Chapter 9: Return to the Den
Chapter 9: Return to the Den
(Samantha’s POV)
I squared my shoulders, drawing on my newfound resolve. “I’m not discussing this here.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. “Fine. The car’s waiting.”
I followed him through the terminal, maintaining a careful distance between us. The Moonbloom roses he’d brought remained clutched in his hand, their faint glow a reminder of happier times.
“I’ve arranged for your things to be collected from SilverCrest,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll be coming home.”
It wasn’t a question. Typical Ethan.
“For now,” I replied, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “We need to talk privately.”
He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “About?”
“Our separation,” I said simply. “But I’d prefer to discuss it somewhere private, given our positions.”
Something flickered in his eyes–surprise, perhaps, or anger. But he quickly masked it.
“Ms. Thompson has prepared herb soup,” he said instead of acknowledging my words. “You look tired.”
I was tired–bone–deep exhausted. But beneath the fatigue burned a new determination, a spark I hadn’t felt in years.
As we walked to his waiting car, my mind drifted to the Ethan of our youth. The hungry, ambitious young Alpha who’d
worn the same three shirts in rotation because we couldn’t afford more. His frame had been leaner then, his shoulders
not yet broadened by power and success.
Now he moved with the confident stride of a man accustomed to command, his tailored suit emphasizing his powerful build. The material alone probably cost more than our entire first apartment.
“You’ve changed your hair,” he remarked as we reached the car.
I touched the simple wooden pin holding my hair back. “I left in a hurry.”
His eyes traveled down to the purple dress visible beneath my open coat. His nostrils flared slightly–another man had
seen me in this dress. The thought clearly disturbed him.
The drive to Blackwood Manor passed in tense silence. I stared out the window, mentally preparing for what was to come. Eighteen years of history wouldn’t be untangled in a single conversation.
As we pulled through the gates of our estate, a familiar bark greeted us.
October, our pet wolf cub, bounded across the manicured lawn toward the car. Her tail wagged frantically as she recognized me.
“She missed you,” Ethan said, his voice softening for the first time since the airport.
When I stepped out of the car, October raced toward me but stopped short a few feet away. Her nose twitched, and she tilted her head curiously.
I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach, a protective gesture that had become automatic since discovering my pregnancy. Tomorrow I would visit Dr. Miller to terminate it. I couldn’t bring a child into this mess.
October approached cautiously, whimpering softly as she rubbed against my legs.
Chapter 9 Return to the Den
$15 Puntos)
“Welcome back, Luna Reed!” Ms. Thompson called from the doorway, her familiar face creased with relief. “The house
hasn’t been the same without you.”
I smiled at her, guilt twisting in my stomach. She had no idea I was planning to leave permanently.
“You should have seen the Alpha,” she continued, ushering us inside. “Drinking heavily every night since you left. I told him you’d be back, though.”
She patted my arm affectionately. “Don’t leave again, dear. It’s not good for either of you.”
The irony of her words tasted bitter in my mouth. My return was merely a strategic move–the first step in a carefully orchestrated exit.
I’d acted impulsively three days ago, fleeing without a plan. But eighteen years with Ethan–not just our marriage but our entire adult lives–couldn’t be severed with a hasty departure.
While Ethan had set Rebecca up with a comfortable life and two million dollars for carrying his child, I’d left with nothing but the clothes on my back and a few personal items. The contrast fueled my resolve. I refused to walk away empty–handed.
Our accumulated wealth and assets would take time to disentangle. The process would be painful, but necessary.
“I’ll run a bath for you,” Ms. Thompson offered, already heading for the stairs.
“Thank you,” I said, avoiding Ethan’s intense gaze. “That would be lovely.”
(Ethan’s POV)
The sound of running water from the master bathroom soothed my frayed nerves. Samantha was home. Whatever had
happened in the Eastern Territories, whatever man had left his scent on her, she had returned to Blackwood Manor.
I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into my lungs. With my free hand, I dialed James.
“She’s back,” I said when he answered.
“I know, Alpha. I saw your car pass the gates.”
“I need information,” I continued, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “Everything about her trip to the Eastern
Territories. Who she met, where she went, what she spent.”
“Already working on it,” James replied efficiently. “Anything specific you’re looking for?”
“A man,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “She carries another man’s scent.”
James’s silence spoke volumes. “I’ll be thorough.”
“And arrange a fireworks display,” I added. “Something impressive. Tonight.”
“Consider it done.”
I ended the call and took another drag of my cigarette. The familiar landscape of our territory spread before me, a kingdom I’d built from nothing. Yet it felt hollow without Samantha by my side.
My phone buzzed with an incoming message from James. The report was preliminary but revealing. Only the hotel booking and flight tickets appeared on her cards. No other expenses.
Someone had concealed her movements. Even her hotel stay showed minimal charges. Samantha didn’t have such connections–not anymore. Not since she’d stepped back from her healing work.
It had to be another man. The sandalwood scent lingering on her skin was distinctly masculine, expensive, and unfamiliar.
The thought of my wife with another man, even in a professional capacity, filled me with a possessive rage I could barely
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contain. Who was he? What did he want with her?
I crushed out my cigarette and turned back toward our bedroom. The water had stopped running. She would be emerging
from the bath soon.
(Samantha’s POV)
The warm water had eased the tension from my muscles, if not from my mind. I wrapped myself in a plush robe and
stepped into the dressing room, the Luna’s Moonstone Pendant still hanging around my neck despite everything.
Ethan stood by the window, his powerful frame silhouetted against the night sky. Unlike other men who constantly
sought novelty with different women, Ethan’s obsession had always been singular. Me. He wanted to possess me
completely.
“Sam…” he whispered, crossing the room to embrace me from behind.
It was a familiar gesture, one that had often led to passionate nights. His hands slid around my waist, his breath warm
against my neck.
G
When his palm pressed against my stomach, I flinched and pushed him away.
“What are you doing?” I asked, taking a step back.
His expression darkened at my rejection. He advanced slowly, trapping me between his body and the wardrobe.
“Sam, tell me,” his voice carried a dangerous edge, “which man did you meet in the Eastern Territories? Hmm?”
I hadn’t told him about Hector, partly to protect the Southern Alpha’s privacy, partly because it wasn’t Ethan’s business
anymore.
“It’s none of your business,” I replied, my voice steady despite our proximity.
His finger traced my lower lip, his face half–shadowed, his possessiveness almost tangible in the air between us.
“Sam, don’t be so cruel to me.”
The audacity of his statement sparked my anger. “Ethan, you didn’t tell me when you let Rebecca bear your child. What right do you have to control my movements? Do you really care which man I’m with?”
His eyes flashed with something primal. He cared–intensely so. His thumb trailed from my lips to my cheek, his touch
both familiar and unsettling.
I could see the insecurity beneath his commanding exterior. It was a remnant of our past–the poor boy who’d fought his way to the top, always afraid of sliding back down. He resisted change, especially any change in me.
(Ethan’s POV)
“Sam…” I murmured, unable to resist her any longer.
I nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scent beneath the lingering traces of sandalwood. My tongue traced the delicate
curve where her neck met her shoulder, tasting her skin.
My calloused fingers moved up her thigh, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. The silk of her robe was a flimsy barrier
between us, her warmth radiating through the thin material.
She had always been my opposite–vibrant and adaptable where I was steady and immovable. She could bloom in even
the harshest conditions, while I remained rooted in my position.
Despite my elevated status, my deepest fear remained losing her. The thought of another man touching her, appreciating her beauty, her intelligence, her healing gifts–it was unbearable.
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“Sam…” I whispered hoarsely against her ear, “No one in this world will love you more than I do. Don’t try to escape me.
You can’t escape.”
