Benedict’s golden eyes flickered over the message, and instead of looking guilty, he sighed and reached for his phone. Without hesitation, he pressed Quinn’s number.
The line clicked. "Alpha Benedict," a woman’s voice purred.
"Quinn," Benedict’s voice was ice-cold. "I wasn’t aware my Beta had started offering... personal services."
A pause, then a nervous chuckle. "Oh—Alpha, I’m so sorry! That message wasn’t meant for you. I must have sent it by mistake—"
"If it happens again," he interrupted, "you’ll be out of my pack before sunrise."
He ended the call and turned back to me, his sharp features softening. "See? It was nothing."
I should have felt reassured. But something inside me—the same instinct that had kept me alive all these years—refused to let it go.
I pulled away from his grasp. "I’m tired. We can talk tomorrow."
His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he nodded. "Fine. I’ll be in the study."
The storm outside raged long into the night. Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the windows. When I woke, the bed was still empty beside me.
Frowning, I glanced at the clock. 3:12 AM. Still working?