Caden's POV
The file landed on my desk with a dull thud, thick enough to bruise wood.
Syrus stood across from me, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking between my face and the manila folder as though he expected it to explode open on its own.
"This is everything on Fleur Swann," he said carefully. "Every trace she's left in this world."
I let out a humorless breath. "You work fast," I muttered. "Never stop impressing me."
Syrus shrugged, arrogance rolling off him like steam. "I keep the best hunters—legal and otherwise. Comes with the territory when you run with wolves."
He hesitated, then added, "I haven't read most of it. I brought it straight to you."
I didn't answer. My fingers had already opened the folder.
As my eyes scanned the words, my wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin.
She began as an assistant to Elise Laurent. Rose quickly. Built her own design empire. Independent. Fierce. Successful.
Each sentence drove the blade deeper.
Adele—my Adele—had never worked a day in her life before me. I'd clipped her wings myself, ordered her into silence, into submission, into a gilded cage she never asked for.
This woman was entirely different.
And yet…
"She's romantically linked to Raphael Dumas," Syrus continued, voice tight. "Long-term partner. They have twins together."
The world narrowed.
I turned the page, and it felt heavier than a stone plate.
The colorful photograph stared back at me like a curse.
The children.
The same ones I'd seen back in the mall.
The boy's dark eyes, sharp jaw, stubborn tilt of the chin—it was like staring into a mirror carved five years into the future.
My chest tightened, my wolf slamming against my ribs, howling in denial and recognition all at once.
Syrus sucked in a sharp breath. "Moon above… Alpha Caden. The resemblance—especially the boy. He looks exactly like you. Not Dumas. You can't deny that."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because my wolf already had.
The scent memory came back unbidden—wildflower and storm, blood and bond, the unmistakable pull of a mate who had never truly been severed from me.
"There's no doubt," Syrus pressed. "That woman is your wife. Adele is alive."
"No."
The word came out low. Final.
I stared at the photograph again, at the woman in the center of it—her—laughing freely, her eyes bright, her body relaxed as she leaned into another man's side.
"She looks happy," I said quietly.
Syrus frowned. "So?"
"I never gave Adele happiness," I replied. My voice was flat, but my chest burned. "I never saw her smile like that. Not once. Never with me."
I closed the file.
"That woman," I continued, my wolf's claws retracting, "is Fleur Swann. She has a life. A family. A pack of her own."
I tore the file cleanly down the middle.
Paper ripped like flesh.
Syrus stared as I tossed the pieces into the bin.
"You can't be serious," he said incredulously.
"When I decide something," I replied coldly, "I don't waver."
"Then why request the report at all?" he snapped.
"To silence doubt," I answered.
"And?" Syrus demanded.
"And it worked."
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Let me dig deeper. Something isn't right."
"No," I said sharply.
"But—"
"That's enough," I cut in, Alpha authority bleeding into my tone. "I will not hunt a woman who has already escaped my shadow."
I turned back to the documents on my desk, signing where required, each stroke of my pen a deliberate act of restraint.
Syrus didn't move.
I felt his confusion like a physical weight.
This wasn't the man he knew.
The old Caden Wayne would have torn the world apart to reclaim what was his.
But that man had learned what love truly cost.
After six years of agony, of sleepless nights haunted by my mate's absence, of a wolf driven mad by loss—I finally understood.
Love was not possession.
It was release.
Even if it tore me apart to do it.
Syrus exhaled sharply, defeated. "You've changed."
Yes.
Because a man who truly loves his mate would rather let her live free than drag her back into hell.
Even if her children carry my blood.
Even if my wolf will howl for her until the end of my days.
***
Adele's POV
Work became my refuge.
I buried myself in sketches, material samples, lighting simulations, and architectural drafts until the world beyond my office walls blurred into irrelevance. The more I worked, the quieter my thoughts became—and most importantly, the farther he felt.
I hadn't seen Caden Wayne since that night in the dungeon.
No black SUVs lurking across the street.
No Alpha presence stalking my senses like a storm about to break.
No pull in my chest so sharp it stole my breath.
With each passing day, I allowed myself to believe he had accepted the lie—that Fleur Swann was not Adele, that I was no longer his mate, his wife, his burden.
Relief settled over me like soft snowfall.
My children were safe.
My life was intact.
The monster had retreated into the dark where he belonged.
And yet…
I had still agreed to design his Paris estate.
I told myself it was control—if I stayed close to the project, I could monitor him from a distance. If I refused, suspicion might rise again. Wolves were instinctive creatures. Alphas even more so.
Between Caden's estate and the Duke's apartment, my days vanished quickly. The week slipped through my fingers like mist under moonlight, until the day Raphael had to leave for filming arrived far too soon.
Raphael insisted I drive him to the airport.
I hated attention. Hated cameras. Hated the way fame carried risk like blood carried scent. But he had stood by me without ever demanding answers I wasn't ready to give, and for that alone, I owed him this small kindness.
The Porsche purred beneath us as we cut through morning traffic.
"Do you know why I wanted you to drive me?" Raphael asked casually, one hand resting on the wheel, the other draped far too comfortably across the console.
"Because you enjoy tormenting me," I replied dryly, rolling my eyes.
He laughed, low and warm. "Wrong. I wanted time. Just us."
I shifted awkwardly in my seat. "Stop saying things like that."
"Then stop making me want to," he countered with a soft smile.
Before I could retort, his tone changed—sharpened with intent.
"Marry me, Fleur."
The world instantly tilted.
I turned to him slowly, my heart pounding—not with excitement, but with dread.
"Raphael," I sighed, exhaustion threading through my voice. "You know I can't."
"Why?" His jaw tightened. "Give me one reason that makes sense."
Because I was already bound to another man by blood, moon, and fate.
Because my past wasn't buried—it was merely hidden.
Because loving me meant stepping into a war he couldn't see.
"It's complicated," I whispered.
"Then let me understand," he pressed. "Is there someone else?"
For half a heartbeat, Caden's face flashed before my eyes—silver gaze, feral intensity, the unmistakable weight of a mate bond that refused to die.
"No," I said firmly. "Not like that."
Raphael exhaled slowly, then straightened. "Then marry me."
I stared at him.
"I'm giving you time," he continued shamelessly. "Until I come back. Next time, I won't ask without a ring."
The car slowed to a stop at the terminal.
Before I could respond, his door opened—bodyguards already moving, paparazzi swarming like vultures.
I pulled my scarf higher, hiding my face as he leaned back in.
"I'll make you love me one day," he murmured confidently, brushing a kiss against my temple. "You'll see."
I swallowed the ache in my chest. "Go. You'll miss your flight."
He smiled reluctantly, then stepped out, disappearing into the chaos of flashing lights and shouted questions.
I watched until he vanished.
Then I slid back into the driver's seat, the engine humming softly as I pulled away.
The city moved around me—crowded, alive, oblivious.
I didn't notice the black vehicle that merged into traffic behind me.
Didn't feel the familiar, dangerous pull until it was already there.
Somewhere, unseen eyes followed my car.