Chapter 2: Chapter 2 How pathetic
Ethan’s POV
The door slammed behind Aria. I should go after her. Smooth things over like I always did. I took a step forward.
"Ethan." Clara’s hand wrapped around my wrist, yanking me back. "Where do you think you’re going?"
"She just saw us. I need to talk to her before she does something stupid."
"Something stupid?" Clara’s amber eyes flashed. "Like tell everyone you cheated? She won’t. She loves you too much to destroy what you’ve built together."
I pulled free, running a hand through my hair.
Clara was right. Aria had proven her love a thousand times over—working herself to exhaustion for the Pack, enduring my mother’s cruelty, raising Marcus without complaint. She wouldn’t throw that away over one moment of weakness.
"But what if she heard our conversation about Marcus?"
"If she had, do you think she’d just walk away? She would’ve been hysterical. Screaming, crying, breaking things." Clara’s hand stroked my arm.
"Then in three days, she’d come crawling back, accepting this child with pure Alpha bloodline and begging you not to let her go."
I exhaled slowly. "I guess you’re right."
"I’m always right." She smiled.
Clara had always been like this—bold, unapologetic, dangerously confident.
It was what drew me to her when we were teenagers, when she’d dragged me bleeding out of the forest after a rogue attack. I owed her everything.
But Aria was different. She was my True Mate—chosen by the Moon Goddess herself.
And I’d rejected that bond the moment I understood what it meant, because accepting Aria meant letting go of Clara.
Fortunately, as a human, Aria’s perception of the mate bond was weak.
After I completed the rejection, she wouldn’t feel the pain and would still hold hope for our destined connection.
Her abilities were genuinely impressive—my pack flourished rapidly under her guidance. I kept my pup Marcus by her side, hoping she could help me raise a more perfect heir.
In front of her, I didn’t mind playing the devoted mate. It was the only compensation I could offer her.
"Ethan." Clara’s voice cut through my thoughts.
"I want to move into the house. With you and Aria. I’m tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around like a dirty secret. Marcus deserves both his parents under one roof. "
"Either I move in, or I take Marcus and leave. Your choice."
My wolf snarled. Having them both under one roof was a disaster waiting to happen—but if Clara left with Marcus...
"Fine," I heard myself say. "You can move in."
Her face lit up. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed my jaw. "You won’t regret this, baby. I promise."
---
Aria’s POV
After signing the inheritance papers at Mr. Castellano’s office, I drove home in a daze.
The house blazed with warm light. Through the front window I saw them—Ethan, Clara, and Marcus around the dining table like a perfect family portrait.
Ethan laughed at something Clara said, his hand resting on the back of her chair. Marcus sat between them, grinning up at his father.
Clara ruffled the boy’s golden hair; Ethan caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Domestic bliss.
Everything I’d been too blind to see for two years snapped into clarity.
The late nights he called Pack business. The way Marcus flinched whenever I tried to hold him. Clara’s constant presence, always with some excuse.
My mother-in-law Margaret’s pointed remarks about being "grateful." Sophie’s knowing smirks whenever Clara’s name came up, watching me with pity mixed with contempt.
They’d all known. Everyone except me.
I forced myself to breathe, to push down the rage threatening to choke me.
Not yet. Not here. I needed to play this smart. Take back what was mine.
I walked in and schooled my face to careful neutrality. The laughter died the instant I stepped inside.
"Aria." Ethan stood quickly, putting distance between himself and Clara, as if that erased what I’d witnessed in his office. "You’re home early."
"Am I?" I crossed to the kitchen. "I wasn’t aware I had a curfew."
I filled a glass of water, more to occupy my hands than anything. My heart pounded in my ears.
Footsteps behind me.
"Can we talk?" Ethan’s voice was low, careful.
I turned slowly. "About you and Clara?"
"It’s not what you think," he said, slipping into that patronizing tone I’d grown to hate.
"Clara’s going to be staying here as Marcus’s nanny. He needs consistency, and frankly, you’re not around enough—"
"Not around enough?" I cut him off. "I’ve been running this Pack for you, Ethan. Every meeting, every decision—while you were off doing what, exactly?"
His jaw tightened. "That’s not the point."
"Then what is?"
"Marcus needs to be taken care of."
"OK." The word came out flat. "I disagree."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said no. This is my home. I didn’t agree to a live-in nanny."
"She’s not just a nanny. She’s helped raise Marcus since he was born. He needs her here."
Of course. Because she was his real mother.
"That’s not my problem," I said coolly. "If you want Clara housed, buy her an apartment. She’s not living under my roof."
"You’re just tired." He raised a hand, his tone measured—managing me, like I was an obstacle, like my opinion was a tantrum to be waited out. "We’ll discuss this after dinner."
"There’s nothing to discuss."
"Aria—"
"Bad woman!"
Marcus appeared out of nowhere, small face twisted with rage. "You’re really bad! You’re mean to Clara!"
"Marcus, that’s enough—" Ethan started.
But the boy was already charging at me, hands outstretched. He slammed into me with surprising force.
I stumbled back, my hip colliding with the corner of the side table—exactly where I’d hit the floor in Ethan’s office earlier. Pain exploded through my lower back; my vision went white.
"Marcus!" Ethan grabbed him by the shoulders. "What the hell are you doing?"
"She’s mean!" Marcus wailed, but his eyes were dry—nothing but calculated defiance. "She’s mean to Clara and mean to you and I hate her!"
Ethan reached for me. "Aria, I’m sorry, he didn’t mean—"
I jerked away. "Don’t."
"Let me help—"
"Don’t touch me."
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the swimming in my vision. My tailbone throbbed from earlier; now my hip would bruise too.
Clara burst in and gathered Marcus into her arms, stroking his hair while he buried his face in her neck. The devoted mother, perfectly performed. My stomach turned.
"He’s just a kid," she murmured, kissing his temple. "Please forgive him."
"What a touching scene of motherly devotion," I said. "I’m starting to wonder if he’s actually your biological pup."
Clara’s expression tightened—clearly she wasn’t sure how much I’d overheard outside the door.
"Aria, as your friend, I’m very disappointed in you. Words like that don’t just hurt me, they hurt Marcus. You—"
I turned and walked upstairs, each step sending fresh jolts of pain through my hip.
"Aria, wait—"
I didn’t.
I spent the next hour in the guest bathroom, running the hottest water I could stand. My hip had already darkened to purple, matching the bruise forming on my tailbone. Two injuries in one day. Both from the same family.
How poetic.
By the time I emerged in pajamas, wet hair wrapped in a towel, the house had gone quiet. A knock at the door—I didn’t need to guess who.
"Come in."
Ethan stepped inside, closing the door carefully. He looked tired. Worried. Like he actually gave a damn.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fantastic. Your son has quite the arm."
His jaw tightened. "He’s been disciplined. It won’t happen again."
"Right. Like the last dozen times really stuck."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I know today has been difficult. But Clara needs to stay here. Marcus needs her. She’s been more of a mother to him than—"
"Than me?" I finished. "Yes, I’m aware. Hard to bond with a child who’s been taught to hate me since birth."
"That’s not—" He caught himself, changing tactics. "This isn’t about you and Clara. This is about what’s best for Marcus. He’s settled here. He’s comfortable. Taking Clara away would disrupt his entire world."
I stared at him, this man I’d believed was my husband, my mate. This man who’d convinced me I was broken, that my body couldn’t handle the bond.
This man who’d built his entire Pack’s success on my labor while keeping his real family hidden in plain sight.
He was still lying. Still manipulating. Still expecting me to just accept whatever scraps he offered.
Fine. Let him think he’d won.
"I have a condition," I said.
Wariness flickered across his face. "What kind?"
"My birthday is next week. You forgot last year, and the year before. So this year, I want a proper gift." I kept my voice light. "The penthouse at Meridian Tower. Top floor. In my name only."
He went very still. "That’s a fifteen million dollar property."
"Is it?" I tilted my head. "I think it’s fair—as a birthday gift, and as compensation for what you’ve done."
The muscle in his jaw jumped. For a moment I thought he might finally drop the pretense. Instead, he pulled out his phone.
"Fine," he said curtly. "Consider it an early birthday present."
"And the transfer note," I added. "For Aria’s house fund. Happy birthday."
He tapped at the screen, expression darkening with every second, then turned the phone toward me.
Fifteen million dollars. Transfer note included.
"Happy birthday," he said flatly.
"Thank you, Ethan." I let the endearment drip with acid. "You’re so generous."
He pocketed his phone. "Clara stays."
"Clara stays," I agreed.
He nodded and left.
I waited until the door clicked shut, then pulled out my phone and opened the banking app.
Balance: ¥15,150,000.00
Two years as Luna—hosting banquets, negotiating alliances, building his reputation.
My card had never seen a single paycheck, not a penny of Pack money.
The only funds I’d ever had were fifteen thousand saved from part-time jobs during school, hard-earned and carefully hoarded.
Now, because I’d caught him with Clara—because she was the leverage that finally forced his hand—he remembered I existed.
How pathetic.
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