Rory was silent, indignant.
“Amber even followed Olivia to the hospital,” I continued. “She intends to sell the news of Olivia’s pregnancy to the tabloids. It’s all for money.”
I don’t trust Olivia, Rory replied. I feel she’s pretending. Lying.
“But greed is in Amber’s nature. Remember how we got into this mess in the first place?” I reasoned.
Rory grunted. We both clearly remembered. The first time we’d slept together, I’d paid Amber what I thought was a fair wage. However, she’d asked for more, the hefty sum not enough to satisfy her.
The morning after Olivia had broken up with me, I woke up with a headache and a beautiful woman lying next to me. All I could remember was drinking at the bar the night before, but I had no recollection of leaving, of coming home, of this woman.
She looked at me, her eyes wide with surprise and wonder, but I didn’t know her. I couldn’t say it wasn’t a look I’d experienced before at the hand of a star-struck lover. I was the Alpha of Thorn Pack, after all.
I got up to shower, and when I returned, she was still there, waiting with an expectant look. I had no idea what she could be waiting for. Usually, the women I slept with were all to eager to sneak out in the night, at the most leaving their numbers in my phone with a note to call them if I wanted to do it again.
I’d been so distraught, though. Had I? It wasn’t out of the question.
I pulled a pre-loaded card out of my pocket and handed it to her.
“This is for you, ” I said.
Her eyes shifted from anticipation to shock, then to sadness. I found this strange. If she really was a prostitute, she’d be used to this exchange by now. My mind raced, scrambling to put together an acceptable apology.
The woman looked down at the card for a moment, hesitating, then taking it from my hand.
So my assumptions had been correct.
She looked up at me, her eyes so wide. “Could you . . . ” she trailed off, then continued, “Could you spare some more?”
Although it turned out that Amber was not actually a prostitute, she did borrow money from me several more times. She always asked for a substantial amount.
Maybe she was with me just for the money, but I was obsessed with her body. Rory was obsessed with her scent.
One day, Amber began refusing my money. When I asked why, she said she wanted to be with me. I was sure she wanted a more stable relationship in order to extract more benefits from me. Despite myself, I desired her body, and her presence had become familiar.
Rory’s insistence also couldn’t be ignored, and I’d always considered him a good judge of character.
I gave her a marriage contract. Admittedly, the conditions were harsh. Our marriage was to be a secret, and no one could know. She accepted my offer without hesitation.
Rory grumbled, “Don’t divorce her. You’ll regret it.”
Amber was being unreasonable. She’d never brought up divorce before. This was impulse, a tantrum brought on by the threat Olivia posed as another woman in my life.
A suitable woman, who I could marry in public. Who could be Thorn Pack’s Luna.
“Go home, Amber,” I commanded. “From now on, you aren’t to leave the house without my permission.”
“Did you ever really love me? Even just a little bit?” Amber cried.
I wanted to say no. Our relationship had never been predicated on romance, but convenience. She got to exploit the resources my position as Alpha granted her. I got to use her body, and a live-in housekeeper.
However, Rory roared in protest. I told myself it was just the familiarity of having her take care of me. Love had never been involved.
“We’re just about sex. And money,” I spat, clutching to Olivia’s side.
As soon as the words left my mouth, my chest tightened in pain.
Amber’s POV
My heart broke as Julian turned away from me, his arm still around Olivia, his words ringing through my mind. I turned and left. I could almost hear the wail in my heart, a voice constantly calling my name.
I started packing as soon as I got home. The house – our house – was filled with so many memories. There were the flowers and plants I had arranged myself, along with the vases, paintings, and even the color of the sofa and the cushions.
Some of my favorite objects in the house were the furniture covers I had learned how to weave myself. The precise movements of weaving often reminded me of medical school, learning to sew stitches into skin with depth and skill. I told myself that both the acts of weaving furniture covers and sewing up human bodies were beautiful, in their own, distinct ways.
Julian never said it out loud that he liked the furniture covers, but he often sat on that sofa and went through his documents. He would lean back, casually leafing through important documents and new proposals, looking more relaxed than he did at practically any other time.
I warned myself not to think about him anymore. He’d shattered everything. Like the covers, I’d manufactured this life for myself. This prison I found myself trapped in had been built by my own hands.
Julian had never truly appreciated me, or this manufactured cage, and now he wanted to push me further into it, to tighten my chains even more than they already were. What did he think I was? His toy?
Someone who just stayed at home, ready to spread her legs for him whenever he wanted?
My luggage was strewn about the house as I decided what to bring with me and what to leave behind. I stood behind the couch, running my fingers over the woven texture of the sofa cover. I’d spent so long on the project, it was tempting to bring them with me.
But I didn’t think I would ever be able to look at them without thinking of Julian, of his dark black hair and blue eyes, of his long limbs resting against the soft fibers.
I decided to leave them. At the very least, they would be proof that I’d been here, even if no one else decided to acknowledge the large role I’d played in Julian’s life.
I finished packing in the bedroom. When I finished, finally zipping up my last suitcase and sealing the last box with strong, clear tape, I lay down on the bed. I tried to rest, but I was unable to sleep through the night.
Julian didn’t come home. Not that this was entirely unusual, but the context was different now, and usually he’d send word when he wouldn’t be home so I wouldn’t have dinner ready for him to heat and eat when he returned.
I turned on the news, and the image of Julian and Olivia entering a fancy restaurant occupied the TV screen. Immediately, I turned off the TV. I didn’t want her, even the image of her, to scar this bedroom Julian and I had shared.
Not while I was here, at least.
The next morning, as soon as it was a reasonable hour to make a phone call, I consulted a lawyer. He told me what I already knew: if I divorced him, I would have to leave Thorn Pack.
I made up my mind.
I bought a ticket to leave.
Third Person POV
Olivia sighed with relief. Julian had finally left for work, finally left her alone. She could breathe, not stifled by Julian’s overbearing chivalry and her own web of lies.
“Are you sure it’s alright if I leave?” Julian asked her. “I can tell the office I can’t come in today.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Olivia had purred in her best impression of a demure, wifely woman. “Of course I’ll be alright. After all, I have my own security here. They won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Alright,” Julian had finally acquiesced, “but if Amber shows up, I want you to contact my office immediately. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”
“Of course, darling,” Olivia replied.
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