Faking Infidelity With The Secret Lycan King

CORINNE POV:

A hundred degrees of suffocating heat, and the water pipes in my apartment had just blown. I crouched in the hallway, clinging to the only faint breeze in the building, staring at the finalized divorce decree on my tablet while waiting for the maintenance guy.

The elevator chimed, making my head snap up. What stepped out was a pure visual shock. The man was built like a heavy-hitting hockey enforcer-broad, hulking, and entirely intimidating. He wore a faded black muscle tank, a tight buzz cut, and a heavy tool belt slung low over his cargo pants. He swaggered out, absolutely owning the space.

Before I could fully process the sight, a sycophantic voice trailed behind him.

"Mrs. Harrell, I am so sorry to keep you waiting! It's the weekend, and most of the pack's maintenance crew is off watching the playoffs. My apologies, I had to call in an emergency contractor from outside the territory."

It was Gary Hayes, the pack's building manager. Having a guy like him at your beck and call was one of the few perks of living in these ultra-luxury apartments.

"Thank you for the trouble, Gary," I said politely.

"Nonsense, Mrs. Harrell. Serving you and Alpha Harrell is my utmost honor," Gary fawned. "You, hurry up. Go check the pipes for Mrs. Harrell."

The massive mechanic brushed past me toward the open door. Caught in the hallway draft, a heavy, aggressive wave of raw Alpha pheromones hit me, mixed with motor oil, sweat, and the unapologetic grit of the slums. It was an intoxicating, overpowering scent. As a supposedly "wolfless" woman, I shouldn't have reacted, but my throat bobbed as I instinctively swallowed.

Shockingly, I didn't hate the smell at all.

"Are you moving out, Mrs. Harrell? Do you need some help?" Gary asked solicitously, eyeing the mountain of packed boxes in the living room.

I stared at Corbett's belongings. Countless luxury items, all ironclad proof of the eight years I'd spent playing his pathetic, subservient mate. Now that this farce of a mating bond was severed, I wanted it all out of my sight.

"Gary, could you haul all of this to the municipal incinerator and burn it?"

Gary froze, staring at the designer suits and expensive watches. "All of it?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice deadpan and calm as a frozen lake.

"R-Right... of course," Gary forced a nervous smile. "I'll make the call right now."

As Gary scrambled outside, I turned my attention to the flooded bathroom. The mechanic was crouched under the sink, methodically banging away with a heavy wrench. Without realizing it, I drifted closer.

"Is it bad?" I asked, only noticing the slight tremor of nerves in my own voice once the words were out.

His hand paused. He didn't even bother looking up.

"Easy fix." Two words. The man was aggressively stingy with his breath.

I leaned against the doorframe, studying him. His features were brutally sharp, and save for the jagged silver-burn scar near his right eye, his face was striking. He perfectly fit the criteria for the partner I needed for my next move.

"Are you... mated?" My mouth moved a hell of a lot faster than my brain.

The air in the bathroom instantly flatlined. The man finally lifted his arrogant chin and locked eyes with me. His deeply furrowed brows screamed how utterly speechless he was. Deep down, the razor-sharp intensity in his Alpha gaze genuinely startled me.

"I have a project," I blurted out, feeling entirely shameless. "I need to hire a partner, and I think you're a perfect fit."

"I'm just here to fix the pipes," he replied coldly, immediately turning his focus back to the plumbing.

I let out a dry smirk. "So that means you're not mated."

He ignored me. I weighed my options, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Gary was still outside on the phone, before lowering my voice.

"Interested in playing a role? Three months. Three hundred grand a month. You play the Alpha of this house. Deal?"

CLANG.

A sharp, deafening crack echoed off the tiles as he dropped the heavy iron wrench. My heart physically jumped in my chest. I could feel the sudden, suffocating spike of sheer displeasure rolling off him in waves.

"Look, if you're not interested, just forget I-" My cowardly retreat was cut off before it started.

"You're looking for a fake mate, Mrs. Harrell?" His dark, predatory gaze pinned me to the spot.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand tall. "You could put it that way."

He dragged a slow, taunting smirk across his lips, raking his eyes down my body. I frowned in confusion, right before he dropped the bomb.

"And if I get deeply into character... are you going to give yourself to me, too?"

Hours later, down in the old district.

Inside a rundown, dilapidated townhouse, I was pinned hard against the front door. The cheap wood groaned under his weight. In the pitch-black room, the only sound was the harsh mingling of our ragged breathing.

"Walk away now, Mrs. Harrell. While you still can," he murmured. His voice was low and steady, but edged with a dark, territorial warning.

I gritted my teeth. I had spent the entire afternoon tailing this man. I ran his background checks, put him through a medical screening, and drafted the contract. Bailing now would be a monumental waste of time.

"I'll leave, but you're coming with me to a hotel," I challenged, tilting my chin up to feign a bravado I didn't possess.

"Mrs. Harrell, if you're looking for a thrill, you have to do it in a place that makes you squirm. That's the only way it hits right."

His teasing, wicked tone was a complete 180 from the stoic mechanic fixing my pipes. He was doing this on purpose. Thank the Moon Goddess the room was pitch dark, or he'd absolutely see how crimson my ears were burning.

"Are you just trying to cover up the fact that you're impotent? Why else are you talking so much?" I fired back, trying to match his energy.

In the next second, that overpowering, aggressive Alpha scent I'd smelled earlier completely swallowed me whole. It sparked like a wildfire on dry brush, igniting every nerve ending until there was nothing but ash left.

"Darrel Wolfe," I gasped out his name, utterly out of my depth, trying to buy myself a second to negotiate. "Don't be so..."

"Are you joking?" The man chuckled, sounding utterly unbothered. "Tender romance is for your pampered Alpha back home. Out here in the wild, we play rough."

He was actually threatening me. I felt a surge of indignation. I was the one paying for his services, where the hell did he get this arrogant audacity?

"I just hope you aren't a useless benchwarmer on the ice..."

My provocation died a swift death. I tapped out. There was absolutely no reasoning with this man. As my mind spiraled into a hazy blur, my carefully guarded secrets remained locked in my throat. It wasn't until he noticed my absolute lack of experience that the sheer humiliation finally boiled over, and the tears streamed down my face. A flicker of deep confusion crossed Darrel's eyes, but primal instinct swallowed him whole the very next second, leaving no room for questions.

The next morning.

In the sweltering heat of midsummer, the photinia flowers were in full bloom outside the window. I lay there, genuinely convinced Darrel Wolfe violated the laws of physics. The man seemed incapable of exhaustion.

I didn't even know what time it was. I stared blindly at the sun glaring high in the sky. Thank God. I could still see the sun. I'd lost count of how many times I thought I was going to literally ascend to the afterlife.

That bastard must have left for work. Looking at the clean clothes neatly folded on the nightstand, twenty-five-year-old me let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

"So, sleeping with a stranger really isn't that hard. No wonder Corbett was so addicted to it."

My phone rang. It was Daniel Foster, Corbett's lawyer.

"Ms. Hensley. The divorce decree and the mate-bond dissolution papers were couriered to your residence yesterday. Please ensure you review them. Alpha Harrell has fulfilled all the financial compensation outlined in your agreement. He expects you not to violate the NDA."

A perfectly cynical corporate notice. It completely pulverized the eight years of my youth and whatever naive romantic dreams I'd once clung to. I had loved Corbett for eight years, was his mate for three, and it all crashed and burned into this horrific wreckage. Even in the divorce, I was forced to play the cheating, at-fault party.

Corbett's ruthless commands echoed in my head-the Harrell Pack's empire could not suffer a single PR stain. For this separation to work, I had to be the one completely ruined in the public eye.

I compromised. Corbett, in a rare moment of manufactured guilt, wired me a massive severance payout. Every insider who knew about the split pitied me, viewing me as a pathetic, abandoned wolfless stray.

But they were wrong. The only person allowed to design my downfall is me. What Corinne wants, Corinne gets. That is who I am.

Ignoring the vicious soreness in my legs, I dragged myself out of bed and limped toward the entryway of the cramped, cheap rental. There, sitting on a worn table next to a spare brass key, was a handwritten note from him.

Scrawled in bold, unapologetic letters:

Tonight. Again.

Fuck. With stamina like a star player in triple overtime, why isn't he out here servicing rich socialites? What the hell is he doing fixing pipes?