"Sir — Madam has been safely rescued from the Grace mansion," David reported as soon as he closed the office door behind him. He handed over a tablet with the live feed and a short intelligence summary. "We brought her to your private residence instead of the Frost mansion. Also, our investigation found Victor Dusk is the one who spiked her drink last night. He hired two escorts to ruin Mrs. Frost's reputation."
Adrian felt his chest tighten with a cold, terrible calm. Anger burned at the edges of his control — anger at Victor, at Aurelia, at Roman — but hearing the words "Mrs. Frost" from David hit him like something softer, almost pleasant. For a heartbeat, that pleasantness pushed the fury aside.
He looked at David. "Cancel all my meetings for today," he said quietly. "Reschedule them for two or three days from now. If anything urgent comes up, bring it to my house."
David nodded and made notes. "Yes, sir."
"And clear her name," Adrian continued, each instruction coming out like a final decree. "Release the marriage certificate. Release the footage of me and Isabella leaving the hotel together. Tell the media she didn't sleep with a stranger — she was with her husband. Also, start feeding the press that Mr. Lawrence's heart attack was not caused by Isabella. Suggest foul play or manipulation; we'll present proof soon."
David's eyes flicked up. "Understood, sir. I'll have the PR team draft statements and prepare the footage release."
Adrian rose from his chair. He put on his coat with slow, measured movements. "Good. I want that rolling within the hour." He moved toward the parking garage, David following.
Outside, the car that waited for him was an Aston Martin Vantage in midnight blue, sleek and low, the kind of car that looked fast even when still. Adrian reached for the handle, paused, then turned as David spoke again.
"Sir… one more thing." David hesitated, careful. "When our men reached the Grace mansion to pick up Mrs. Frost, there was already another group on site — masked guards and a woman in a silver gown. They had arrived before us and were escorting her when we got there."
Adrian didn't answer at once. He only watched David. The silence stretched like a held breath.
David rushed to explain, feeling the pressure of that stare. "They didn't harm her. They were protecting her. But we don't know who sent them. We couldn't identify the group. The silver-gowned woman insisted on taking Isabella, then turned her over to our team once we showed the marriage certificate."
Adrian's face stayed controlled, unreadable. Finally he spoke, voice low. "Find out who those people were. I want a full report by the end of the day — names, affiliations, the woman's identity, every vehicle, every phone ping. If you can't produce it, forget next month's bonus."
David stiffened, swallowed, and forced a brave nod. "Yes, sir. I'll get it done."
Adrian stepped into the midnight-blue Aston Martin, closing the door behind him and leaving David to carry out his orders. The door clicked shut with quiet finality — like the sound of a storm about to break.
For the first time in his life, Adrian Frost was postponing all his work and heading home in broad daylight. He never left a deal unfinished, never abandoned a meeting — but today was different. Today, there was only one person who could make him forget the world, and that person was his wife.
Mrs. Isabella Frost.
As the car slid through the traffic, Adrian's gaze went distant. Memories — old, buried ones — began to surface like ghosts from another life.
Adrian Frost, thirty-one years old now, had not always been the cold and calculating businessman the world knew. Behind that calm, steel exterior lived a leader born from blood and chaos — the Alpha of the Eclipse Pack.
He was only twelve when his father — the former Alpha — was killed in the Great Pack War. The Eclipse Pack had been known across the territories for its strategic brilliance and silent strikes. They never attacked without reason and never lost when they did. Ambush was their art; patience, their weapon.
He still remembered that winter night vividly — the night everything changed.
At that time, the daughter of the Alpha of the Moonviel Pack had been promised to the new Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack. The union was meant to unite two of the strongest clans and end years of tension. She was said to be the most powerful She-Wolf of her generation — destined to become the Queen of all Alphas.
But instead of following the political path chosen for her, she followed her heart. She chose love — a human — over the throne.
That single act of defiance shattered the fragile peace. The Bloodmoon Pack, known for its violent temper and hunger for dominance, declared war. And when the Moonviel Pack could no longer hold their ground, the Eclipse Pack stepped in — as allies, not conquerors.
The war was brutal. Both Alphas — of Moonviel and Eclipse — were slain in battle. It was the High Moon Council, the supreme authority among werewolves, that finally intervened and forced a ceasefire.
Then something unexpected happened. After a year and a half of exile and silence, the Moonviel daughter returned. She did not come back as a broken exile — she came back to lead. With the backing of those who still believed in her strength, she reclaimed her place and rose as She-Alpha of Moonviel, determined to rebuild what the war had shattered. Her return changed the political map: wounds healed into uneasy truces, and the three packs learned to live with a tense peace rather than constant war.
The sight of the black, shining gates pulled Adrian back to the present. The memories of war, blood, and the past faded like mist in sunlight. This was no time to dwell on history — not when his future waited beyond those gates.
He drew a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel before driving through. The iron gates of his private residence opened soundlessly, and the Aston Martin rolled into the driveway, its reflection gleaming against the dark metal.
Adrian stepped out, his usual cold composure softening for the first time in years. He wasn't returning to a battlefield or a boardroom today — he was coming home.
Home, where his only family waited.His wife.
He walked toward the entrance, leaving behind the shadows of the past and carrying with him the quiet promise that no one would ever hurt her again.
He entered the living room. The soft light of the afternoon streamed through the sheer curtains. Isabella sat on the edge of the sofa, her posture straight but her eyes lost somewhere far away. Her hands were tightly clasped on her lap, holding the red marriage certificate as if it were both her shield and her curse.
When she heard the door open, her head lifted slightly. For a moment, silence filled the room — heavy, fragile, and uncertain.
Adrian's gaze softened as he looked at her — she was pale, tired, her hair slightly tousled from the chaos, yet there was still that quiet grace that had always drawn him to her.