Chapter 2: The Divorce Papers
The clothes fit perfectly. That was the first wrong thing.
The soft gray sweater, the dark tailored trousers, even the underwear—all of them his size, waiting in Dominic’s closet. Leo dressed in the ensuite bathroom, his fingers fumbling on the buttons. His reflection was pale, his honey-brown eyes wide with a stunned sort of horror. A purple bruise was blooming on his neck, just above the collar line. He touched it and felt a jolt, a flashback of teeth and a growl vibrating against his skin.
He could still smell Dominic on himself. No amount of the citrus-and-rain shower gel could erase it. The alpha’s scent was under his skin now, a persistent imprint.
The penthouse was silent and vast, all sharp edges and muted colors. He found the kitchen, a monument to stainless steel and marble. A plate of eggs, toast, and fruit sat on the island, covered. A note in sharp, slanted handwriting read: Eat.
He couldn’t. His stomach was a knot of dread. He just stood there, leaning against the cold stone, waiting.
He heard the quiet hum of the elevator, then footsteps. Dominic entered, wearing a suit that cost more than Leo’s car. He looked rested, invincible, already holding a tablet. His dark eyes swept over Leo, then the untouched plate. A faint flicker of displeasure tightened his jaw.
“I wasn’t hungry,” Leo said, his voice small.
“You will be.” Dominic set the tablet down. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Where?”
“The office. To finish this.”
Leo’s heart stuttered. “I can’t go there. Not… not like this.” Not with your smell all over me. Not with everyone knowing.
Dominic closed the distance between them. He didn’t touch Leo, just loomed, his presence a physical force. “You can, and you will. It’s time to cut the last thread.”
Thirty minutes later, Leo walked into Ashford Enterprises beside his boss. The receptionist’s cheerful greeting died in her throat as her eyes darted between them. The air in the lobby seemed to thicken. Alphas in the hallway paused, their nostrils flaring subtly as Leo passed. He kept his eyes on the floor, his cheeks burning. They all knew. They could smell the change, the claim.
Instead of heading to the open-plan office where Leo’s desk was, Dominic steered him toward the private boardroom. He opened the door without knocking.
The air inside was freezing.
Marcus was there, sitting at the far end of the immense mahogany table. He looked like he’d been pulled through a hedge backwards—his usually perfect hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. Next to him sat Sloane Ashford, Dominic’s wife. She was the picture of icy composure in a cream sheath dress, one manicured finger tapping the glass tabletop. Two stern-faced men in suits—lawyers—flanked them.
The scent in the room was a foul cocktail: Marcus’s alpha aggression soured by panic, Sloane’s bland beta indifference, and under it, the sharp, acrid tang of fear.
“Leo,” Marcus breathed, standing up. His face twisted with a pathetic mix of relief and accusation. “Thank God. What the hell is this? He’s had me sitting here for an hour. Are you okay?”
Leo just stared. This man, his husband, had shared their bed, their jokes, their life. He looked like a stranger. The photos of him laughing, his hand on Sloane’s thigh, flashed behind Leo’s eyes.
“Sit down, Marcus,” Dominic said. His voice was calm, conversational, which made it infinitely more terrifying. He guided Leo to a chair near the head of the table, his hand resting on the back of Leo’s neck for a moment—a blatant, casual display of ownership. Marcus’s eyes tracked the movement, and his scent spiked with outrage.
“You can’t keep him here,” Marcus snapped.
“I’m not keeping him anywhere,” Dominic replied, taking his own seat at the head of the table. He opened a slim leather folder he’d carried in. “He’s exactly where he wants to be. Aren’t you, Leo?”
Leo couldn’t speak. His throat was sealed shut.
Sloane let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, this is rich. Really, Dominic? The assistant? A bit cliché, even for you.”
Dominic didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze on Marcus. “Your choices have narrowed considerably. I’ll outline them for you.” He slid a stack of documents across the polished wood. They whispered to a stop in front of Marcus.
“What is this?” Marcus snatched them up.
“Page one. Documentary evidence of your affair with my wife. Time-stamped photos, hotel receipts, text logs. Quite the romance.” Dominic’s lip curled. “Page two. A forensic audit of your start-up’s finances. Embezzlement of investor funds is a nasty business. Pages three through five. Contingency lawsuits from said investors, ready to file the moment I give the word. You’ll be defending yourself in criminal court before the end of the month.”
Marcus went sheet-white. He flipped through the pages, his hands shaking. “This is… you can’t… this is entrapment!”
“It’s consequence,” Dominic corrected softly.
Sloane leaned forward. “Darling, this is tedious. You think I care about your little revenge plot? My lawyers have already drawn up my settlement. A generous one. I’m bored.”
“I’m not talking to you,” Dominic said, finally turning his head toward her. The look in his eyes made even her composed mask slip for a second. “Your boredom has been noted and is now irrelevant. Stay quiet or leave.”
He turned back to Marcus. “Here is your choice. You sign the annulment papers for your marriage to Leo. Today. You walk away from him, from any claim to him, forever. You do not contact him. You do not look at him. In return, I bury the financial evidence. You’ll be broke, but you won’t be in prison. You’ll have a chance, however small, to rebuild the pathetic thing you call a life.”
Marcus’s head jerked up. “And if I don’t?”
Dominic leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Then I destroy you. Completely. I will sue you for every cent you’ve ever touched. I will press criminal charges. I will make sure every person in this city knows you as a thief and a whore. You will live in a cardboard box under the bridge, and I will drive past it every day with Leo in the passenger seat.”
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the low hum of the building’s ventilation.
Marcus looked at Leo, his eyes desperate. “Leo, baby, please. You don’t want this. He’s a monster. This is coercion. We can work this out. It was a mistake, it didn’t mean anything—”
The words, the same empty words from the night Leo found the photos, broke the spell. Leo felt something harden in his chest, a shell forming over the raw, weeping pain.
“You were going to leave me,” Leo said, his voice surprisingly steady. “You were waiting for the right time. You told her I was boring. That I was a burden.”
Marcus flinched. “I didn’t mean—”
“Sign the papers, Marcus.”
A low, approving rumble emanated from Dominic. Leo felt it in his bones.
Marcus stared at him, seeing the bruise on his neck, the unfamiliar clothes, the new stillness in his posture. He saw the door to his old life slam shut. Defeated, his shoulders sagged. He picked up the pen one of the lawyers offered.
The scratching of the pen was the only sound. When it was done, Dominic nudged another document toward Leo. The annulment. A line for his signature.
Leo picked up the pen. It felt heavy. He thought of the empty house, the silent dinners, the constant ache of being an afterthought. He thought of the crushing weight in Dominic’s bed, and the terrifying, undeniable certainty that had come with it. He thought of the breakfast he hadn’t eaten, waiting for him because Dominic had ordered it.
He signed his name.
Dominic’s hand settled on the small of his back, warm and solid through the soft sweater. A silent anchor.
“Get out,” Dominic said to Marcus and Sloane. “Your lawyers can stay to handle the copies.”
Marcus stood, his chair scraping loudly. He looked at Leo one last time, not with love, but with a dazed, furious loss. Then he stumbled out. Sloane followed, her heels clicking a brisk, indifferent rhythm on the floor.
The door sighed shut.
The room was suddenly, profoundly quiet. Leo stared at the signature on the paper, his own neat script making it all real.
“It’s done,” Dominic said. His hand moved from Leo’s back up to his neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just under his ear. “He’s gone.”
Leo trembled. He was free. He was trapped. The two truths coiled together, inseparable.
“Why?” Leo whispered, staring blankly at the mahogany grain. “Why go this far? You could have just… just had the night. You could have fired me.”
Dominic turned Leo’s chair gently, forcing him to look up. His dark eyes were fathoms deep, no longer just predatory, but fiercely, alarmingly possessive.
“Because you were never just a night,” Dominic said, his voice low. “And you’re certainly not just an employee. You’re mine. Every part of this was just clearing away the debris.”
He stood, pulling Leo up with him. He didn’t let go of his neck. “Now we begin. No one between us. No more pretense.” He leaned in, his breath warm against Leo’s lips. “Come home.”
And Leo, with the scent of his old life burning to ashes in the air and the heat of a new one branding his skin, had nowhere else to go.