
She sat on his lap, grinding against him, her body pressed into his. One of his hands was wrapped around her neck, the other firmly on her ass.
I couldn’t breathe.
What was this?
Why would someone send this to me?
Tears burned behind my eyes, swelling fast, ready to spill with the slightest blink.
I knew it.
I knew I couldn’t trust him.
All this time, he’d been playing me getting close to the children, slipping into my life, weakening my alliance from the inside.
My heart felt like it had four years ago ripped out of my chest. Only this time, it wasn’t just torn away. It was crushed. Stamped into the ground until there was nothing left to salvage.
“Aurélie?”
His voice came from the doorway of my office.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t even look at him.
“What’s wrong?”
He sounded so convincing so perfectly concerned. I sneered inwardly.
“Get out!” I growled, my wolf pushing at my mind, urging reason, restraint anything but this fury.
“What happened?”
“This,” I roared, raw and unfiltered, spinning the screen toward him. “What the fuck is this?”
Rage consumed me.
I felt filthy. Used. Disgusting.
He had pleasured me upstairs just moments ago. Even on the night of that party, he’d been kissing me in the garden, touching me like I was the only woman who existed.
And yet that same night, he’d been with her.
Then again in his office the very next day.
“No—no, it’s not real.” He rushed toward me, gripping my face in his hands. “It’s fake.”
“I knew it,” I sobbed. “I knew you’d do this to me again!”
The tears broke free, pouring down my face, and for once I didn’t try to stop them. He deserved to see exactly what he’d done to me.
“I would never do that to you.”
“She’s all over you in the picture, Damien!” I screamed, trying to shove him away. “And the next day she waltzed into your office dressed like a tart. Stop lying to me!”
“Don’t doubt me, Aurélie.” He held my wrists against his chest, restraining me. “You’re my wife.”
“I was your wife four years ago,” I spat back. “And that meant nothing to you then either.”
Geneviève.
Clémence.
The images flooded my mind her hands on him, her body on what should have been mine. I couldn’t unsee it. Not the photo. Not the memories.
He still held me as my body shook rage, grief, heartbreak all colliding with a violent urge to hurt someone the way I was hurting now.
“Just go,” I whispered finally, drained. “Go back to the Bloodnight pack. I’ll arrange regular visits. You’ll still see the children.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said fiercely. “Not until I prove this picture is fake. And Quentin’s office yes, she made a pass at me, but I threw her out immediately. You’re the one I want, Aurélie. You’re the one I can’t live without.”
“Just leave me alone,” I sobbed.
This time, I managed to push him away. His grip loosened, and he stepped back. He moved to my desk, forwarded the email to himself, then turned to face me.
“I’ll prove it’s fake,” he growled. “And I’ll kill the bastard who sent it.”
He stormed out.
I slid down to the floor, curling into myself, arms wrapped tightly around my legs.
I knew it.
I knew he couldn’t be trusted.
He doesn’t want me. Not really.
I’m just the obstacle standing between him and what he truly wants
His heirs.