Faking Infidelity With The Secret Lycan King

The night my ex-husband came for me with a gun, the rogue I'd hired put a silver bullet through his arm and never once let go of my hand.

Grant Calloway hit the floor screaming. Alpha of the biggest pack in Chicago, bleeding on concrete in front of his own enforcers.

Not one of them moved to help him.

They were staring at the man beside me. Black tank top. Scar by his eye. The plumber I paid thirty grand a month to ruin my reputation.

Two months ago, Grant's elders needed a scandal so their Alpha could leave his wolfless wife clean. Three years of marriage, and he had never touched me. So I picked the dirtiest sin I could find. I took a packless rogue to bed and let the whole state see the photo.

Grant thought I'd paid a model to fake it.

He found out it was real at a Moon Council summit, when the rogue walked in beside the most powerful she-wolf in Texas and every Alpha in the room went quiet.

He found out again when the rogue pulled me into a linen closet thirty feet from his table.

And tonight, on the floor with silver burning in his arm, he finally understood.

"Who the hell are you?" he gasped.

Ryder crouched down so Grant could see his eyes turn gold.

"Hollis."

Grant went white. Every enforcer in the room bowed their head.

Ryder stood up, pulled me against his chest, and said the one thing Grant had never said in three years of marriage.

"She's mine."

Grant's mouth opened. Closed.

Then my ex-husband, the Alpha who called me boring, the man who made me nurse his mistress's pup, got on his knees.

Not for me.

For him.