Chapter 32

"Caitlin?"

All eyes snapped to Caitlin that evening; she'd clearly arrived with a single goal—to command the room, upstaging every guest at the event.

"None of us can be certain that child is even Timothée's," she declared, levelling a cold stare at me. "Why are you all so quick to trust this woman's word?"

The officiant pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "Legally speaking, if you're suggesting an annulment, it's irrelevant. They're lawfully married."

"This marriage is a farce!" Caitlin's voice sliced through the silence. "Everyone here knows this woman tricked Lycan into believing those twins are his. She's a gold-digger—probably slept her way through half the city's wealthy!"

The grand avenue crackled with tension. Caitlin's words lingered like an electric storm cloud, poised to unleash chaos.

I stole a glance at Timothée. His grip on my hand tightened, though I felt a faint tremor in his fingers. Does he sense the storm brewing too?

The officiant cleared his throat, his tone diplomatic yet firm. "Miss Caitlin, your concerns are noted, but the marriage is legally recognised. We can't annul it on suspicion alone."

Caitlin's eyes blazed.

"Suspicion?" She spat the word like poison. "Lycan deserves the truth! Those twins aren't his blood—they're frauds. This woman schemed her way into this family, and you're all blind to it!"

The moon hovered above the crowd, its pale light washing over the scene like a cold spotlight. Timothée's grip tightened around my hand, and I smirked, unapologetic.

"Why are you so hell-bent on vilifying Barbara?" Timothée chuckled, shaking his head. His blue eyes flickered with bemusement and thinly veiled irritation.

Caitlin snorted, her glare searing into me.

"For God's sake! Why is everyone so quick to swallow her lies? What if that child isn't even yours, Lycan?" She jabbed a finger towards the twins. "Look at their hair—not a strand matches yours. She could've shagged some other Alpha and got herself pregnant!"

The officiant shuffled awkwardly, adjusting his collar as the confrontation raged.

Timothée snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "Where's your proof, Caitlin? You've shown zero evidence she's been with anyone else. And since when do you get to play judge and jury?"

Caitlin folded her arms, her smirk venomous. "Alpha Taylor Robinson. He's the only one who ever got into Barbara's knickers. Or wait—maybe she failed to snag Taylor and shagged some low-tier Alpha instead?"

Timothée's jaw tightened. "No one knows the truth except the people involved." He stepped closer, his voice icy. "What astonishes me, Caitlin, is how you're still here. I cut you out of my life years ago. Unless… someone's pulling your strings to keep you meddling?"

"What are you implying, Timmy?" I arched a brow, sending the thought through our inner wolf's mindlink.

'Someone deliberately leaked our location to her. It could be the Guards… or someone close to us.'

Caitlin's eyes narrowed as she absorbed Timothée's words. The grand avenue, dimly lit and thick with tension, seemed to press in around them. She'd always been skilled at sniffing out secrets—and this stank of them.

"Tim," Caitlin began, her voice a velvet-edged threat, "you've always underestimated how secrets thrive. They're like whispers in the dark—faint at first, but they always seep into the light eventually."

She leaned against the rain-slicked window, her reflection fracturing in the droplets. "You think cutting me out silences me? Secrets don't need doors. They slip through cracks… breed in them."

Timothée stiffened. "What's your point, Caitlin? You're just slinging accusations at Barbara and my sons without a shred of proof."

She turned slowly, her face a mask of ice. "Proof? Look at those ugly brats. Not a trace of you in them. That lying whore's playing you for a fool!"

Timothée's brow furrowed, his voice a growl.

"I'm the one who shared her bed—not you. How dare you swan back here to drag my wife's name through the mud? Who the fuck do you think you are, Caitlin?"

Caitlin's laughter was a blade wrapped in silk.

"Oh, we'll get our answers. But not by playing nice." She closed the distance between them, her breath hot against his ear. "We'll dangle over the abyss, peel back every lie, and watch the whole rotten tapestry unravel. And when it does?" A pause, glacial. "You'll decide whether to slit the thread… or let it hang us all."

"I can't fathom how your mind works," Timothée muttered, his voice thick with exasperation.

Caitlin's face flushed crimson. With a guttural snarl, she whirled and stalked away—but the air itself seemed to fracture. Out of the darkness, a pack of werewolves surged forward, tearing through the Guards like they were parchment.

Silver-armoured figures scrambled to retreat down the grand avenue, their polished plates clattering in panic.

As Caitlin melted into the shadows, her fury lingered like a storm's aftershock. The werewolves advanced, eyes burning with feral hunger, jaws slavering. The Guards, once unshakeable, now looked like cornered prey in this lethal dance.

Timothée's eyes locked with mine, fear carving deep lines into his face.

"What now?" he breathed, voice barely audible.

I took in the carnage—Guards crumpled and bleeding, silver-armoured allies scattering like startled prey. But my focus snagged on Caitlin, reappearing at the shadowed edge of the avenue. Fury and resolve burned in her glare, a woman poised to detonate a lifetime of buried secrets.

The werewolves tightened their circle, snarls reverberating off the ancient stonework. Caitlin strode forward, her voice slicing through the bedlam.

"Still wondering who betrayed you?" Her laugh was a winter gale. "Let me enlighten you."

With a sharp, dramatic gesture, Caitlin unmasked the traitor—the man who'd sold us all out. The figure in silver armour crumbled, his face a mask of terrified recognition. As Grand Avenue collapsed around us, he fled into the shadows, leaving ruin in his wake.

The werewolves swarmed, and Caitlin's smirk twisted into something feral.

But when the first scream pierced the night, I knew this was merely the opening move. Caitlin still had secrets coiled in her fists, more cards up her sleeve. In this deadly game, she didn't just hold the aces—she controlled the deck.

What other truths festered in the dark? And who'd be next to bleed for Caitlin's vendetta?