The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

The Unwanted Wife 

The jazz singer swayed and crooned into the microphone. She had a nice voice Jane decided, but no one was I listening, they were too busy trying to

be noticed and heard. Unlike herself. If it were possible to melt away into the shadows, she would be doing it. Instead, she had found an out of the way corner and just hoped to pass the night unnoticed.

The night club’s lights flashed off the jewellery on the women, and the sparkles in their clinging dresses.

She had dressed wrong, again, she thought miserably, though that was at least partly Baron’s fault. If he had deigned to tell her where they were going, she would have known that it was a place for slinky, sexy dresses rather than her pretty white lace dress. But then, she thought, if she had known that they were going to the opening of his new club, she would have told him she had a headache, and he probably knew that, and therefore hadn’t given her the opportunity to avoid going.

She might be an unwanted wife, but she was still a Corbyn, and that connection was worth the inconvenience of her to Baron. It made sense to show off that connection on such an important night.

The Westerns and the Corbyns had long been rival packs, but the Corbyns had grown in strength where the Westerns had weakened, and when Baron’s grandfather had been murdered, the Westerns had lost their position and much of their wealth, and their pack had been absorbed into other, stronger packs.

Until Baron had come, seemingly from nowhere, with a strong alpha’s ruthlessness, and had built his business from the ground up, gradually gaining power and position until he had approached Jane’s father, Matthew Corbyn, wanting to marry and take as mate Jane’s older, prettier sister, Alice, in order to cement his place in Corbyn’s pack.

Matthew, instead, had offered Jane. A take it or leave it situation. Baron had taken it, and her. Reluctantly.

suit, his white teeth flashing in a charming smile, and the nightclub lights picking up the night-reflection in his eyes. The most handsome man in the room, any woman would exchange places with her in a moment, she thought, and they would be welcome to her husband and mate, for he

there was nothing she wanted more than to go home and have a cold shower before laying in bed and bringing herself release. It was, she thought, very unlike her. Her desire throbbed deep within her, and she pressed her thighs together as she stood and tried

crowd, looking for her. And unfortunately, in her white dress, she was entirely too noticeable. A muscle ticked in the corner of his jaw, and his eyes hardened, his mouth tightened, when he saw her. He gave a slight jerk of his head to indicate that she should be at his side, and she sighed and

be so clumsy!” Angelique Devan exclaimed loudly as she poured her glass of red wine over Jane’s dress. “You have spilled

with the red wine stain slowly spreading through the white lace of her entirely too innocent and covered up dress for the venue, feeling it puddle into her shoes. Angelique was, none too discretely, Baron’s mistress,

soda water on

chance of getting rid of

had formed around them, the glittering guests murmuring, and sniggering. Jane felt the crawl of dread through her chest, clenching its fist around her heart. She did not need to look at Baron’s face to know that she had humiliated him. Again. “Don’t just stand there,” his fingers

very functional and unglamourous, concrete painted black. Her high heels on the cement were loud and

his office. Here, there was a return to glamour and elegance. The floor was carpeted, and the furniture expensive. There was a textured wallpaper on the walls. He released her arm, and she resisted the urge to see if he had left marks with his grip in front of him. He

her towards another door. “Go and do something about that.” He sighed heavily and braced a hand on the solid wood office desk, his shoulders tense and his hair falling

tears. She unzipped her dress and slid it off. There was no point to trying to wash the wine out whilst she was wearing it. She kicked off her shoes and ran water in the sink. The bathroom was very masculine she noted, dark grey tiles, and a dark wood cabinet. In the mirror over the sink, she was ghostly pale, washed out by the bright light and the shock of having most of a glass of red wine poured over her, her

water over the dress trying to rinse out as much of the wine as possible without getting

Angelique‘s voice, and Baron’s answer. She tiptoed

unnecessary and cruel,” Baron reprimanded. “You spilled your wine on her