My claws nearly pierced through the paper, my vision darkening. Jonathan had arranged this. He had condemned my mother and gifted her very heart to another woman. Then he had marked me, masked himself as my mate, and stood by me during the grief he orchestrated.
Pushing the medical documents aside, I picked up another bundle: financial records. At first glance, they seemed like standard expenses—pack-related costs—but I saw through them now. They weren’t investments. They were offerings.
Exquisite jewelry. High-end gowns. Lavish resort bills.
All of it... for Janine.
Then came a folder filled with receipts tied to me—simple things: a charm bracelet, a modest ring, a bouquet here and there. I'd once clung to them as tokens of love. But now they looked like hush gifts. Cheap covers for a bigger lie.
A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. I had been the stand-in. The convenient mate. The political pawn.
But I didn’t crumble. My fingers shook with fury, not fear. I pulled out my phone and took photos—evidence of every betrayal, every lie he hoped would stay buried.