Chapter 10 A Crown of Glass

The war was over. The skies no longer burned with divine omens or split open with molten cries of beasts. The cursed moon had waned, and in its place, the sun rose warm and golden - soft, even, against the vast panes of tempered glass that surrounded the top floor of the Ashmoore Legacy Tower. The horizon gleamed like an empire reborn. But this was not a kingdom built of ancient spells and wolfblood; this was the empire of men, of commerce, of tailored suits, acquisitions, and ruthless corporate resurrection.

Killian sat at the head of the obsidian conference table, his posture carved of calm dominion. The silk of his charcoal-gray suit clung to him like liquid power. Everything about him was sharp - the cut of his jaw, the precision of his tie, the glint in his ringless hand as he held a Montblanc pen.

The board members quieted as he stood.

"From this day forward," he said, voice smooth and irrevocable, "Ashmoore International no longer bows to the past. We are not heirs. We are architects. The future begins with us."

A ripple of applause thundered. CEOs from five continents nodded. Global partners reached for their phones. Press releases were queued.

But his mind - even in that moment of victory - wandered.

Down the spiral glass stairs, across the penthouse expanse above, Seraphina was waiting.

His fiancée.

The word was surreal even now. After all they had endured - blood vows, ancient beasts, death and rebirth - she had returned to him as flesh and promise. No longer the Flame-Bride. No longer the haunted warrior queen. She was, now, simply Seraphina Ashmoore. Soon to be.

And she was radiant.

On magazine covers, in golden silk beside him at banquets, in silent meetings where her gaze made even foreign billionaires hold their breath. She spoke rarely in public - her mystique became part of their brand. They were a power couple for the ages. The world couldn't stop watching.

In private, they were quieter. Luxurious, slow mornings. Breakfasts prepared by Michelin chefs and eaten lazily on sunlit balconies. A hundred kisses before he left for work. Long, rich silences as they read across from each other on velvet couches. Occasional tension, subtle but sharp, when she looked at him a little too long and he looked away.

Because something inside him had changed.

It wasn't Seraphina. It wasn't her fault.

It was him.

He missed the war. The fire. The blood-magic, the prophecy, the divine madness of being more than a man. Now he was just a king without a crown. A CEO instead of a beast.

And kings, he reminded himself as he walked into his marble-lined office, had to keep moving.

His phone buzzed.

"Your new personal assistant has arrived, sir," came the crisp voice of the outer office manager. "Should I send her in?"

He blinked. Right - the hiring.

"Send her in."

He didn't know then that her arrival would be the match to the very quiet, very dry, very dangerous pile of kindling buried in his new life.

The sleek glass towers of Argent Corporation gleamed like silver monoliths against the golden wash of the setting sun. Within the tallest of them, Killian stood behind a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire city sprawling at his feet like a conquered kingdom. The hum of polished machinery and the quiet chatter of the executive floor echoed distantly behind him, almost irrelevant. He had taken his place in the corporate realm as seamlessly as he had on the battlefield, replacing claws and fire with ink and iron resolve.

Seraphina had taken well to the lifestyle too. As his newly announced fiancée, she was now the queen of this empire-adorned in silks and diamonds, courted by the media, and respected by all. Their love, forged in blood and prophecy, now basked under chandeliers and luxury. There were gala invitations, private flights, designer deals, and hush-hush negotiations over land and magical infrastructure.

But not all fire could be tamed.

Killian leaned back into his leather chair in the high-ceilinged office, his jaw resting on two fingers. Despite the vast power beneath his signature, he felt something gnawing-an itch he wouldn't admit to anyone.

That was when the door knocked gently.

"Come in," he said without turning.

The door opened, and in walked his new personal secretary.

Her name was Evangeline.

Tall, with smooth mahogany skin, elegantly cut raven-black hair that curved just beneath her jawline, and eyes as sharp as obsidian, she moved like a whispered promise. A silk blouse of pearl white clung just tightly enough to accentuate the rise of her chest with each breath, tucked neatly into a high-waisted pencil skirt that traced her form with the elegance of sin.

Her heels clicked as she approached, her lips painted a deep rose.

"Mr. Thorne," she said, voice poised and low, "Your meeting with the Tokyo delegation has been rescheduled to Friday. The CFO also requires your signature on the Westbrook acquisition documents."

"Leave them on the table," Killian murmured.

She did, her fingers lingering longer than necessary on the smooth wood. He glanced up finally, the air between them charged with an unspoken heat.

"Evangeline, isn't it?"

She gave a nod.

"I've read your profile. Impressive qualifications. You graduated top of your class. Why choose this role?"

Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Because you're not a man who operates like others, Mr. Thorne. I prefer working under people who lead with... intensity."

His eyes narrowed slightly, the wolf beneath his skin twitching at her choice of words.

"Intensity can be dangerous."

"I find danger... clarifying."

She turned to walk away, but her hips swayed in a way that felt designed. Intentional. Killian stood before he could stop himself.

"Wait."

She paused.

His breath came heavier. Logic screamed behind his eyes, reminding him of Seraphina, of honor, of control-but desire crept over him like shadow on snow. A dangerous, hot ache.

Evangeline looked over her shoulder.

"Yes, Mr. Thorne?"

He stepped around the desk slowly, his eyes pinned on her, expression unreadable but hungry.

"Do you know what happens to those who tempt wolves?"

She tilted her head, stepping closer. "They get bitten?"

"They get devoured."

And then, without warning, he kissed her.

It was not gentle.

It was not innocent.

Their lips crashed together like waves against rock-his hands gripping her waist, pulling her into him with a desperate hunger. She moaned softly into his mouth, her fingers weaving through his hair as his mouth slid along her jaw, his teeth grazing her neck.

"Tell me to stop," he growled against her skin.

She didn't.

Her blouse came undone between hungry fingers. Buttons scattered across the office floor. His hands traced the curve of her spine, yanking her skirt upward. She gasped, pressing against him as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Killian's inner voice screamed again-about betrayal, about the weight of trust-but it drowned beneath the roar of his desire.

He lifted her onto the polished desk, sweeping aside folders and documents like discarded leaves. The sharp slap of her heels against the oak echoed like percussion in a symphony of ruin.

"Killian," she whispered, voice trembling.

He froze for a breath, eyes wild.

No one called him that here.

Only Seraphina did.

The sound of that name-his real name on Evangeline's lips-rattled something inside him.

A beat passed.

He stepped back suddenly, breathing hard. His shirt was half-open, tie loosened, hair tousled.

Evangeline sat stunned on the desk, chest rising and falling, her blouse wide open. Her lipstick was smudged. Her skin flushed.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered, not knowing who he was speaking to-her, himself, or the echo of Seraphina's trust.

She straightened, redrawing herself with calm precision. Her voice had a velvet coolness to it.

"You don't have to apologize."

"I do."

"You're not the first powerful man to forget himself. Nor the last."

He looked away.

She adjusted her skirt, smoothed her blouse, and walked toward the door.

But before she opened it, she turned back to him with eyes that held no regret.

"Don't worry, Mr. Thorne," she said softly. "Your secrets are safe with me."

The door closed behind her.

And Killian was left in silence, breath ragged, heart storming.

The next morning, the mansion was oddly quiet.

Sunlight filtered in through the enormous bay windows of the master suite, casting golden lattices across the silk bedsheets. Seraphina stood by the window, a cup of tea untouched in her hand, her gaze fixed on the sprawling garden below-but her thoughts were far removed.

She had felt it.

Last night.

Something off. Something wrong.

Killian had come home late, his shirt crumpled, his cologne faintly mingled with another scent she didn't recognize. His eyes were evasive, his smile forced. And when he held her, there was an edge-guilt, or maybe distance-that clung to his touch like static.

But she hadn't said a word.

She had only watched him. Watched the man who had once shattered the sky for her... now quietly eroding at their love from within.

He had kissed her forehead like always. Whispered a tired goodnight. Laid beside her in bed, one arm draped over her body. But his heart... wasn't there.

Not fully.

And now, she stood alone in the morning hush, her tea cold, her thoughts louder than ever.

---

At the AlphaTech headquarters downtown, Killian stepped into the building like a king-immaculately dressed in a steel-gray suit, his aura sharp and commanding. But beneath the stoic composure was a storm.

He barely slept.

Not because of guilt-though it gnawed at the edges of his conscience-but because his mind kept circling back to her.

Juliana.

His new private secretary.

He'd promised himself it wouldn't happen again. It had been a moment of weakness. A lapse. He was in love with Seraphina-his mate, his bride-to-be, the woman who had risked her soul to fight beside him. But his body burned with something primitive around Juliana, something reckless.

And when he entered his office, there she was.

Leaning slightly over his desk, sorting through folders, her blouse tight across her chest, her skirt teasing just above her thigh. Her scent-vanilla and temptation-hit him like wildfire.

"Good morning, Mr. Thorne," she said without turning, her voice silk.

"Juliana," he replied, his tone clipped but already unraveling.

She looked up. Their eyes locked. The silence stretched.

She didn't need to smile. The look in her eyes was enough.

They both knew.

He crossed the room slowly, predatory.

"I wasn't expecting to see you this early," he said, his voice low.

"I thought I'd get ahead of today's schedule," she replied, tilting her head. "Unless you had something else in mind..."

Killian paused-every rational thought screaming to turn around, to go to his desk, to focus on the acquisition deal on his schedule. But her lips curved, and it was over.

He reached her in two strides.

Their mouths met with force this time, not hesitation. He gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she moaned into the kiss, her arms looping around his neck. The blinds were already drawn. The door locked.

There was no stopping this.

Not this time.

He wasn't careful. He wasn't slow.

Her blouse tore. His belt hit the floor. Her back hit the glass wall overlooking the skyline as he pressed into her with ravenous need. Her legs wrapped around him, her breath hitching with every motion, her nails leaving trails down his back.

It was wild. Raw. Unforgivable.

And he didn't stop.

His control-the legendary, ruthless control he wielded as both Alpha and CEO-crumbled in her hands. He lost himself in her skin, her voice, her scent. It wasn't just lust-it was a surrender. A betrayal drawn in fire and sweat.

When it was over, they stood in silence. His hands were still on her waist. Her head rested on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded.

"We shouldn't-" he whispered, but the words fell flat.

"You already did," she murmured, smirking. "Twice."

And he didn't argue.

He just buttoned his shirt, straightened his tie, and walked to the window-staring out at the city as if it might offer penance. But nothing could erase the guilt now threading itself into his bones.

Behind him, Juliana smoothed her skirt and began organizing files again, as if nothing had happened.

But something had.

And somewhere across the city, Seraphina stood in their shared kitchen, stirring honey into her tea with hands that had begun to tremble.

She knew.

Not the details.

But she knew something had happened again.

And this time... she would not remain silent for long.

The silence in the Thorne mansion that evening wasn't just still-it was suffocating.

Seraphina had spent the entire day moving like a phantom through the gilded halls, her face calm, her tone pleasant, every gesture measured. The maids hadn't noticed the difference. Neither had the guards. But inside her-where storms once rested-rage had begun to simmer.

She wasn't a fool.

She knew the game.

And this time, she had seen enough.

The lipstick stain faintly smudged on Killian's inner collar the night before. The scent of warm vanilla-not hers-clinging to his skin. The slight scratch on his jaw that hadn't been there in the morning, but appeared fresh by evening. A smirk he tried to hide when he looked at his phone.

And then, the final straw-his distant gaze at dinner, the kind of look someone gives when they're still tasting someone else's kiss.

Seraphina hadn't confronted him yet because she didn't want to scream while still unsure.

But today, she made sure.

She sent a quiet investigator to AlphaTech-just one. Discreet. Efficient.

And now, sitting on her vanity chair in their shared bedroom, a sealed folder rested in her lap.

Photographs. Time stamps. Video stills from security feeds.

She hadn't opened it yet. She didn't need to. The weight in her chest already told her what it contained.

The click of the front door echoed like a gunshot through the marble corridors.

Seraphina didn't move. She sat still as footsteps approached-his gait confident, like nothing in the world could ever fall out of place. That had always been Killian's strength. His arrogance. His illusion of control.

But tonight, that illusion was about to crack.

He walked in, unbuttoning his cuffs, his voice casual. "Hey, love. Long day?"

Seraphina finally lifted her eyes.

He paused.

The way she was sitting-so still, so composed, so cold-it sent a ripple of unease down his spine.

"Something wrong?" he asked slowly.

She stood. Her nightgown shimmered softly in the low light. Her fingers closed around the folder, and she took a step toward him.

"Where were you this afternoon?" she asked, voice delicate-dangerously so.

Killian raised a brow. "Board meeting ran late. Then went over some contracts with legal-"

"Try again."

He blinked. "What?"

"Try again, Killian," she said, louder this time, the sweetness bleeding from her tone.

His jaw tightened. "I already told you-"

She threw the folder at his chest.

It hit with a flat thud and landed on the floor between them. He stared down at it, then slowly crouched, flipping it open.

And froze.

There they were.

Clear. Sharp. Damning.

Photos of him and Juliana in his office. In an elevator. Entering a private room.

One showed her lipstick on his collar. Another showed her adjusting her blouse with a wicked smile.

Seraphina didn't need to see his face. The guilt was etched in every muscle of his body.

She crossed her arms, voice low. "Say it."

He looked up. "Sera..."

"Say it."

"I-" He swallowed. "It was a mistake."

"Mistake?" she laughed bitterly, eyes glistening. "A mistake is a kiss. A drunken moment. This-" she gestured at the photos, voice cracking "-this was planned. Repeated. You went back, Killian. Again."

"It didn't mean anything," he said quickly, standing, tone defensive now. "It was lust. That's all. You have to understand, things at work-"

"Don't you dare blame work."

His nostrils flared. "You think I'm the only one carrying weight here? Do you know what it's like being Alpha, CEO, building an empire with a target on my back every day? I didn't plan this."

"But you let it happen," she hissed, stepping closer. "And then you chose to lie to me. To come home to my bed with her still on your skin."

"I love you, Sera," he said, reaching for her. "What happened with Juliana-"

She smacked his hand away.

"Don't touch me."

A pause.

The air thickened.

Then her voice dropped-icy, steady, lethal. "You're lucky I went to you with this before I went to her."

His eyes darkened. "What do you mean?"

"I know how to deal with liars," she said. "But women who go after what's mine-that's personal."

Killian's expression hardened. "Don't start threatening my employees."

Seraphina gave a bitter smile. "She stopped being your employee the moment she dropped her knees for you in your office."

He clenched his fists. "I didn't cheat on you because I don't love you."

Her voice trembled. "Then why wasn't I enough?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

No answer came.

And in that silence, Seraphina's heart broke.

Then she turned, walking toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She paused. "To take a walk. To breathe. To remember what it feels like to not drown in betrayal."

But before she could take another step, Killian's voice-quiet, pained-stopped her.

"Please, don't leave like this..."

She turned her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You already did."

"Please, don't leave like this..." Killian's voice fractured the space between them-ragged, desperate.

Seraphina froze.

The tremble in his tone didn't move her. It infuriated her.

"You think I care how you want me to leave?" she said, spinning around, her voice seething. "You don't get to control the narrative anymore."

Killian stepped forward. "Sera, I didn't mean-"

"You didn't mean?" She laughed-a bitter, broken thing. "Was that before or after she dropped her panties on your imported oak desk?"

"Sera-"

"Stop saying my name like it's going to fix this!" she screamed, her hands shaking now. "Like you get to whisper it and erase what you did!"

He flinched.

"I have stood by you, Killian Thorne. Through war, through betrayal, through blood and prophecy. I died for you in the Hollow. I gave you my soul, and you gave your lust to the first shiny thing in a pencil skirt!"

Killian looked away, jaw ticking. "You don't know what it's like inside my head."

She stepped forward, chest heaving. "No, but I know what it's like inside our bed."

Silence.

"I waited for you every night while you were 'late at the office.' I cooked for you. I massaged your shoulders. I sent you messages you never answered. And all that time, she was probably on her knees under your desk."

He turned suddenly, shouting, "You want to hear the truth?!"

"Go on," she snapped. "Tell me the truth you couldn't say to my face!"

Killian paced in a sharp circle, then turned on her, fury and shame warring behind his eyes. "The truth is I felt like I was losing myself! Every day! Everything was too perfect. Too planned. Too... suffocating. You stopped seeing me, Seraphina. All you saw was this perfect fiancé, this Alpha heir. I felt like a f**king ghost in my own life!"

"And so you cheated?" Her voice cracked mid-sentence, the hurt slipping out like blood from a wound.

"It wasn't just sex," he said, quieter now, ashamed. "It was control. Escape. Power. She made me feel..."

She stepped in, icy and fire-wrapped. "She made you feel like a man. Like a f**king predator. Is that what you want? To be worshipped like a beast instead of loved like a man?"

His voice dropped to a growl. "Don't twist it."

"No, Killian. I'm finally seeing it. All of it. You're not afraid of losing me. You're afraid of facing a woman who makes you earn her love."

He stared at her, breathing hard.

She stepped back, slowly peeling her engagement ring off her finger.

"I was going to marry you," she whispered, holding the ring between them like a dying flame. "Now I'm not even sure I know who the hell you are."

He reached for her hand-"Sera, don't-"

"Don't touch me!"

She shoved him back, tears falling freely now, raw with betrayal.

"Do you know what hurts the most?" she said, her voice trembling. "It's not even her. It's you. You, Killian. You who looked me in the eyes and said I was your home. You who kissed me like I was the only thing that ever mattered. And now..."

She looked down at the ring.

"Now I just feel like a stupid girl who believed a prince could be loyal."

She opened her hand.

The ring hit the marble floor with a soft, decisive clink.

Killian's breath caught. He stared at it like it was a piece of his soul rolling away.

"Where are you going?" he asked again, but this time his voice was hollow.

"To think," she said, voice iron now. "To remember who I was before you made me forget."

He stood there, paralyzed.

And then...

She stopped at the door, her profile shadowed in the low chandelier light.

"And tell your secretary," Seraphina said without turning, "if she so much as smiles at you again, I'll end her career with a flick of my hand. If she thinks I'm some passive, heartbroken heiress, she's never met the wolf inside me."

A chill passed through the room like death's whisper.

And then she was gone.

Killian dropped to his knees beside the ring.

And for the first time in a long time... he felt like the strongest man in the city had finally broken.

The air was still in the Thorne Estate that night. Too still.

Killian sat alone in the grand study, half-drunk, half-dazed. The fire in the hearth had died hours ago, yet the glass in his hand remained untouched. His other hand held the engagement ring she'd returned-the one that used to glint with promises and now just mocked him with silence.

The house was painfully quiet.

Except for the sound of soft footsteps approaching.

He looked up.

She stood in the doorway, wearing a loose cashmere robe, her hair pulled into a messy knot, face pale but composed.

"Seraphina..."

She didn't speak at first. She closed the door behind her, calmly, like she was walking into a room she'd already decided to burn.

"You look like a man waiting for judgment," she said softly.

He stood slowly. "I thought you left."

"I did. I went to breathe. Then I remembered this was my home, too." Her eyes flicked over him-like she didn't recognize him anymore.

"Did you come to scream again?" he asked, half-hopeful, half-afraid.

She let out a sharp laugh. "No. Screaming won't change who you are, Killian. And it won't make this feel less like betrayal soaked in perfume."

He flinched.

She stepped closer.

"I came to say something. And I need you to listen-not justify, not deflect. Just listen."

He nodded, eyes never leaving hers.

"I thought... maybe I could forgive you," she started. "Not because I'm weak. But because I love you like fire loves oxygen-dangerously, endlessly, stupidly."

He moved to respond.

"Don't." She raised her hand.

"The more I tried to understand what happened, the more I realized... this wasn't an accident. It wasn't a slip. It was a choice. And the man I was going to marry chose someone else over and over again. Do you know how that sits in a woman's bones?"

His jaw flexed. "I didn't love her. I never loved her. She was-she was nothing."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then what does that make me?"

He opened his mouth.

She continued.

"I fought beside you. I bled for you. I carried your burdens like they were mine. And in return, you broke our vow before it was even spoken."

A long silence passed.

And then... she exhaled shakily.

"I came here to tell you something else. And it's not something you get to use to beg for forgiveness."

His brow furrowed.

"I'm pregnant, Killian."

The words crashed into the room like a thunderclap.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His whole body went still.

"I found out yesterday," she added. "I was going to surprise you. I even rehearsed the words. I imagined the look in your eyes. I thought it would be joy. Hope. A new beginning."

Killian took a step forward, stunned. "Sera..."

She stepped back immediately, holding her stomach. "No. Don't touch me."

"I didn't know," he whispered. "I didn't know you were-"

"Would it have changed anything?" Her voice cracked. "Would it have stopped your hands from unzipping her dress? Would it have reminded you of the life you already had?"

"I made a mistake," he murmured, voice tight with guilt. "I f**ked up. But I want to fix this. For us. For the baby-"

"You don't get to fix this!" she snapped. "You don't get to sweep ash under the rug and call it a second chance."

His fists clenched at his sides. "Then what do you want from me?"

She stared at him, eyes glistening, lips trembling. "I want to believe you can be the man I loved again. But right now? I don't know if that man even exists."

He stepped closer anyway, softer this time. "Let me try. For you. For our child."

She hesitated.

Then, in a voice like breaking glass, she said:

"You don't deserve my forgiveness. But our child deserves a father."

And with that, she turned, leaving him alone with the fire in his chest and the echoes of a future unraveling.

He sank to the chair behind him, crushed by the weight of what he'd lost... and what he might still lose.

As Seraphina's footsteps faded down the hall, Killian remained frozen, every inch of his body rigid with self-loathing and a desperate, fragile hope that maybe... just maybe, she hadn't walked away for good.

Then-his phone vibrated.

He didn't check it at first.

But it buzzed again. And again.

He sighed and finally picked it up.

Unknown Number.

He answered warily. "Hello?"

A familiar voice purred through the line. "Killian... it's me. I just wanted to say I miss the way your hands-"

His entire face turned to stone. "Don't. Say. Another word."

Silence.

"Don't you ever call this number again," he growled, venom coiled in every syllable. "Don't show up at the office. Don't think about me. Whatever fantasy you had is dead. Do you understand?"

"Killian-"

"I will destroy every inch of your career if you contact me or her again," he snapped, voice razor-sharp. "We are done. You were nothing. And now you're less than that."

He ended the call.

And turned.

Seraphina stood in the hallway. Watching.

Her eyes weren't angry this time.

They were... surprised. Wounded, still. But not bleeding anymore.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she whispered.

"I didn't know she'd call," he replied.

"I know," she said.

A long silence passed. Their eyes held each other-raw, tentative, scarred.

She stepped closer this time, and his breath caught. Not in joy, but reverence.

"I saw what you did," she said. "What you said. You meant it."

He nodded slowly.

She placed a hand over her belly, then reached out and took his hand.

"I don't forgive you. Not yet. But I see the man I loved again. And that's... something."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

He cupped her face gently.

They stood like that, suspended in fragile grace, surrounded by the cracks they'd created-trying to believe that maybe, just maybe, love could still grow in the ruins.