Chapter 3

The world seemed to spin on that one word. *Mine.* It was spoken with such absolute certainty, such primal possession, that it cut through the fog of my grief and shock. Before I could react, the powerful Alpha was shrugging off his impeccably tailored suit jacket. The fabric was heavy wool, and it smelled of rain, expensive cologne, and something else-something wild and clean, like a storm rolling over a pine forest.

He wrapped the coat around my shivering shoulders. The warmth was immediate and shocking, a stark contrast to the icy rain that had soaked me to the bone. It was more than just physical heat; it was a profound, protective warmth that seemed to seep directly into my soul.

*Who is this man?* My mind was reeling, struggling to catch up. I was abandoned, heartbroken, and now this stranger was looking at me as if I was the center of his universe.

He guided me gently but firmly towards his car, one hand on my back, a steady, grounding pressure. "You're freezing," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Let's get you somewhere warm."

I was too stunned to resist. I let him settle me into the passenger seat of his car. The interior was all black leather and polished chrome, the air inside warm and dry. It was a sanctuary from the storm, both outside and within me. He slid into the driver's seat, and the sheer force of his presence filled the space, making it feel both smaller and infinitely safer.

He didn't press me with questions. He simply drove, his large hands sure on the steering wheel, his silver eyes occasionally flicking towards me, a silent, intense scrutiny. We drove through the glittering, rain-washed streets of Veridia until he pulled into the private underground garage of a sleek, modern skyscraper that pierced the clouds. This was Thorne Tower, the headquarters of Thorne Industries. Julian Thorne. The name clicked into place. The most powerful, enigmatic, and feared Alpha in the entire region. The man Mark was so desperate to impress.

His penthouse was at the very top, a sprawling space of glass, steel, and minimalist furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking panorama of the city below, a sea of lights against the dark, stormy sky. The entire place was the polar opposite of the cold, traditional house I shared with Mark. This space was modern, powerful, and alive. It hummed with a quiet energy that was all him.

He led me to a soft leather sofa and disappeared for a moment, returning with a thick cashmere blanket. He draped it over me, his fingers brushing my arm. A jolt, like static electricity, shot through me at the contact.

"I'll get you some tea," he said, his voice softer now.

While he was gone, I sat huddled in the blanket, the weight of his jacket still on my shoulders. I looked around his home. It was masculine and uncluttered, yet it didn't feel cold. A fire was roaring in a wide, modern fireplace, its flames casting a warm, dancing glow on the polished concrete floors. The air smelled of burning wood and that unique, intoxicating scent of his. For the first time in three years, I felt... safe. Seen.

He returned with two mugs of steaming tea. He handed one to me, his fingers wrapping around mine for a second longer than necessary. The warmth of the ceramic seeped into my frozen hands.

He sat in an armchair opposite me, not crowding me, but close enough to feel his protective presence. He simply waited, his silver gaze patient. And so, the story came pouring out of me. I told him everything. The anniversary dinner. The constant excuses. The other woman's scent. The final, brutal words in the car. The complete and utter abandonment.

I spoke in a low, trembling monotone, the tears I'd held back for so long finally streaming down my face, hot against my cold skin.

Julian Thorne listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't offer platitudes. He just listened, his expression growing darker with every word I spoke. A quiet, simmering rage began to build in his eyes, a dangerous fire directed entirely at Mark. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles flexing, and his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists on the arms of his chair.

When I finished, my voice trailing off into a choked sob, he didn't say, "I'm sorry." He said, "He is a fool."

The words, spoken with such conviction, landed in the broken space inside me and began to build something new. He didn't see me as a fragile burden to be pitied. He saw me as a treasure that had been discarded. In his silent, protective presence, I felt a clarity I hadn't known was possible. The years of emotional manipulation fell away, and I saw my marriage for what it was: a prison.

I slept on the sofa, wrapped in his blanket, and for the first time in years, my sleep was deep and dreamless.

The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and the soft light of a new day filtering through the massive windows. The storm had passed. Julian was standing by the window, a mug in his hand, already dressed in a crisp shirt and dark trousers. He looked like a king surveying his domain.

He turned as I stirred, a small, almost imperceptible softening in his eyes. "Good morning, Clara."

Hearing my name on his lips felt different. It sounded... right.

A new resolve, forged in the fire of his quiet rage and the safety of his protection, had settled in my bones. I knew what I had to do. I was done being Mark's victim. I was done being fragile.

I sat up, pushing my tangled hair out of my face. "Can I use your phone?"

He handed it to me without a word. I found the number for my family's lawyer, a man I hadn't spoken to in years. My hand was shaking, but my purpose was a steel rod in my spine.

The lawyer, Mr. Davies, answered on the second ring, his voice professionally brisk.

"Mr. Davies, this is Clara," I said. My voice was steady. Cold. Unfamiliar even to my own ears. "I need you to file for divorce from Alpha Mark. The grounds are mate-bond neglect and infidelity. I want it done immediately."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. "Clara? Are you certain?"

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," I said. I looked up and met Julian's intense silver gaze. He gave me a slow, deliberate nod of approval. It was all the encouragement I needed. "Sever everything. I want nothing from him."

I hung up the phone, the click of the call ending sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. It was done. The final tie to my old life was cut. I had crossed the point of no return. There was no going back to the wolf who had rejected me. A dizzying sense of freedom washed over me, so potent it was terrifying.

But as the adrenaline faded, it was replaced by a wave of vertigo. The room tilted violently. A blackness crept in at the edges of my vision. The strength that had held me together for the past twelve hours crumbled all at once.

"Julian," I gasped, my hand flying to my head.

I collapsed.

He moved with impossible speed, crossing the room in a single heartbeat to catch me before I hit the floor. He swept me into his arms, holding me tight against his hard chest. My head lolled against his shoulder, my body limp.

And then it happened.

The moonstone pendant on my chest, which had been a source of gentle warmth, suddenly erupted. A blinding, ethereal light, silver and brilliant, poured from the stone, engulfing us both. It wasn't a harsh light, but a powerful, ancient one, humming with a forgotten energy.

I felt a strange, searing heat on my skin, just above my heart.

As quickly as it began, the light subsided. Julian held me, his body tense, his breath hitched. I pushed myself up weakly, my eyes fluttering open. I looked down.

There, on the pale skin of my chest, was a glowing, intricate crest. It was a swirling pattern of a crescent moon cradling a radiant star, etched onto my skin in shimmering silver light. It looked like a tattoo made of moonlight. A symbol of a long-lost, legendary bloodline.

At that exact moment, Julian's phone, which had fallen to the floor, buzzed violently. The screen lit up with an emergency alert, a priority one message that bypassed all security.

He glanced down at it, his silver eyes widening in disbelief and dawning horror. He read the message aloud, his voice a low, grim whisper.

"'The Lunar Empress has awakened. They know. She is in mortal danger.'"