The morning sun, once a harbinger of a miraculous second chance, now felt like a spotlight on Evelyn's trembling resolve. She stood before the full-length mirror, her fingers pressed against the cool glass, staring at the woman reflected there. The shock of rebirth still hummed beneath her skin, a wild, untamed thing. But she couldn't afford to be consumed by it. Not now. Not when the first volley of her war was about to be fired.
Every instinct screamed at her to collapse, to weep, to succumb to the overwhelming terror of what she had endured and what lay ahead. But the memory of Chloe's sneering face, the metallic tang of wolfsbane, and the searing agony of silver, clamped down on those impulses. No. Not this time. This Evelyn would not be a victim. This Evelyn would be a weapon.
She had to be cold. She had to be precise. She had to be utterly unreadable.
Discarding the silk nightgown, a relic of her previous, pathetic existence, Evelyn chose her attire with surgical intent. No soft fabrics, no alluring curves. She pulled on a pair of impeccably tailored charcoal trousers that emphasized her long, lean legs, a crisp, high-necked cream blouse that buttoned to the collar, and a structured blazer. Her auburn hair, usually left to cascade around her shoulders, was gathered into a severe, elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. Minimal makeup, just enough to conceal the lingering shadows beneath her eyes, but not enough to suggest vulnerability. She looked professional, unapproachable, and undeniably in control. A shield.
The woman in the mirror, though her own face, was a stranger. Her emerald eyes, once wide and often shadowed with uncertainty, now gleamed with an icy, unwavering determination. The pain of a thousand deaths, the clarity of an impossible rebirth, had forged something new within her. Something dangerous.
A soft knock interrupted her silent ritual. "Mrs. Blackwood?" It was Arthur, the aged butler, his voice a familiar drone. "Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in his study. He is ready to finalize the dissolution of your marriage."
Evelyn's heart gave a single, hard thump. *Here we go.* Her lips thinned. "Tell Mr. Blackwood I will be there shortly." Her voice was steady, even, a testament to the iron will she had rediscovered.
She took one last, steadying breath, allowing the memories of her gruesome end to fuel her. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was now a tool, a motivator. She would face the man who had indirectly allowed her death, the Alpha whose coldness had driven her into the arms of a betrayer, and she would take what was owed to her. And then, she would begin.
***
Lucien Blackwood's study was less a room and more a declaration. Evelyn felt its oppressive weight the moment Arthur opened the heavy, carved oak doors. It was a space designed to intimidate, to diminish, to emphasize the absolute power of its occupant.
The air was thick with the scent of old leather, rich mahogany, and something else – something uniquely Lucien. A primal, earthy musk, like pine forests after a storm, underscored with an almost metallic sharpness. It was a scent that, in her previous life, had vaguely unsettled her. Now, after the revelations of her death, it sent a deep, chilling tremor through her very bones. This man was not merely powerful. He was something *more*. Something she now understood, with a horrifying clarity, was non-human.
The room itself was vast, a cavern of dark, polished wood and deep emerald green leather. Bookshelves, stretching to the vaulted ceiling, were crammed with volumes, some ancient and leather-bound, others sleek and modern. A massive, ornate fireplace, cold and empty, dominated one wall, flanked by ancestral portraits of grim-faced men and severe women. In the center, a colossal mahogany desk, polished to a mirror sheen, served as a barrier, a command center.
And behind it, Lucien.
He sat, an immovable monolith of controlled power. His broad shoulders filled the expensive dark suit, his dark hair impeccably styled, his chiselled features carved from granite. His eyes, the colour of storm clouds, were fixed on her the moment she stepped over the threshold. They held their usual cool indifference, but something else flickered there—a faint shadow of surprise.
A large, intricate silver paperweight, shaped like a snarling wolf's head, gleamed on the corner of his desk. As Evelyn's gaze fell upon it, a visceral lurch twisted her stomach. Her skin crawled, a phantom sensation of burning, a ghost of her death. It wasn't just decorative; it radiated a silent, cold malevolence that resonated with the silver vial Chloe had wielded. It was a warning, an affirmation of the dark secret that ran beneath this family.
"Evelyn," Lucien's voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth. "Take a seat." He gestured to one of the formidable leather chairs opposite his desk.
His tone expected immediate compliance. The old Evelyn would have hurried, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. The new Evelyn moved with a quiet, deliberate grace. She walked across the Persian rug, her heels clicking softly, and settled into the chair, not slumping, but sitting ramrod straight, her spine a steel rod. Her gaze met his directly, unwavering.
Lucien's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He had been expecting the wilting flower, the tearful plea, the meek acceptance of her fate. Instead, he found an enigma.
His wolf, usually a disciplined, unyielding presence, stirred, a low growl in the back of his mind. *Her scent.* It was… different. Gone was the faint, floral note tinged with fear and desperation that had clung to her for months. Now, it was sharper, cleaner, infused with a cold, almost metallic tang – *resolve*. And something else, something wild and untamed beneath the surface that both agitated and intrigued his predatory instincts. It was like a new prey animal had suddenly appeared in his territory, one that smelled of both challenge and an intoxicating, forbidden mystery.
"You're late," he stated, his eyes narrowing slightly, testing her.
"My apologies," Evelyn replied, her voice calm, utterly devoid of emotion. "I was ensuring I was appropriately prepared for this… significant event." Her gaze flickered to the divorce papers, already laid out on his desk.
Lucien leaned back, observing her, a dangerous stillness in his posture. "Indeed. Then let's not waste any more time. The terms are standard, generous even, given the… circumstances. Sign here, and we can both move on." He pushed the document across the polished surface with a single, authoritative finger.
Evelyn didn't even glance at the pen. She looked him dead in the eye. "No."
The single word hung in the air, shattering the carefully cultivated silence of the study. For a flicker, pure, unadulterated surprise crossed Lucien's face, swiftly replaced by an icy, controlled fury. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His wolf snarled.
"Excuse me?" His voice was low, dangerous, a predator's growl.
"I said no," Evelyn repeated, her voice steady. "The terms are unacceptable. They reflect a previous understanding, a previous Evelyn, if you will. I have… reconsidered." She picked up the document, her fingers tracing the generic clauses. "A lump sum, a modest apartment, and a lifetime of silence. Not nearly enough for what I'm prepared to offer, or what I've… endured."
Lucien's gaze intensified, scrutinizing her, searching for the crack in her facade, the fear he knew must be there. But there was nothing. Only that unnerving, cold resolve. "What exactly do you think you've endured, Evelyn? And what exactly do you think you're 'prepared to offer'?" His tone was laced with condescension, a clear dismissal of her audacity.
"A clean break, for one," she countered, her emerald eyes unwavering. "And discretion, of course. But more importantly, my silence regarding… certain inconvenient truths. And the absolute certainty that I will never again be a liability to the Blackwood name, or your personal… well-being." The implied threat hung heavy.
He scoffed. "And what 'inconvenient truths' could a human like you possibly possess, Evelyn? You were a trophy wife, nothing more. A decorative accessory for a brief, regrettable period." The brutal honesty was designed to wound, to break her.
But Evelyn merely smiled, a thin, humourless curve of her lips that sent a fresh jolt through Lucien's predatory instincts. She wasn't just unfazed; she was *amused*.
"Perhaps," she conceded, the word light, almost dismissive. "But even a decorative accessory can observe. And sometimes, even the most insignificant detail can hold unforeseen value." She paused, letting the words sink in. "My revised terms are as follows: I require the penthouse apartment at the Onyx Tower, free and clear of all encumbrances. A cash settlement of fifty million dollars. And crucially, my mother's full-time care at the Evergreen Glen facility, covered for the remainder of her life, with a non-negotiable trust fund established in her name for that purpose, managed independently."
Lucien stared at her, utterly flabbergasted. Fifty million dollars. The Onyx Tower. His pack funds didn't even move sums like that without substantial justification. This wasn't just demanding; it was audacious, borderline insane.
"Are you insane?" he finally growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "You truly believe you're worth that much? What delusion has Alexander Crowe filled your head with this time?" He suspected Alexander, always Alexander. The rival, the irritant, the hunter clan scion.
"Alexander has nothing to do with this," Evelyn stated flatly, dismissing his accusation. "My demands are my own. And as for worth… perhaps I can offer you a small demonstration of my newfound value." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp, piercing. "Tell me, Lucien. Are you still planning to absorb *Riverside Properties* into the portfolio for the 'Northstar Acquisition' by the end of the month?"
The air in the study thickened, became brittle. Lucien froze. The casual mention of 'Riverside Properties' – a small, problematic subsidiary he was considering liquidating before the much larger, highly confidential Northstar Acquisition deal went public – struck him like a physical blow. That information was classified. Top-tier. Known only to a handful of his most trusted advisors, and certainly not to his estranged, human wife, whom he believed to be utterly ignorant of his business dealings.
His carefully constructed mask of indifference shattered, replaced by raw, unbridled fury and a sudden, terrifying suspicion. His eyes flashed, a fleeting glimpse of something feral, something beyond human, in their depths. The scent of him changed, sharpening, growing more potent, more aggressive. Evelyn felt a fresh wave of primal fear, but she held her ground, refusing to flinch.
"How in the hell do you know about that?" he snarled, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to rattle the very foundations of the room. He shoved himself upright, looming over the desk, his hands fisting. "Who told you? Was it Crowe? What has that bastard promised you?"
"That, Lucien, is irrelevant," Evelyn said, maintaining her composure with a superhuman effort. The man before her was a force of nature, terrifying in his raw power. Her wolfsbane-infused blood still recoiled from his sheer presence. "What is relevant is that Riverside Properties, while seemingly minor, is a hidden liability that will, if not dealt with swiftly and discreetly, cause a significant, highly embarrassing hiccup in your Northstar Acquisition. A public hiccup, I might add, that will attract unwanted scrutiny to the entire Blackwood Group."
She watched his face, carefully. The anger was still there, a palpable heat radiating off him. But beneath it, a sliver of grudging respect, a flash of analytical thought, began to emerge. His mind, the sharp, strategic mind she knew from their brief, superficial interactions, was already processing the implications of her statement.
"You're bluffing," he stated, but his voice lacked conviction. He knew she wasn't. The details were too precise.
"Am I?" Evelyn raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Or perhaps I'm simply a far more observant, and therefore valuable, asset than you ever gave me credit for. I can be a very quiet asset, Lucien. Or I can be a very loud, very inconvenient one. Especially now that I understand… certain nuances of your world." She let the last phrase hang, a subtle, chilling echo of Chloe's words from her deathbed.
Lucien stared at her, his storm-cloud eyes piercing, trying to delve into her soul. He sought the fear, the manipulation, the ulterior motive. He found a wall. A formidable, impenetrable wall of ice and steel. His wolf howled silently in his mind, both enraged by her defiance and inexplicably drawn to the sheer audacity of her spirit. This wasn't the woman he had married. This was a completely different creature. A colder, sharper, more dangerous one.
After a long, agonizing silence, he finally sank back into his chair, the tension in the room easing by a fraction, but not dissipating. He picked up a solid gold pen, twirling it between his fingers, his gaze never leaving her. "Fifty million is excessive. The Onyx Tower is a prime asset."
"The Northstar Acquisition is worth billions," Evelyn shot back, her voice unwavering. "And avoiding public scandal is priceless. Compared to that, my demands are a pittance."
He closed his eyes for a moment, a rare show of deliberation. When they opened, they held a renewed coldness. "Fine," he bit out, the word tasting like ash. "The Onyx Tower. Thirty million dollars. And your mother's care will be arranged. A trust fund, independently managed, as you wish. But consider this a one-time payment for your immediate silence and your permanent disappearance from my life, and from this city, if I deem it necessary."
He pushed the revised divorce agreement across the desk, already annotated with his rapid, decisive pen strokes. "Sign it."
Evelyn picked up the pen. Her hand was steady. She scanned the document, noting the precise changes, the firm legal language that secured her demands. It wasn't everything she asked for, but it was far more than she could have ever dreamed of in her previous life. It was a starting point. Her first victory.
As she signed her name, her elegant script a stark contrast to his bold scrawl, she felt a profound sense of satisfaction, cold and unyielding. The ink on the paper was not just a signature; it was a commitment to a new life, a new path.
Lucien watched her, his expression unreadable. Once she was done, he pulled the papers back. "One more thing, Evelyn. Stay away from Alexander Crowe. He is a monster far beyond your comprehension. And if I discover you are associating with him, this agreement, and any protection it offers, will be null and void." His words were a low, guttural warning, laced with an undeniable possessiveness that Evelyn found both chilling and strangely, deeply familiar from the edges of her dying memory.
Evelyn merely met his gaze. "That's my business, isn't it?" she retorted, her voice lacking any warmth. She had no intention of *staying away* from Alexander. She intended to dissect him, piece by agonizing piece.
He said nothing more, simply watched her rise from the chair. His eyes, though still veiled in ice, held a dangerous spark she hadn't seen before. A spark of interest. Of recognition. Of something akin to challenge.
She turned and walked out of the study, Arthur silently closing the heavy doors behind her. Her outward composure was absolute, an impenetrable mask. But inside, her heart was a frantic drum, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She had done it. She had faced the Alpha, forced his hand, and walked away with her first taste of capital for her revenge.
But as she descended the grand staircase, the vast, echoing silence of Blackwood Manor around her, Evelyn knew with chilling certainty that she had not truly *disappeared* from Lucien Blackwood's life. Instead, she had just entered it in a way far more dangerous, far more real, than she ever had before. She had piqued the Alpha's interest.
*Dangerous*, her mind whispered. *But essential.*
Her eyes, now reflecting the cold light of the morning, hardened. The game had not just changed; it had only just begun. And this time, she was playing to win.