My Cheating Ex Plays My Fake Husband

EVER FITZPATRICK POV:

My worn-out electric scooter rattled beneath me, the cheap helmet hooked on the handlebars knocking a frantic rhythm against the frame. This was my third job of the day, delivering for FastDash.

The phone in my pocket buzzed. A low-balance alert from my bank. My stomach clenched, the same tight knot it always did.

I pulled over, swiping the screen open.

Balance: $127.50.

It wasn't even a drop in the bucket for the fifty thousand dollars Grandma Maeve needed for her surgery. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing her pale, smiling face.

A new order notification shattered the image. Blackrock Steakhouse to the Laurel Hotel.

My brow furrowed. Both were the most expensive places in town. A single steak from Blackrock cost more than I made in a full day.

"It's just a job, Ever," I muttered, the cold night wind biting at my cheeks as I sped off.

The warm, buttery scent wafting from Blackrock Steakhouse felt like a personal insult. I stood awkwardly by the entrance in my faded FastDash jacket, an intruder in a world of soft lighting and clinking wine glasses.

While waiting, I saw a couple celebrating an anniversary. My mind unwillingly drifted to Ethan Beaumont, my boyfriend. He'd promised to bring me here once he graduated and landed a good job. Every year, he'd said.

The hostess handed me the order, a heavy paper bag with a gold logo. I could smell the filet mignon and black truffle sauce inside.

I secured the bag in the insulated box on the back of my scooter and headed for the Laurel Hotel. Its flashing neon sign and valet attendants screamed of a different universe.

I parked my scooter in a dark corner, away from the gleaming luxury cars, and walked into the grand lobby. The polished marble floor reflected a wind-blown, tired version of me, making my shoulders hunch.

I pressed the button for the top floor, the presidential suite.

The order note read: "Deliver to my door, please. -E."

My heart skipped. E? Ethan? It couldn't be. He was supposed to be at the library, cramming for his thesis.

The elevator ascended silently, my own anxious face reflected in the mirrored walls.

I arrived at the suite's massive mahogany door. Taking a deep breath, I rang the bell.

A woman's playful laugh echoed from within. "Who is it this late?"

Then a man's voice, a voice I knew better than my own, answered. "My late-night snack, babe."

My blood turned to ice. That voice... it was Ethan.

The door swung open. A tall figure stood there, wrapped in a silk robe, his hair damp. His handsome face was creased with impatience.

When Ethan saw me, the impatience morphed into pure, unadulterated panic.

"Ethan? Honey, who is it?" A second figure emerged from behind him, wrapping an arm intimately around his.

It was Scarlett Kensington, the undisputed queen bee of our university.

She wore nothing but a slinky silk nightgown, her platinum blonde hair a messy halo. Her cold blue eyes scanned me from head to toe, a smirk of contempt playing on her lips. "Oh. A delivery girl."

Her signature, rhinestone-encrusted nails scraped lightly across Ethan's chest, a clear act of ownership.

My gaze dropped from their entwined bodies to the bag in my hand. Blackrock Steakhouse. He actually ordered food for another woman from the restaurant that he had promised to take me to.

Humiliation and heartbreak crashed over me like a tsunami. The air was a nauseating mix of Ethan's cologne and Scarlett's expensive perfume.

"Ever..." Ethan finally found his voice, but it was weak, pathetic. "I... I can explain."

"Explain?" Scarlett scoffed. "What is there to explain? Ethan, don't tell me you haven't broken up with Ever yet?" She looked at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe.

My inner wolf, usually a quiet presence, was whimpering in the back of my mind, a low, wounded sound.

I looked at Ethan, the man I had loved for three years, the man I thought was my future. His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine.

My hand tightened on the paper bag, crumpling the edge.

I lifted my chin, meeting Scarlett's challenging gaze, then moved my eyes back to Ethan.

I raised the bag, the scent of cooling steak filling the air between us.

EVER FITZPATRICK POV:

Time seemed to slow down. I could see the panic on Ethan's face, the useless way he started to raise his hands to stop me.

Scarlett just crossed her arms, a spectator enjoying the show. She seemed to relish my pain.

I didn't give her the satisfaction for long.

With a flick of my wrist, the bag containing a ninety-eight-dollar filet mignon and black truffle sauce sailed through the air.

"No!" Ethan yelped, but it was too late.

The bag hit him square in the face and burst open. Lukewarm steak, sticky sauce, and mashed potatoes splattered across his head and chest.

A piece of steak slid down his cheek, leaving a greasy trail on his expensive silk robe.

Scarlett's shriek pierced the hallway's quiet. "Oh my god! Ethan! You psycho bitch!" She scrambled back, terrified of getting any of the mess on her.

I looked at Ethan's pathetic state, a sprig of asparagus clinging to his golden hair. His handsome face was now a comical, tragic mess. I felt no triumph. Just a cold, vast emptiness.

"We're over, Ethan," I said. My voice was so calm it surprised me. "Enjoy your breakup gift."

I didn't look at him again. I turned and walked away. My boots were silent on the plush carpet, but every step was heavy with finality.

I could hear Ethan's enraged shouts and Scarlett's curses behind me, but I didn't stop.

Inside the elevator, I watched the doors slide shut, sealing me off from the drama.

I walked through the lobby without seeing anyone and pushed through the glass doors into the night.

Hopping on my worn-out electric scooter, I gunned the engine and fled the place that had just suffocated me.

I don't know how long I rode, just that I did, until my phone buzzed with a notification from the app. A customer complaint. I had thrown food at him. The platform had suspended my account and confiscated my deposit.

I stared at the message and a laugh escaped my lips. It was a broken sound that quickly turned into sobs.

I had lost my love and my job in the same night.

I parked by a bench in the local park and sat on the cold metal, letting the tears stream down my face.

After a while, a black Bentley glided to a stop in front of me.

The window rolled down. A well-dressed, silver-haired butler leaned out. His eyes scanned the park and settled on me.

"Miss Ever Fitzpatrick?" he asked, his voice polite but distant.

I froze, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. I looked at him, wary. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"My employer wishes to see you," he said, ignoring my question. He gestured to the car. "Please, get in, Miss Fitzpatrick."

I followed his gaze to the back seat. The windows were tinted, hiding whoever was inside. "Mr. Beaumont sent me," the butler added. Hearing this name instantly put my inner wolf on alert.

Beaumont. The name hit me like a hammer. Just then, a familiar Porsche pulled up nearby. Ethan got out, already changed into fresh clothes, his face still grim. He saw the Bentley, and when his eyes landed on the license plate, his face went white. He looked like a mouse that had just seen a hawk.

I understood. This "Mr. Beaumont" was someone Ethan couldn't afford to cross.

Curiosity, and a strange premonition, made me stand up. Anything to get away from Ethan.

I walked to the Bentley. The butler, whose name I would learn was Alfred Price, opened the rear door for me.

Inside sat an imposing older man in a dark suit. His gray eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and he held a black ebony cane topped with a carved wolf's head. This was Alistair Beaumont, the elder of the Beaumont Pack.

"Miss Fitzpatrick," he said, his voice low and commanding. "We have a deal to discuss."

I sat on the soft leather seat, watching Ethan through the window. He stood frozen, not daring to come closer. I knew, in that moment, that my life was about to be irrevocably changed by whatever this deal was.

EVER FITZPATRICK POV:

The car moved smoothly through the night, the silence inside broken only by my breathing and the steady presence of Alistair. The Alpha aura he radiated, though contained, was a palpable pressure in the small space.

I couldn't understand why a man of his stature would seek out a girl who had nothing.

"Miss Fitzpatrick, do you know my grandson, Kaelen?" Alistair finally spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Kaelen? The name struck me like lightning. The heir to the Beaumont Pack. The legendary Alpha who was said to be powerful, ruthless, and almost never seen in public. Of course I'd heard of him.

"I've... heard the name," I answered cautiously. "But I don't know him."

"No matter," Alistair said, his knuckles tapping lightly on the wolf-head cane. "You will soon."

He retrieved a file from a leather briefcase beside him and handed it to me. "This is an agreement."

I took it. In the fleeting light from the streetlamps, I read the title at the top: Marriage and Caregiving Agreement.

Marriage? I looked at Alistair in disbelief, certain I had misread.

"My eldest grandson, Kaelen, was gravely injured in an ambush a few months ago," Alistair said, a flicker of pain in his voice. "The attackers used silver-laced weapons. It has forced his inner wolf into dormancy, and his body... into a coma."

Silver. In the world of werewolves, it was the most vicious of curses. It didn't just destroy the body; it imprisoned the soul. A truth every wolf knows: silver is the only thing that can truly kill us.

"The Pack's Healer and every doctor we've consulted are at a loss," he continued. "But our Elders have found one last resort in the ancient texts-a Mating-bond healing ritual."

The words sounded like something from a dark fairy tale.

"The ritual requires his fated mate to bind with him through marriage, to use her life force to awaken his slumbering wolf and consciousness." Alistair's eyes locked onto mine. "And you, Ever Fitzpatrick, are the one the Moon Goddess has chosen for him."

Me? Kaelen Beaumont's fated mate? That was absurd. I'd never even met the man. The rules were clear: fated mates feel an undeniable recognition the first time they meet. I had never felt anything like that.

"No, that's impossible," I blurted out. "I've never felt... the recognition."

"Because Kaelen's Alpha scent has been completely suppressed by the silver poisoning. And you," Alistair looked at me, "your Omega scent is so faint, you're almost like a human. You are like two receivers with their signals blocked. Only the oldest ritual can force the connection."

His words stunned me into silence. An Omega? I had always thought I was just a regular, maybe even genetically flawed, wolfless girl.

"The terms of the agreement are simple," Alistair said, gesturing to the document in my hands. "You marry Kaelen. You care for him as his wife until he awakens. In return, the Beaumont family will pay you five million dollars."

Five million dollars. The number exploded in my mind.

That money could pay for Grandma Maeve's surgery. It could get her the best care imaginable. It could set us up for life.

But the price was marrying a man I'd never met, a man in a coma, to perform a ritual that sounded like a sacrifice.

"Why would you think I'd agree to this?" I found my voice, though it trembled.

"Because you have no other options, Miss Fitzpatrick," Alistair stated, his tone devoid of emotion. "Your grandmother Maeve needs money for her surgery. You just lost your job. That useless boy Ethan has caused you trouble, which I will handle. But your predicament is something only I can solve."

He knew everything. My desperation. My weakness.

"I need time to think," I said, pushing the agreement back toward him. As tempting as five million dollars was, my dignity screamed at me not to sell my life so easily.

"Very well." Alistair didn't press. "Keep the agreement. Give me your answer by tomorrow evening."

The car stopped in front of my dilapidated apartment building. It was a world away from the Laurel Hotel, from this Bentley.

"Miss Fitzpatrick," Alistair said before I got out. "I suggest you visit Kaelen at St. Mary's Hospital. He's in the intensive care unit. Perhaps seeing him will make your decision easier."

I didn't answer. I just took the heavy agreement and fled from the car.

Leaning against the cold brick of my building, I watched the Bentley disappear into the night. The thin file in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. My mind was a chaotic storm of my grandmother's face, a comatose husband, and five million dollars.