Chapter 103 Chapter 103
Reed
I was shaking by the time the Uber slowed to a halt in front of our mansion. My hands were ice cold, clenching and unclenching over and over in my lap. I told myself it was nerves. That it was just the natural anxiety that came before a confrontation. My thoughts raced in tight, frenzied circles as I tried to think of how I’d explain everything to Rayne—how I’d beg, cry, fall to my knees if I had to. I’d been rehearsing the apology the entire ride home, running through every possible emotion I could milk, every line I could weaponize with sincerity.
“I have no excuse, I understand now... I never meant to hurt you... Rayne, please... I love you—”
But the second my eyes landed on the front porch, all the air in my lungs vanished.
Bags.
Four of them.
Neatly packed. Lined up like fucking tombstones.
My bags.
I knew them instantly. The tan leather carry-on I only used for vacations. The monogrammed duffle Rayne bought me after we got married. The charcoal Louis Vuitton with the worn zipper tab, my favorite. They were all there. Stuffed and zipped shut, waiting for their owner like obedient soldiers dismissed from duty.
For a full second, I forgot how to move. My hand was frozen on the Uber’s door handle, my gaze locked on the bags like if I blinked, they’d disappear.
They didn’t.
I stepped out of the car on autopilot. The wind cut through my jacket like ice, but I didn’t feel it. My legs trembled under me, my stomach flipped, my mouth went dry.
No. Oh hell no.
This had to be a mistake.
Maybe Rayne was just cleaning the closet. Maybe he was airing out the luggage. Maybe—
Maybe you’re fucking delusional, my mind snapped.
I staggered forward, each step heavier than the last, like gravity was working overtime just for me. When I reached the bags, I crouched down and unzipped the first one with trembling fingers.
Clothes. Mine. Folded carefully.
The scent of Rayne’s cologne clung faintly to the fabric, as if he’d packed them himself.
My stomach twisted so violently I thought I’d throw up right there on the porch. I dropped the zipper and stumbled backward, heart hammering like a jackhammer against my ribs.
No. No. This wasn’t happening. Rayne wouldn’t do this. He loved me.
He was just... upset. Confused. Hurt. He needed time. That’s all.
“It's not over,” I whispered, voice breaking. “It’s not over. It’s not over. He wouldn’t just kick me out of his life. He wouldn’t. He couldn't. Our love is eternal. He promised.”
Like a mantra. A spell. If I said it enough, maybe it’d become true.
Rayne couldn’t leave me. Not after everything. Seven years. Eleven, if you counted from when we started dating. He wasn’t just my husband—he was my whole fucking life.
He promised me forever.
I clutched my chest. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. I just needed to explain. Apologize. He’d listen. He always listened.
He was angry, sure. Maybe he didn’t want to see me right now. Maybe that’s why the bags were out here. Just a warning shot. Not the end. Not really.
He’d come around. He had to.
I grabbed the bags one by one and shoved them aside, out of sight. Out of mind.
I rushed into the mansion, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.
Everything inside me was trembling—panic, hope, desperation, all jostling for room in my ribcage. But none of it mattered. I just had to get to him.
To Rayne.
I had to explain. I had to fix this.
“Rayne?” I called out, stepping through the vast foyer.
No answer.
No sound at all.
The house was silent—unnaturally so. No clink of cutlery, no low hum of a playlist drifting from the speakers, no faint scent of dinner being prepared in the kitchen. Just an echo. Cold, hollow silence that filled every inch of space like a grave.
It wasn’t peaceful.
It was the kind of stillness that came before a catastrophe.
The kind of quiet that sits heavy on your skin.
Then I saw him.
In the living room.
Rayne.
He was sitting there, calmly, in the middle of our luxurious space like a statue carved from shadow and tension. Right there, on the velvet sofa—back straight, hands resting between his spread knees, head slightly bowed.
Too calm.
The kind of calm that made my bones ache.
The golden chandelier overhead cast a soft, expensive glow on everything. But even the light felt wrong—like it was scared to touch him.
I stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully.
“Rayne,” I whispered.
He didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge me. Just sat there, head lowered, hair shadowing most of his face.
But I saw his shoulders.
Still. Motionless.
Too still.
Like something inside him was holding its breath.
And then—he looked up.
I stopped breathing.
His face was blank. Completely unreadable.
But his eyes—
His eyes were red. Not in the tired, bloodshot way. Not from crying—though he had cried, that much was obvious from the dried tracks on his cheeks.
His once gorgeous viridescent irises were now a deep red. Like wine left too long in a goblet. Like blood drying beneath glass. Not green. Not even close.
And it wasn’t just the color.
There was something in them. Something dangerous. Ancient. A promise of death and bloodshed.
It hit me like a punch to the chest.
I didn’t need scent to understand what I was seeing. I couldn’t smell pheromones—Betas couldn’t. But I didn’t need to. The air was thick with it anyway. Tense. Suffocating. Like walking through invisible lasers.
The danger coming off of him was almost visible. Like it had weight. Texture. Heat. It pressed against my skin, made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Ash stirred.
My wolf jolted awake inside me like a man rising from a nightmare. But this wasn’t one of his usual cocky quips or eye-roll-worthy groans.
He was... terrified.
His voice was low and urgent, stripped of every ounce of sarcasm.
“Leave,” he hissed. “Get out now, Reed. Don’t say a word. Just turn around and run. We've never been this close to death in our entire life. Run as fast as you can. Something’s wrong. Something’s—”
“I’m not leaving,” I snapped, shoving him back down into the corner of my mind. “He’s my husband. He’s just upset right now. He just needs to hear me out. He loves me. He always listens.”
Ash thrashed once, hard, but I crushed him down and stepped forward.
Closer.
My hands trembled, but I raised one, just a little. My throat was dry, but I tried to soften my voice—to sound remorseful, small, sincere.
Even if it was a performance.
“Rayne,” I said gently, eyes burning with unshed tears I didn’t entirely fake. “I have no excuse. I understand now that what I did was absolutely horrible and should never have happened...”
I let my voice crack. A little sob slipped out.
“But I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Rayne, I—”
I didn’t get to finish.
The world exploded before I could even blink.
One second I was speaking.
The next—BOOM.
An invisible force—no, not invisible, him—slammed into me so fast I didn’t even see him move. One breath he was on the couch. The next, I was flying backwards.