My Alpha Planned My Death to Keep His Lover Alive

I lit the candles myself.

All twelve of them, arranged down the center of the dining table in a neat line, the way I'd seen in a wedding magazine two years ago and saved in the back of my mind for someday. White tapers in silver holders. Wildflowers I cut from the garden that morning. The good china — the set Mrs. Elliott gave us as a mating gift, which she reminded me of at least twice a year.

Three years. Tonight was three years since Kayden pressed his teeth to my neck and called me his.

I wore the green dress he once said made my eyes look like pine needles in winter. I'd curled my hair. I'd made the reservation at the restaurant, then canceled it because I thought a private dinner would feel more intimate. More real.

I sat at the head of the table and waited.

At seven, his assistant called to say he was still in transit.

At eight, Kayden called himself. His voice was smooth and warm and utterly convincing. "I'm so sorry, Adelaide. There's been an emergency with the Seattle summit. The Cresthaven Alpha pulled out of the agreement and it's a mess — I can't leave until we've sorted it. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Of course," I said. "Don't worry about me. Go handle it."

I meant every word to sound like the devoted Luna I was. And I think it did.

After I hung up, I sat there for another minute, staring at the candles. Then I reached across the table and pinched the first one out between my fingers. Let the wax burn my skin just a little. Grounded myself in the small, clean sting.

That's when it slipped through.

Kayden's mental walls were thick — he'd always had exceptional control for an Alpha — but in the moment he'd dropped his guard to connect with me, something leaked. A crack in the link, just for a second. Maybe he was distracted. Maybe he didn't think I was paying close enough attention.

A woman's laugh. Low and private, the kind that belongs to someone who knows she's the only one in the room who matters.

The bright clink of crystal glasses meeting.

And a single word, breathy and careless: *"Encore."*

French.

I sat very still.

Then I got up, went to his study, and I got to work.

---

The lock on the study door was always a formality. Kayden had given me a key during our first year — a gesture meant to signal trust, I suppose. Or maybe he simply never believed I would use it.

I worked through his filing cabinet first. Administrative records, pack contracts, quarterly finance reports. My hands were steady. My wolf was quiet — she'd been quiet for so long it didn't feel strange anymore, just like a scar that had gone numb.

The Seattle summit was easy to disprove. No registration. No hotel block. No correspondence with the