Chapter 2

"You really think I can’t live without you?" Alexander’s angry voice echoed behind me, his pride clearly wounded.

I didn't look back. I opened the door.

Right then, a muddy stray dog burst in from the hallway, running straight toward Alexander.

Mud splattered all over his expensive, custom-tailored suit trousers.

I stopped, waiting for him to explode.

Alexander was a notorious neat freak.

In the past, even if I took three showers and wore fresh clothes after coming back from the outside, if he smelled a single scent he didn't like on me, he would scowl and tell me to stay away.

But now, looking at the mud on his pants, he only frowned for a split second.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, Alexander! I just rescued this puppy downstairs. He's so hyper!" Isabella quickly knelt down, pulling out a tissue to wipe the mud.

To my surprise, Alexander smiled.

He didn't get mad at all. Instead, he reached down and patted the dirty dog's head.

"It’s fine, Bella. It’s sweet of you to care for animals. It’s just a suit."

He even took Isabella’s hand, holding the tissue, his eyes filled with warmth.

The ache in my chest flared up, sharp and agonizing, like someone was wringing my heart out. I could barely breathe.

It turned out he never had a "neat freak" phase.

He just hated me. He was disgusted by me, and he looked down on me from the very beginning.

Simply because I never told him my real identity, or about my wolf.

I felt a sudden urge to scream the truth in his face, but my wolf stopped me.

*“That’s dangerous, Elena. You know my existence must remain a secret. Besides, if he treats you like this just because of your status, he was never worthy of being your mate.”*

She was right. I knew she was right.

"Elena, you don't mind if I keep the puppy here, do you?" Isabella looked up at me, acting innocent.

"Do whatever you want."

I pulled my suitcase toward the door, but Alexander grabbed my wrist in a vice grip.

"Your little tantrum has gone far enough. Stay and eat dinner."

Without giving me a choice, he dragged me back into the dining room and shoved me into a chair.

The table was set with high-end takeout seafood—all of Isabella's favorites.

Alexander put on disposable gloves and expertly began peeling a shrimp.

I watched his smooth, practiced movements.

Over the years we were together, whenever I asked him to peel a single shrimp for me, he would throw his forks down in frustration.

"Can’t you even do something that simple?"

"Elena Smith, stop being so high-maintenance."

Now, he was happily peeling a whole plate of shrimp for another woman.

"Elena, why aren't you eating?" Isabella smiled, chewing on a shrimp. "Is the food not to your liking?"

Alexander didn't even look up from peeling a crab.

"She always looks like she's at a funeral. Just ignore her."

I put my forks down and stood up.

"Are you done watching?" Alexander asked coldly, glancing at me.

"If you're done, clean up the table."

***