Divorcing The Alpha: My Designer Comeback

na's

ave been warm and comforting, but all I could smell was the cold, empty space

eak, a motion I'd perfected. Another small, useless attemp

against the Manhattan skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The

The Alpha King is always busy. The same excuse I'd used for eight years, a

dark, intense eyes held a spark I'd mi

t 8:05, I poured him a glass of Cabernet, the deep red swirling with promises the

n my mind. A violation I'd long ago

rgency at the office. I

fingers hovered over the mental space where I'd form the

hread remained, like a phone call not properly hung up. Through

. A voice I knew too

should-" Her voice purred with an

tched. My bo

n. M

mall voice drifted through the l

Mommy. Aiden was ca

und it physically hurt-a warmth I'd starved for, given f

ng city, the candles, the perfectly plated meal-all dissol

loor with a sharp clatter. The sound must have traveled through the fra

le

Eight years of obedience, waiting, telling myself this was enough. The tears I expected didn't come. Instead,

e perfect potatoes followed. Then the wine, poured slowly down the drain, a ribbon of blood-red failure. Finally, I took the bouquet of white roses-

I hadn't heard in years, whi