Devon's POV
I woke with sunlight spilling in through the tall windows of the Presidential Suite.
Eleanor was still beside me, her face resting gently on my chest, her breathing soft and even. She looked peaceful, elegant, and even. Everything about her was serene.
But I wasn't.
My wolf stirred restlessly beneath the surface.
Not because of her.
Because of him.
Jimmie.
I swallowed tightly, my hand brushing over Eleanor's bare shoulder. She didn't stir. I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts a churning storm. Who would've thought that just yesterday I was lying cold… lifeless… moments from slipping away forever?
They always said wolves who are rejected by their fated mates either go mad or… die.
I'd heard of it before—whispers, old stories. Wolves who rejected their mates... the pain so deep, so unnatural, that it tore them apart. Some lost their minds. Others... just died.
I used to think they were weak.
I thought I'd be stronger. That rejection from Jimmie, though it gutted me, could be buried under duty, power, and control. That I could keep walking, keep breathing, keep pretending.
But I was wrong.
God, I was so wrong.
There were days when my wolf howled and clawed inside me, wild with grief and rage. Other days, it was silent. Too silent. Like it had already given up, Eleanor thought it was the withdrawals from the suppressant. I let her believe that. It was easier than admitting the truth. Because the truth?
The truth was unforgivable. I was dying because the one the moon fated to me... had rejected me. And I had nothing left to anchor me in this life.
Until...
Until his scent filled that hospital room.
Until his hand touched mine.
Until that jolt of energy—not just power, but hope—surged through me and yanked my soul back from the abyss.
My wolf, broken and almost gone, roared back to life.
Not because of medicine. Not because of machines.
Because of Jimmie.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Just the thought of his name made something shift inside me—something hungry, raw. Not lust. Not love. Something more primal. Need.
No, I don't know where I stand with him. Hell, I don't know if I'm even ready to explore whatever this is between us. Maybe I never will be.
But one thing is certain now.
I need him.
His presence. His scent. His nearness.
He's the only thing keeping my wolf tethered. Like silver sulfate to a wound, he calms the burning inside me. A cheat code, maybe. But I'll use it. I'll exploit it. I'll drink it in like a drug if I have to—if that's what it takes to stay alive.
A growl stirred deep in my chest at that thought, my wolf bristling, resentful of the cold logic, of my willingness to use what should be sacred.
But I didn't have time to soothe it. Not now.
Eleanor stirred beside me, shifting with a gentle murmur as she blinked into the morning light.
Her scent wrapped around me—warm, sweet, familiar.
And yet...
Something inside me recoiled.
She looked up, smiled with a softness I hadn't seen in a while. "I couldn't believe I almost lost you, Devon," she whispered, sliding her hand along my bare chest, curling into my side like she used to when things were simple.
I brushed her hair with tender fingers. "Me too," I murmured. A truth in the lie. Or a lie in the truth. I didn't know anymore.
She shifted closer, her breasts pressed softly against my skin. "I'm sorry, Devon," she said, her voice tender. "I never should've pushed you like that. I didn't realise what it would do to you."
I paused.
I blinked. Confused. "What do you mean?"
She took a breath, eyes shimmering. "The withdrawal. I just wanted to help, Devon. I didn't want to lose you. For your sake. For the kids. For us."
Withdrawal.
Right. My chest tightened—not from love, but guilt.
She had no idea.
No idea of the real reason her husband had nearly died. The withdrawal was real, not because I wanted to, but because the injections stopped working, but it wasn't the cause. It was just smoke over the fire. My wolf had been dying. I had been dying. And not because of that, but because my mate—Jimmie—had walked away.
I pulled her closer, ignoring the nausea bubbling in my stomach. Her touch should have soothed me. It used to.
Now? It felt like a cage.
"It's not your fault," I whispered. "You were only doing what you thought was right. For the family."
She nodded slowly, pressing her lips to my chest. "And now?"
"Now..." I forced a smile. "I'm okay. I've got it under control. No more scares. No more danger. I promise."
She smiled faintly, then ran her fingers down my chest. " Or maybe we should take a short vacation with the kids? They'll be out of school soon."
I blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "That sounds great, Ele_Belle. But presidents don't go on holiday."
She giggled and nudged me playfully. "I'm serious."
"I'll be fine," I said, forcing warmth into my voice. "No more death scares. I've got it all under control now." I've found something that helps.
Something. Someone.
She kissed me then.
And I felt the bile rise in my throat.
Instinct told me to pull away. To run.
But I didn't.
I kissed her back—tender, practised, careful. Like a man playing the role he'd always played.
The kiss deepened. Her body shifted, straddling me, breath catching. My fingers moved on their own, cupping her breast. Her hand guided me into her, and she gasped as we connected.
I shut my eyes.
Tried not to feel.
Tried not to think.
Tried to keep my wolf silent.
It was over quickly. Mercifully.
And still, I felt hollow.
—
Later, in the dining room…
The scent hit me before I saw him.
Jimmie.
My body reacted first—chest tightening, blood sparking. I caught his presence like lightning on the wind.
He was waiting in the dining room, stiff and watchful.
Something was off.
Eleanor didn't notice. She swept into the room with a smile. "Ah! The man of the hour," she beamed.
But I saw it then—the flicker in Jimmie's expression. Shock. Conflict. Something is brewing under the surface.
Eleanor laughed. "I don't know what you did by that hospital bed, Jimmie, but I owe you a thank you."
He offered a tight smile. "Ma'am. Sir," he said with a short nod. Then added, "There's... something you both need to see."
He held up his pad. A video played.
The video.
The world had seen it already.
So now we did too.
The footage. Me. Lifeless. Flatlined. Then his hand reached mine. The monitor is spiking. My body is coming back.
Eleanor gasped.
Her face... unreadable.
Mine? Stone. Tense. Waiting.
Yes, my eyes flared golden on screen. But anyone could blame it on the lighting—camera tricks.
Right?
Then Franco burst into the room, eyes sharp. "Mr. President, Ma'am—"
He stopped short.
"I see you've already... seen it."
Jimmie swallowed hard beside me.
Eleanor finally raised her head, voice calm. Too calm. "This doesn't prove anything. Poor camera quality. Lighting interference. Some nitwit is trying to stir scandal. Right, Fran?"
I looked at Franco. He hesitated.
Then—
The scent hit me.
Her scent.
No.
My heart froze.
She shouldn't be here.
She couldn't be here.
The maid stepped in. "Your Excellency, ma'am—there's a woman here. Says she's family."
"Family?" Eleanor asked, frowning.
The maid nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Then...
She walked in.
A tall, lean woman with that unmistakable posture of wolves who knew their place in the pack—and weren't afraid to challenge others for it.
Nadia.
Her eyes scanned the room. Jimmie. Franco. Eleanor.
And finally... me.
A smirk curled on her lips.
"Hello, cousin," she said. "Or should I say... Mr. President."
My heart sank.
Eleanor stepped forward. "Family?" she repeated. "Devon's immediate family is all—"
"Dead. Yes," the woman said smoothly. "But I'm not immediate, am I? I'm his distant cousin. Nadia—"
I didn't hear the rest.
All I could think was one thing:
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
She shouldn't be here.
Not now.
Not ever.
Because if she were here… it could only mean one thing.
Trouble.