LANA
"Hello, Katherine. How's your day going?" I flash a bright smile at my fiancé's secretary. She blinks up from her screen, mirroring my smile, only hers looks nervous.
"Miss Volkova, you didn't mention you were coming. Mr. Carter—"
"Is not around," I cut her off, waving it away. "Katherine," I say, leaning against the counter, "be a darling and hand me the key card."
"Uh, Mr. Carter doesn't usually—"
"Katherine." I tilt my head, smiling tighter. "It's our anniversary. I'm not here to steal company secrets. I just want to make my fiancé's day memorable."
Katherine's eyes dart toward the elevator, then back to me. She hesitates, lips parting like she wants to say something but thinks better of it.
Finally, she exhales. "Alright." She reaches into a drawer and slides a silver key card across the desk.
"Thank you." I flash her a dazzling smile. "You're an angel."
My heels click against the marble floor as I enter his office, anticipation fluttering in my chest.
I can already picture Ethan's reaction when he finds me sprawled on his desk in nothing but the red lace Victoria's Secret lingerie I bought for today; hungry, darkened eyes and a hard-on, that's for sure.
Two years together, three months engaged, and he thought Alpha duties would keep him from me? Not a chance.
Sometimes I wonder how I got this lucky. He's everything I ever wanted; an influential Alpha, patient, warm, safe—and most of all, he loves me.
I give my reflection one last look , snapping my compact mirror shut as the sound of chatter drifts in. I recognize his voice immediately and dart into the bathroom to hide.
Shutting the door with a silent click, I lean my back against the door, clutching my coat.
The door creaks, and my throat goes dry.
One.
Footsteps echo on the marble floor, and I grip the door handle.
His chair squeaks. I'm about to turn the handle when I hear two voices: Ethan's… and a woman's. My smile drops, and slowly I begin to wrap back my belt.
A woman? Maybe it's a colleague. It should be. He's in his office, after all. I press my ear against the glass panes, straining to get a whiff of their conversation.
Two.
"Your secretary was acting weird," the woman says, irritated.
Wait?
That voice—
Is that Jamie?
What's my best friend doing here?
"She's always that way," Ethan's voice is somewhat muffled. "But that's not what we're here for." A wet smacking sound follows, then a low, throaty groan.
My body goes still.
No. No… This is a prank. Probably Jamie's idea… right? I blink hard, fingers slipping off the handle. But even as I try to convince myself, I know I'm just being delusional.
The sounds grow louder, brazen, obscene. The kind you only hear in porn. My stomach twists, a sharp, burning ache tearing through my ribs.
My fiancé is making out with my best friend and maid of honor…
How long has this been going on?
Slowly, I ease the door open just an inch. The sight that greets me knocks the air right out of my lungs.
Ethan, stark naked except for the briefs pooled at his ankles, is thrusting into Jamie, who's bent over his desk, bra half-off, panties tangled around one knee.
For a second, I can't move. Is this even real?
When I finally step out, the sound of the bathroom door being slammed slices through the air like a gunshot. They break apart instantly. Jamie jerks upright, lipstick smeared across her cheek, brown curls covering the side profile of her face. Ethan turns, eyes widening, his face draining of color.
"L–Lana," he stammers, scrambling for his briefs. "It's not—"
"Not what it looks like? Of course." I let out a hoarse chuckle.
Jamie pulls her bra up, hurriedly clasping it. "You weren't supposed to find out like this," she says flatly. "But honestly, Lana, don't act surprised. I dated Ethan first. What did you expect?"
My stomach flips at her audacity. "You…" I blink. "You what? And you didn't think to tell me?"
Ethan runs a hand through his hair. "It's not that deep, babe. It was just—"
"A fling?" I say aloud, then lower my voice. "I know we're not mates, but you're engaged to me, Ethan."
Jamie rolls her eyes, arms folded as she blows out a breath. "He was bored. I'm just giving him what you can't."
My vision blurs red, knuckles wrapped so tight that they dig deep into my palm.
"Well, since you're both so familiar, I hope he knows you've been faking every orgasm since college."
Jamie stiffens, her eyes narrowing into slits, throwing an icy glare at me.
Ethan frowns, staring at her. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Oh, you didn't know?" I raise a brow. "Jamie here has anorgasmia. She doesn't feel a damn thing down there. So either you've been performing solo, or you're just that bad."
Ethan looks like someone just punched him in the groin. "Jamie, is that true?" His voice is low, rough.
"Don't you dare," she hisses, spinning around to face him, but he's already staring at her like she's a monster.
"You lied to me!" Ethan raises his voice, marching toward her.
As I watch them argue, I realize in that moment that they're both self-centered pricks, and that I hate them.
Who else would get caught fucking his sneaky link and turn it into a performance question right in front of the girlfriend he just cheated on? The answer is right in front of me.
Gathering Ethan's clothes from the floor, I turn away, eager to get away from their poorly scripted sex scene, when Ethan calls out my name.
"Lana, wait!" Ethan stumbles forward, half-dressed. "Please leave my clothes out of this and let's talk like mature adults."
I spin, holding up the clothes. "This?" I shake them. "You can come get these later. I'll leave them in the elevator."
"Lana, please." His steps are fast, but mine are faster, and in no time I'm out of the office. Through the slightly parted door, Ethan stares at me, clearly pissed off.
"Happy anniversary, Ethan."
The elevator doors close just as he barks out an order to Katherine. I stare at him through the narrowing slit of metal, then let the softest smile touch my lips, even though I'm breaking.
The doors seal shut.
♠♠♠♠
Hi, I'm Svetlana Volkova—officially single and currently drunk.
I roll my tongue on the roof of my mouth as the vodka burns down my throat. I don't like alcohol. But the day hasn't been fair, so I can't give two fucks about drowning in something as bitter as my mood.
The bar isn't new to me—it's one of those upscale lounges my friends and I used to hit after long weeks at work. Crystal glasses, dim lighting, and low jazz that makes heartbreak feel cinematic.
"Another shot." I flick my cup toward the bartender, Georgia.
"Honey, do I need to call you a cab at the end of the night?" Georgia's bracelets jingle as she wipes down the counter, her eyes crinkling with the kind of sympathy that comes from watching too many girls fall apart on barstools.
"Probably," I mutter, checking my phone out of habit. Three missed calls. Ethan. Asshole.
I down my seventh shot. Call me a drunk, but the weight in my heart needs a new home. I've been here for over an hour, trying to drown the image of my ex and ex-best friend screwing each other, but my brain performs the classic theory of what you resist persists. Shaky fingers tighten on the glass, and I blow out a breath. Fuck them both.
To think I was about to get married to that fucker makes me want to punch myself in the face. I deserve better, I really do.
Now I think about all the red flags I'd been ignoring begin to replay in my head; the way Ethan complimented Jamie whenever we hung out together, Janie's sudden switch-up in style a few weeks after she found out Ethan and I were talking, those inside jokes between them, the private number calling Jamie's phone...
And then there's Katherine. She knew. Fuck that! The whole office probably knew. I was the only idiot playing fiancé.
The two people I trusted the most outside family stabbed me right in the chest.
A lazy tear glides down my cheek, and I sniffle.
"Oh, honey," Georgia purrs, covering my free hand with hers. I let out a hiccup, hot tears trickling down with so much pressure, all the pent-up sadness, depression, and frustration pouring out.
"You're going to be alright. Better now than after the wedding, right?" Georgia's words, calm and quiet, send a small wave of relief through me.
I drag in a shaky breath, the air thick with the smell of whiskey and lemon cleaner. My tears slow, replaced by that hollow heaviness that settles when crying stops too soon.
"It's the universe's way of aligning your path. A girl like you won't stay single for long." A warm smile creeps up her face, heavily lined eyes filled with sympathy.
"You don't understand. I don't think I'll get over him anytime soon. I loved that scumbag, Georgia," I blurt through a frown, hating myself for uttering those words.
"Trust me, you'll forget about that asshole. Take it from a thirty-seven-year-old with a history of more exes than she can remember." Georgia pulls my cheeks lightly.
I let out a small laugh that dies halfway. Then—
"Lilith?"
My body goes still. That name... No one has called me that since ninth grade back in Russia, before my family relocated from Red Fang Pack to Iron fang.
I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting some stranger waving at someone else. But then our eyes meet, and the room narrows to just him.
My nose crinkles at his scent—expensive male cologne layered over a woodsy note that's oddly familiar.
He's tall, easily over six foot two—the kind of tall that makes you straighten instinctively. Broad shoulders fill out a black button-up that clings to his frame like it was made for him, sleeves rolled just enough to show strong forearms and a watch that gleams like quiet wealth. He moves with that unhurried confidence that only comes from knowing people are watching—each step measured, shoulders relaxed, a quiet authority in the way his weight shifts.
His lips curve into an easy smile, strawberry-blond hair falling over his forehead, shadowing his brows. The bar light catches faint streaks of gold in it, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. He's not only a living Adonis but also he looks so familiar...
"Lilith?" His voice has an edge to it, rough in that way that makes my toes curl. I nod. Through my peripheral vision, I catch Georgia's gaze dart between both of us mischievously.
"Didn't think I'd ever see you again," he says, voice roughened by something between amusement and surprise. "Name's Mikhail Orlov—ring a bell?"
No shit.