Adele's POV
I was already moving before the echo of my own name reached my ears.
My heels struck the marble floor in sharp, frantic clicks as I pushed through the corridor, the faint scent of ink, coffee, and polished stone clinging to the air. Paris hummed outside the glass walls, but inside my chest, something far more dangerous stirred—my wolf pacing, uneasy, hackles raised.
"Ma'am," Lea said breathlessly behind me, clutching her notepad like a lifeline, "Miss Carrie is demanding an appointment."
I flinched.
Carrie.
The name alone was enough to twist my stomach into knots. The tabloids had been feasting for weeks—Carrie Channing, supermodel and social darling, newly engaged to the Alpha King of the Underworld himself.
Caden Wayne.
Once, the world had known me as Adele—his mate, his Luna, his greatest weakness. A woman he had hidden from public view, locked away in shadows so no one could ever touch what he claimed.
And now?
Now he was engaged to another woman.
The irony would have been laughable if it didn't still ache like a half-healed wound.
Carrie had recently acquired a lavish Paris apartment and, of all people, had demanded me—Fleur Swann—to design it. I knew better than to accept. Working for the fiancée of the man who had nearly destroyed me was an invitation to disaster.
"I won't take her," I said tightly. "Tell her we're booked solid. Two years. Minimum."
"I did, ma'am," Lea replied, hesitation creeping into her voice. "But she refused to listen. Security just informed me she's already inside the building. She's… heading this way."
My breath caught.
"No," I muttered. "No, no, no."
This wasn't just inconvenient—it was actually dangerous.
Though no one from Caden's circle had ever seen Adele's face—he had made sure of that—I couldn't afford coincidence. Wolves recognized things humans didn't. Scent. Energy. Instinct.
And even though I spent my married years being almost wolfless, now that my wolf had awakened, I would be discovered at a first whiff.
"Tell her I'm not here," I said quickly, veering toward the elevators. "Tell her I'm out of town. No—out of the country. Indefinitely."
Lea struggled to keep up as I cut through the open-plan office, designers hunched over their workstations, unaware that a storm was walking straight toward them.
I didn't look back.
I didn't see the elevator doors slide open.
I didn't realize fate had impeccable timing.
He stepped out just as I reached the bank of elevators.
Alpha Caden.
The air shifted violently, as if the room itself bowed to him. His presence rolled through the office like a dark tide—dominant, cold, unmistakably dangerous. Wolves buried deep within my staff stirred uneasily, sensing a predator they could not see.
He wore control like a second skin—tailored black coat, broad shoulders rigid with authority, icy blue eyes fixed forward. His guards flanked him, and Carrie clung to his arm, her perfume sharp and invasive.
I lowered my head instinctively, my heart slamming against my ribs.
We passed each other.
Only a few feet apart.
My wolf almost howled.
The elevator doors opened behind me, and I stepped inside without daring to breathe, jabbing the button for the first floor. My pulse thundered in my ears as the doors began to slide shut.
At the last second, one of his guards shifted.
And I saw Caden's back.
The sight struck me like lightning.
That broad frame. That lethal stillness. That unmistakable dominance I had once known as home.
The doors closed.
The elevator released me onto the first floor like a mercy I hadn't earned. I moved fast—surprisingly fast—my pulse still skidding from the near miss upstairs, my wolf snarling restlessly beneath my skin. Only when I slid into my car and locked the doors did I allow myself a full breath, lungs burning as if I'd been running for miles instead of floors.
Home came into view as dusk painted Paris in ember-gold. I parked, rode the private lift to the fiftieth floor, and felt the familiar calm settle over me as the doors opened to glass, sky, and light. The city sprawled beneath my windows like a living constellation. A real smile finally curved my mouth.
My children.
They were my anchor—my moon and stars. Every step toward them softened the sharp edges of the day.
As I quietly peeked inside the living room of my apartment, takeout cartons were arranged like a feast, the table set with mismatched enthusiasm and love.
"That man looked exactly like Gabriel," Chloe said thoughtfully, aligning plates with great seriousness.
"Don't compare me to that bad guy," Gabriel grumbled, affronted.
"He wasn't bad," Chloe argued, chin lifted. "He caught me. And he bought the gown."
Raphael paused, frowning. "It is strange," he murmured, eyes distant. "The resemblance."
I cleared my throat, announcing my presence.
Gabriel shot up. "Mom's home!"
"Mom!" Chloe and Gabriel collided into me, all warmth and laughter. I dropped my bag and knelt, pulling them close, breathing them in like air.
"Had fun with your favorite movie star?" I teased, kissing their cheeks.
"So much!" Gabriel launched into a blow-by-blow, complete with dramatic flourishes. I listened, smiling—until I noticed Raphael watching us, contentment soft and unguarded on his face.
He stepped closer and kissed my forehead. "Welcome home," he whispered.
For a heartbeat, I let myself imagine a simple happiness. I was truly glad to be home. This kind of home.
***
The next morning, I left for work, but never reached the office.
Hands. A hood. The world turning sideways.
They took me beneath the city—to stone and damp and iron. The dungeon smelled of rust and old fear. Blows came hard and fast, meant to break resolve as much as bone. I tasted blood and refused to lower my gaze.
A woman loomed over me, beautiful and cruel. "You'll learn not to refuse me, you arrogant bitch."
It was Carrie Channing.