Page 112 of Bitten Shifter

Paul sputters, his face flushing an angry red.

Dove freezes, her sickly, desperate smile faltering.

A glint of satisfaction flashes in Lark’s eyes as she leans back.

Good.

I’m going to rip these two fool’s little lives apart. Paul’s arrogance, Dove’s vomit-inducing attempts at seduction—they are like midges buzzing at my ears. I’m more than ready to swat them.

“Mrs Emerson recorded a home video before she left you.” My tone is measured, but the weight of the words shifts the air in the room. Paul stiffens; Dove blinks, failing to grasp the gravity of the situation.

“If you would,” I say, gesturing for Lark to proceed. I make sure not to use her name.

Lark slides the laptop to the centre of the table. Her motions are precise, her expression neutral, but I can see the strain in hershoulders and sense how much effort it costs. This moment is tearing her apart more than anyone else realises.

She presses play, and the room resonates with muted sounds and betrayal.

Paul reacts instantly. His chair screeches violently as he bolts to his feet, his face twisted with fury. He lunges for the laptop like a cornered animal, but Riker is faster. My second-in-command snatches the device and tucks it under his arm with a grin full of teeth.

Riker likes my feisty mate, and I bet he hates this prick.

“Now, now,” he drawls lazily. “No destroying Ministry property, Mr Emerson. Did you have that temper with your wife?” He takes a step back, daring Paul to make a move. The guards close ranks beside him, a silent wall of muscle.

Paul puffs up, red-faced, like a rooster preparing to fight. “I would never lay a hand on her!” he shouts, clenching his fists.

“No, you wouldn’t,” I agree lightly. “But you would have awful sex with her sister.”

Dove’s cheeks darken scarlet. “Awful?” she squeaks. “It wasn’t awful!”

“Itlookedawful,” Riker mutters, enjoying himself. “Like you were having some sort of episode.”

The room is stunned into silence, and I capitalise on it. “Let’s try this again, shall we? With the truth this time. Your wife, Mrs Emerson, caught you in the act with her sister. She recorded it because she knew you would deny it—as you have done repeatedly.”

Barry, the consummate professional, shakes his head and jots notes in his file.

Paul’s fists tremble, his face darkening.

Dove, apparently unaware of the need for self-preservation, blurts, “We didn’t think she’d be home! Paul said she’d beworking late, that she had a big project. We didn’t think it would hurt anyone.”

I lean forward, my voice slicing through her excuses and lies like a knife. “You didn’t think it would hurt anyone? Did it never occur to you, even for a second, how deeply it would shatter Lark to find out you were sneaking around with her husband? You didn’t think she’d notice her sheets reeking of the two of you?”

Dove looks honestly offended. “I’d have changed the sheets,” she says, as though that’s a valid defence. Then, with unmitigated gall, she adds, “Lark needs to come home, and we can continue as we were. I mean, we need her salary to keep the house!”

I blink, letting her words hang in the air. “Charming,” I say flatly.

I can’t kill them—Lark would be upset. But in a few years, perhaps I could arrange a littleaccident.

Time to wrap this up. I motion to Barry, who slides a document across the table to Paul’s solicitor. The man skims it briefly, then stands to gather his things.

“We’re done here,” the solicitor announces briskly, not sparing Paul so much as a glance.

Paul’s face twists in fury. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he snaps. “I paid you a fortune to be here!”

“There’s not enough money in the world to fixthis,” the man replies, straightening his tie. “Your wife is no longer your problem. The marriage has been annulled.”

“Annulled?” Paul’s voice cracks, disbelief and outrage warring for dominance. “That’s bullshit! You can’t annul nearly thirty years of marriage!”

Barry taps the papers in front of him. “The law says otherwise,” he remarks simply. “Here’s your copy for reference.”

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