I folded my arms, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin. "Untouchable? That’s rich, coming from you," I shot back, my voice calm, controlled, and deadly. "Tell me, Lukas. How’s Celeste these days?"
His jaw tightened, the subtle shift in his face betraying his guilt. "I’m not doing this with you," he muttered, brushing past me into the kitchen.
The oven’s timer blared, breaking the tension. I grabbed the gloves and yanked the cake out—a pathetic attempt to salvage my 30th birthday. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Thirty years old, still stuck playing housemaid to a man who couldn’t even fake fidelity.
"Is that for us?" Lukas asked, gesturing to the cake with forced casualness.
"Not everything’s about you," I snapped, slamming the pan onto the counter.
He flinched but quickly recovered, his lips curving into a cold smirk. "Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve been handling pack business, Ayla. You know how important it is."
"Pack business?" I barked out a laugh. "Is that what you call your late-night visits to Celeste’s quarters?"
He froze, the smugness vanishing. "You’re paranoid."