Chapter 16
Violet's POV:
Daemon’s hand, heavy and calloused, began to drift upward from my hip, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my mind remained encased in ice.
I didn't struggle. I simply lay there, rigid as a corpse, until his hand brushed the hem of my silk nightgown.
"Are you testing me again, Daemon?" I asked. "Checking to see if the pathetic little Luna still melts at your touch?"
The movement of his hand ceased instantly. For a long, agonizing moment, he hovered over me, his breathing heavy and uneven in the dark. I could feel his gaze burning into the back of my head. The air between us curdled, the charge of lust dissipating into a cold, sharp hostility.
Daemon ripped his arm away and rolled to the far edge of the king-sized mattress.
"Don't think about sleeping in the guest room," he spat, his voice regaining that familiar, icy armor of indifference. "My parents are downstairs."
By the time I woke, the other side of the bed was cold.
I descended the grand staircase just past noon. The house staff moved with quiet efficiency. Ruby informed me that the elder Blackwoods had left an hour ago and that Daemon had gone to the company headquarters. I poured myself a cup of black coffee.
Then my phone vibrated against the marble countertop.
The screen lit up with a message from Evan. There was no greeting, just a single image followed by a location pin.
I tapped the photo, and my blood ran cold. It was a shot taken from the shadows of the warehouse district last night. In the frame, I was supporting Zane, his arm draped heavily over my shoulder, our faces close as I helped him limp toward the exit. To an outsider, it looked intimate—a clandestine meeting in the dead of night between the Frost Luna and a young male wolf.
Evan had watched.
My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white. If Evan showed this to Daemon, or worse, leaked it to the Council, my plan to leave with my dignity and my assets intact would be incinerated. I would be branded an adulteress, stripped of my standing, and cast out with nothing. It was one thing to leave an Alpha; it was another to be discarded for "immoral conduct."
I dialed Evan’s number immediately. It rang twice before he sent me straight to voicemail. I texted him: We need to talk. Now.
Read. No reply.
"Damn it," I cursed under my breath, slamming the coffee cup down. I grabbed my keys and sprinted for the garage.
Evan was sitting behind his mahogany desk, reviewing a patient file. He looked up as I barged in, his expression unreadable behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
"I'm with a patient's file, Violet," he said coolly, not bothering to stand. "This is a place of business, not a venue for your marital dramatics."
"You made it my business when you started stalking me," I snapped. "You were there. Why didn't you come out? Why hide in the shadows like a coward?"
Evan slowly removed his glasses, folding them with precise, deliberate movements.
"I was passing by on an emergency call when I saw the bike," he lied smoothly. "I stopped to see if you were in trouble. Imagine my surprise when I saw the grieving, neglected wife cozying up to a college boy in a dark alley." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Explain yourself. What is he to you?"
"He's a friend," I said. "He was attacked by Rogues. I was in the area. I saved his life, Evan. That’s it."
"A friend," Evan repeated, a sneer curling his lip. "You expect me to believe you risked your safety, and the Pack’s reputation, for a 'friend'?"
"Zane has a mate," I shot back. "We are strictly platonic. I am not the one in this marriage who has a wandering eye."
Evan scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Words are cheap. That photo says otherwise."
I stared at him, realizing that in his eyes, I was already the villain. He was Daemon’s Beta—loyal to a fault, blind to his Alpha’s sins, and eager to protect the pack structure. I needed undeniable proof.
"Fine," I said coldly. "You want the truth? Watch this."
I pulled up the app connected to my helmet’s GoPro. I scrubbed the timeline to the encounter with the Rogues and shoved the phone into his face.
On the screen, the high-beams cut through the darkness. The audio crackled with the Rogues' threats. The footage clearly showed the confrontation, the attempted extortion, and my threat about the Delta unit. There was no romance, only survival.
Evan watched the video in silence. I saw the tension in his shoulders ease, just a fraction.
"Does Daemon know this boy exists?"
"Daemon doesn't know," I said, my voice dripping with disdain. "And why would he? Zane is an ant to him. Daemon doesn't concern himself with the lives of insects."
Evan studied me for a long moment, searching for a lie. Finally, he nodded, tapping his screen to trash the file. "Keep it that way. For everyone's sake."
I straddled my bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me. It was mid-afternoon. Daemon was finally free of his parents. He would be desperate to see her.
My memory sparked. In my past life, this was the week the incident happened. Celeste’s father, Mason Morrison, ran a small but prestigious shop called The Shifter’s Hide, specializing in enchanted leather gear for quick transformations. It was located in the lawless buffer zone between the Frost and Wildfire packs. A local gang had been pressuring him to use his supply lines for smuggling drugs. Mason, proud and stubborn, had refused.
In the original timeline, Daemon had intervened. It was the catalyst, the moment he went from being the distant Alpha to the savior of Celeste’s family.
I shifted gears, the bike lurching forward. I had to see it.
The smell of the Grey Zone was distinctive—ozone, burnt rubber, and old blood. I parked the bike two blocks away in an alley and moved on foot, keeping to the shadows.
Mason’s shop was a wreck. The front window was shattered, shards of glass glinting on the pavement. Rolls of expensive leather were strewn across the street, and a workbench had been overturned.
But the violence had ended.
Daemon stood near the entrance, his dark suit immaculate against the chaos. He didn't look like he had been fighting. His hands were in his pockets, his posture relaxed.
In front of him, Mason Morrison was weeping. The older man, his face bruised and swollen, was clutching Daemon’s arm with both hands, bowing his head in profound gratitiude.
"Alpha... I don't know how to thank you," Mason sobbed, his voice carrying on the wind. "They would have broken my hands. You saved my livelihood. You saved my life."
And there, standing just behind her father, was Celeste.
Her large, baby-blue eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears.
Daemon nodded at Mason, saying something too low for me to hear, but his gaze drifted. He looked over the old man’s shoulder, locking eyes with Celeste. His expression softened. The cold, cruel mask he wore for me vanished, replaced by a look of intense, protective focus. He didn't smile, but the intensity of his stare was more intimate than a touch.
I stood in the alley, a bitter taste flooding my mouth. It was perfect. The billionaire Alpha sweeping in to save the innocent, hardworking family from the criminal underworld. He hadn't just thrown money at the problem; he had used his power, his violence, to protect them.
He was her hero.
I watched as Celeste took a hesitant step toward him, her lips parting to speak.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Daemon’s number.