Chapter 129

DEREK

I didn’t stop for the cameras.

They flared like tiny suns as I stepped out of the black SUV, their shutters clicking rapid-fire.

Flashes bounced off the platinum buttons of my coat, off the trim of my collar, illuminating the sidewalk in sharp, artificial bursts. I walked straight through the chaos, ignoring the shouted questions—most about Elena, some about the Summit, one about the bottle of wine I’d ordered last time I was here.

I didn’t break stride.

Inside La Scala, the light changed. Dimmer. Softer. Cooler. The maître d’ smiled with studied precision.

“Mr. King,” he said smoothly. “Your table is ready.”

I followed him past tables lit with candlelight, past clinking glasses and murmured conversation. It was the kind of restaurant where powerful people came to be seen pretending they didn’t want to be seen.

I let them see me.

The table was in the back, near the floor-to-ceiling windows and a wall of rare vintages. As I settled into the leather-backed chair, I felt the room shift. A ripple. A pause.

Then she appeared.

Amy.

Her hair was up, a crisp white apron tied around her waist, and her eyes widened the second she saw me.

She froze mid-step.

“Hello, Amy,” I said smoothly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met an ultrasound technician who moonlights as a waitress.”

She swallowed hard.

I picked up the wine list and flicked it closed. “I’ll have a bottle of the 1982 Chateau Mouton Rothschild.”

Her eyes went even wider.

I smiled, just barely. “Take your time with it.”

She nodded once, clipped, and vanished into the cellar.

I leaned back in my seat.

She was rattled. Good. That would make this easier.

When she returned, the bottle cradled delicately in her arms, she showed it to me with trembling fingers.

I took my time examining the label. Dusty. Genuine. Immaculate.

A legendary vintage, delicate and earthy, with a reputation for complexity. One of the best bottles on their menu. Difficult to open. Time-consuming to decant.

Exactly what I needed.

I gave a small nod. “That will do.”

She set the bottle on the table and retrieved the corkscrew with practiced hands, but they weren’t as steady as they had been when she greeted other tables.

I waited until she began cutting the foil before I spoke.

“I’m not here to get you in trouble,” I said. “But while I have you here, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Amy nodded, eyes focused on the bottle.

“How do you know Cassandra?”

Her fingers paused just for a breath before continuing. “We went to school together. A long time ago. She… helped me out once, when things were bad.”

“So you owed her a favor.”

She nodded again, keeping her head low.

“And this is your main job?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not an ultrasound technician.”

She peeled back the foil and reached for the corkscrew. “No.”

It took some time and concentration freeing the cork. It was an older bottle and corks like that could be brittle. I studied her as she worked at it.

Finally, she handed me the cork as it came free with a gentle pop.

I ran my thumb over the end, making sure it was damp—properly stored, as expected. I nodded. “Go ahead and pour.”

She poured a taste. Her hand was steadier now, trying to hide how much she was shaking inside.

“Did Cassandra pay you to come that day?”

“No,” she said. “I told you—I owed her a favor.”

I lifted the glass, inhaled the scent. Oak. Blackcurrant. Truffle.

“And the heartbeat on the monitor?” I asked, swirling the wine.

Amy hesitated. “It was… a recording. From someone else’s baby. We played it on the monitor while I faked giving the exam.”

I sipped.

Exquisite.

“And she asked you to do this?”

“She did.”

“With the intention of deceiving me?”

Amy’s voice was small now. “I believe so.”

I set the glass down with a soft clink. “Pour the full glass.”

She did.

“Now decant the rest,” I said. “I’ve lost my appetite for food. But I’ll be staying to enjoy the bottle.”

Amy said nothing. She bowed slightly and stepped away to fetch the decanter.

The wine sat on my tongue like a memory I hadn’t known I still carried.

Cassandra. Always scheming. Always twisting the truth just enough to stay one step ahead. She thought I’d never question it—never ask. She thought I’d cling to hope.

She thought wrong.

The manager arrived about twenty minutes later. A discreet, well-dressed man with perfect posture and an apologetic smile.

“Mr. King,” he said. “On behalf of the restaurant, thank you for joining us. I hope the service has been satisfactory?”

“It has.”

He gestured discreetly toward the front windows. “If you’d like to avoid the photographers, we’re happy to escort you through the rear entrance when you’re finished.”

I looked through the glass.

They were still out there. Still waiting.

Still watching.

“No need,” I said smoothly. “I don’t mind being seen.”

CASSANDRA

I dipped my fingers into the soak basin and let the warm water swirl around my knuckles.

I needed this. My shoulders ached, my head pounded, and the smell of acetone and lavender oil felt like the first thing to cut through the fog in days.

The nail technician smiled at me. “Do you want rounded tips again, or—?”

“Keep them square,” I murmured, flipping the page of the tabloid I’d brought with me.

My eyes flicked past an article about Alpha heirs in the northern territories—some scandal with a Luna eloping with a human, typical trash. I was halfway through the next paragraph when something caught my eye.

A short blurb. Barely three lines. Practically invisible.

Elena Hart and Alpha Logan have quietly ended their engagement, sources confirm. No official statement has been made, though pack insiders say the split was amicable.

I stared at the words for a long time.

Quietly ended.

No statement.

Amicable.

Something cold slithered down my spine.

Elena and Logan were over.

That wasn’t good.

I didn’t know why it wasn’t good yet—but I knew the timing was bad. My story had depended on the engagement still holding. Derek keeping his distance. Elena remaining on edge.

If the engagement was off…

I flipped the page, my fingers suddenly clammy.

And there it was.

A full-color photograph.

Derek King.

Stepping out of La Scala.

Looking sharp. Alone. Clean lines of a tailored suit. No tie. Hair swept back, chin tilted just slightly. He wasn’t smiling—but he didn’t need to. His expression alone said everything: power, control, intention.

Below the photo, a single caption:

Alpha King dines solo at La Scala.

I stopped breathing.

La Scala.

Where Amy worked.

No.

No, no, no.

He knew.

He had to know.

My heart pounded in my chest, too loud, too fast. My fingers dug into the magazine, nearly tearing the page. He wouldn’t have gone there unless he was checking something. Unless he had reason. Unless someone tipped him off.

Which meant my lie—my only card—was unraveling.

I flipped back to the article about Elena and Logan, reading it again with fresh eyes.

The engagement was over.

Elena was free.

Which meant she would be the first person he turned to.

Which meant I was screwed.

Unless…

Unless I didn’t do this alone.

I stared at the two pages—Elena’s quiet split, Derek’s public appearance—and for the first time in days, I began to think.

Not panic.

Think.

If I couldn’t win this on my own… maybe it was time to team up with someone who had just as much to lose as I did...