The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

On Heat 

She pulled on the dress and looked at herself in the mirror with despair, the thud-thud of her heart hard in her chest. The red wine had faded to pink after the wash, but it was still obvious that the dress was stained.

She snarled at herself in the mirror, the flush of frustrating rage rising red hot. She looked, she thought, like a tampon advert, where they were trying to be modern using red instead of blue, and it just wasn’t going to do at all, she simply could not go out into the club in the dress as it was. And, besides, the lace prickled, and the dress was too hot, and she… She blew out a breath, her pulse roaring in her ears, recognising that she was becoming overwrought and trying to control herself.

For a moment she indulged and pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes and cried, shoulder shaking, wracking cries of anguish. She didn’t cry about the ruined dress, or about the humiliation of being such a public victim of bullying, or even about her husband f-king another woman knowing she was only a door away, she cried about the fact that she had been so disposable to her family that they had sold her into such a situation and lied to her whilst doing so.

A love match, she had been told, fated mates, and fool as she was, she had believed it, because, from the moment she had set eyes on Baron Western, every fiber within her had told her that he was her One, her Only, and she had thought that such a thing was undeniable, that if it were true for her, it must also be for him.

Fool, she told herself now. She had been a fool then, and she was no less the fool now. 

She drew in a deep breath and grabbed the lace collar of the dress, tearing the fabric away. In the vanity she found a pair of nail scissors, and she cut and tore at her dress, until its lacey frills and neckline pulled away from the satin lining and then she pulled her hair out of the clip that held her hair back on one side, shaking her head to settle her hair, and shoved her feet back into her high heels.

She regarded herself in the mirror. It was far from the polished glamour of Angelique, but there was a sexy dishevelment to the outfit stripped as it was back to its lining.

onto the city, and a couple of

against the roof of her mouth, blocking the scent from

and paused, his expression

the shift in his expression. “I am sorry to have kept

the ice in his glass rattling against the rim

aware of his presence, the shift of fabric, the sound of the soles of his shoes against the concrete, his breath, heavy behind her. That sense that had betrayed her in telling her that he

he said again sounding puzzled as she opened the door into the club, but she stepped out, ignoring him, into the swell of music, and the scent

and the she-wolf’s reaction, the sharply indrawn breath, the reassessment, before Jane caught a glass of champagne off

teeth, his suit displaying a body tight and taut, as he moved in on her. She drew

back, and blocking him and the others with his body. “Jane,” his voice was dark and dangerous, his

and inhaled. He smelled so good, making the pit of her stomach curl with desire. Alpha, his scent told her. The betas might be nice to play with, but an alpha was what

her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and felt him inhale and draw her tightly against him. “We are leaving, Jane,” he said, the flash of his eyes, the growl in his voice, all staking

around her, the press of the betas, the flash of alpha eyes, and she resisted his pull against her. She saw the change in his expression as he felt her resistance, the shock. “Jane,” his tone changed,

her to look at the faces