The scent of lavender clung to her skin, unnaturally strong, masking something beneath. A human nose might not notice, but mine—sharpened by instinct and years of restraint—caught the bitter trace of wolfsbane hidden in her cologne.
Alpha Draven chuckled, the sound strained, almost mechanical. Then, as though remembering I still existed, he turned to me. “Ella,” he said, his voice dipping into a lower, colder register, “what were you doing barging into my study just now?”
“Retrieving my safe deposit box,” I replied calmly, holding it up. It was a small black case reinforced with silver trim—nothing remarkable. But inside it were the last pieces of the life I had shared with him: our marriage certificate, our household registry, the remnants of a bond that once meant something.
He frowned. His brows tightened the way they always did when his pride was wounded.
“What did you put in there?” he demanded. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Did you buy something behind my back?”
Before I could speak, he strode over and snatched the box from my hands. His hands were warm, but no longer familiar.
He stared at the combination lock, clueless.
That made me pause.