The Alpha Chose My Sister, So I Chose Revenge

Chapter 7

When the black Bentley car pulled up, her heart jumped and sank at the same time.

Damien stepped out. He looked exactly the same as three years ago—tall and confident. But his eyes were different now. Colder.

“Celeste.” He said her name like it was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.

She walked toward him slowly. Her back still hurt from the whipping. Everything hurt, actually.

“You came.” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

His eyes moved to her bag. Just one small backpack. That was it. Three years of marriage, and this was all she had.

“This is everything?” he asked.

She nodded. “I didn’t need much there.”

Something flickered across his face. Anger, maybe. Or pity. She wasn’t sure which one it was.

“Forget it.” He walked toward her. “We’ll get you new things once we get home. Whatever you want. Clothes, jewelry, books. Anything.”

Celeste shook her head. “I don’t need those things anymore.”

“Celeste—”

“I really don’t.”

He stopped walking. For a moment, they just looked at each other. He was trying to figure out what had changed. Why the girl who used to love shopping and pretty dresses now stood before him with nothing but a backpack and hollow eyes.

“Let’s go,” she said, moving toward the car.

She turned to walk to his car. That’s when his breath caught.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice was sharp. “What happened to your shoulder?”

Celeste knew what he had seen. The raised marks across her shoulder blades where the silver whip had cut deepest. Even through the shirt, they were visible.

His hands were on her before she could stop him. His gentle fingers touched the spot where her shoulder blade pushed against her skin .

“Did Marcus do this to you?” Damien’s grip tightened. “Did he hurt you?”

“Damien—”

The fury in his voice made her wolf whimper. Not from fear. This was what it sounded like when someone actually cared.

“I’ll kill him.” He turned toward the house as if ready to march inside. “I swear to God, I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.”

“He’s not here.” She grabbed his arm. “And I don’t want you to fight him.”

“You’re defending him?” His eyes blazed. “Look at yourself, Celeste. You’re skin and bones, you’re covered in scars, and you’re defending the man who did this to you?”

“No,I’m not defending him.” Celeste placed her hand over his. “I’m telling you this is my fight. Not yours.”

“Your fight?” He laughed,humorless. “You’ve been fighting alone for three years. Look how that turned out.”

The words stung because they were true. But she couldn’t let him see that.

“Damien, listen to me.” Celeste stepped closer. “I called you because I chose you. Not because I need you to save me. I chose you.”

The anger remained, but it softened. Something in her voice must have convinced him.

“You chose me,” he repeated, testing the words.

“Yes.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head.

“Alright.” He bent down and picked her up before she could protest. She gasped at the sudden movement, but he was gentle, careful of her healing wounds.

“But we’re doing this my way from now on.” He said.

Celeste wanted to argue, but she was so tired. His arms were warm. And for the first time in years, someone was being gentle with her.

“You’re too thin,” he murmured as he carried her to the car. “When did you eat last?”

She couldn’t remember. Food had lost all taste weeks ago.

He settled her into the passenger seat like she was made of glass. The leather was soft, expensive. The car smelled of his cologne—dark and woody, making her feel safe.

“Buckle up,” he said. “We’re going home.”

*********

Marcus got home at eight o’clock, just like every other night. He called her name as he walked through the door.

“Celeste?” he called, dropping his briefcase by the door.

Usually, she would have been waiting. She would have taken his coat, asked about his day. The routine they had fallen into over the past three years.

“Celeste?” His voice echoed in the empty hallway.

He checked the kitchen first. Then the living room. The study. Their bedroom.

Nothing.

He felt irritation in his chest. She’d been moody lately, but this was taking it too far. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

“The number you have dialed is not available.”

His frown deepened. He tried texting instead.

*Celeste, enough with the dramatics. I know you’re upset about Raven staying here, but she’s family. You’re being childish.*

The message bounced back immediately. A red exclamation mark appeared beside it.

She’d blocked him.

“Sir?” One of the maids appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Celeste asked me to tell you something.”

Marcus looked up sharply. “What?”

“She left this afternoon. Said to tell you she left your anniversary gift in the safe.”

The irritation in his chest shifted to something else. Amusement, maybe. Of course she had. Celeste never could resist making grand gestures when she was upset.

This was just another one of her games. Run away for a few days, make him worry, then come back expecting apologies and attention.

He almost smiled as he climbed the stairs to his study. Every year, she insisted on celebrating their wedding anniversary. Always with some handmade gift or carefully planned surprise. He had learned to expect it. Even looked forward to it, if he was being honest.

The safe opened with a soft beep. He reached inside, expecting something wrapped in tissue paper. Maybe a photo album or one of her painted canvases.

Instead, his fingers closed around a single sheet of paper.

He pulled it out, still smiling slightly.

The smile died the moment he read the header.

LETTER OF RESIGNATION