It isn't every day you walk into your apartment and find your fiance's pasty ass pumping all up in a strange woman's lady bits.
If it is, you need to make better decisions.
Like maybe throwing a vase at his head.
Especially if it's a vase he bought as your housewarming gift when you finally moved in together six months ago… to the fucking day.
"What the fuck?" his pretty little whore shrieks, drenched with rose water and maybe a bit of algae. I haven't been the best at remembering to change out the water every day.
My green thumb is closer to black, honestly.
"Nicole! This isn't what it looks like," my beloved fiance stammers, jumping off her faster than I've ever seen him move.
As the little homewrecker girl scrambles for blankets and pillows to protect her modesty, I grab the nearest thing at hand to throw at Scott's head again.
He's a werewolf. It's fine. A few vases to the head won't kill him.
Unfortunately.
"No! Nicole, that's an 18th-century Meissen!"
Glancing at the gaudy vase, which is heavier than I expected, I sneer. "It should have been thrown at someone's head three centuries ago."
Forgetting all about his lubed-up dick swaying in the breeze, or the woman shrieking while hiding under my comforter, the one he helped me pick out before moving in, Scott holds up his hands, his dark eyes glued to the priceless porcelain piece of butt-fugly. "Nicole, please. I bought that for five thousand at the auction. Not that one."
A cruel smile curves my lips. "So you bring a random woman to my house, fuck her in my bed, and your biggest concern in this situation is this unsightly thing?"
"Just put it down," he pleads. "We can talk. I'll explain everything."
I nod slowly. "You can explain everything. Well. Then of course I'll put it down."
Relief floods his face as he smiles at me, probably grateful for however stupid he thinks I am, even as his whore is still in the room with us.
So I put it down. Just like he asked.
By slamming it to the floor with all the fury in my heart.
Smiling brightly, I ask, "Is that good enough?"
"Nicole! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Scott shouts, his eyes just about bulging out of his head as he stares at the shattered porcelain shards littering the floor.
I glance pointedly at the woman cowering on the bed, her wide eyes flicking between us. "I think the real question is, who the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"She doesn't mean anything, I swear!"
The woman gasps, clutching the comforter tighter. "You said we were mates!"
Ah. Not a pretty little whore, then. Just a pretty little victim of the manslut I'm engaged to.
What an asshole.
Scott looks at me in panic, shaking his head in a frantic motion. "No, that's not—"
Leaning against the doorframe, I cross my arms, watching the show as a cold laugh escapes my throat. "Mates? Really? This just keeps getting better."
The woman scrambles out of the bed, snatching her clothes off the floor. "You know what? Fuck you, Scott. I don't deserve this shit."
Stepping out of her way as she darts past, I can appreciate the toned look of her body.
Looks like she does that high-intensity workout stuff you see online. All defined muscles and tanned skin, with gorgeous blonde hair cut in a stylish bob. Not like me. I've got a little pudge to my belly and my thighs touch, declaring to the world my allergy to exercise. My hair is the darkest thing about me, blacker than the night sky, while my skin's a solid pasty white, rivaling a blank piece of paper. The only real color to me is found in my eyes, which are a bright blue and my only joy.
Too bad I wear glasses. Thick-framed, heavy lenses. I tried contacts once. Made my eyes redder than a blood moon.
Seeing her, it makes me wonder why Scott ever wanted to marry me.
The woman barely pauses to yank on her dress before fleeing the apartment. The door slams behind her, rattling the walls.
I sneer at Scott. "You should follow your lover before I have you removed." Who knows? Maybe she'll be stupid enough to take him back.
Wiping blood from his forehead, trickling out from beneath his black hair, Scott scowls. All pretense of innocence fades as he draws on his werewolf arrogance. He's a beta, with a solid level of pheromone strength that fills the room.
Too bad it doesn't affect me.
"You can't kick me out!" he blusters, puffing out his chest. "I live here too."
"Do you now?" I arch a brow, waving a hand in front of my nose to dissipate the intense smell of his pheromones. "Last I checked, you kept your apartment lease just in case and never had your mail forwarded here." Probably a red flag, in hindsight. "You have no proof you've been here for over thirty days, haven't signed the lease... Pretty sure the law's on my side here, buddy."
My bravado's false, of course. I'm sure it would be impossible to get law enforcement to drag his cheating ass out of here. But I have zero intention of sharing my space with him for another second.
I grab my phone from my purse, pretending to dial. "Hello, supernatural emergency li—"
"Stop being such a cold-hearted bitch, Nicole!" Scott yells, his entire face flaming crimson. Probably pissed because his attempt at intimidation isn't working. "This, this right here? This is the problem!"
"Excuse me?"
He crosses his arms, looking way too smug for a man caught cheating on his fiance. "If you were just a little more affectionate, a little more caring, maybe I wouldn't have needed to find it elsewhere."
Laughter bursts from my chest, echoing harshly off the walls. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're blaming me for your infidelity? The same man who told me he loved my independence?"
"If you weren't so goddamn frigid—"
"Oh, I'll show you frigid." I stalk toward him, rage simmering under my skin. "How's this for cold?"
I swing my fist, slamming it into his jaw with a satisfying crack. Admittedly, it only worked because I'm sure Scott had no idea I'd really go through with it.
The Nicole he knows would never.
She's cool and composed. Professional. Career-minded.
A candlestick, not a bonfire.
Scott staggers back, eyes wide with shock.
"You crazy bitch!"
"That's frigid bitch to you," I snap, even as my fist throbs in pain. Shit. Did I break my fingers? I've never punched someone before. "Now get the hell out of my apartment before I throw you out."
"You'll regret this," he spits, rubbing his jaw. "No one else will put up with your ice queen bullshit."
"I'm sure I'll manage somehow." I gesture sharply to the door. "Out. Now."
Muttering curses under his breath, Scott snatches his pants off the floor and stalks out, slamming the door behind him.
I stand there for a long moment, my chest heaving, knuckles throbbing. The apartment feels too quiet, too empty without the sound of his voice, his footsteps.
Two years. Two fucking years of my life wasted on that cheating bastard.
And to have the balls to bring her to our apartment, after only living together for six months…
This isn't his first time. There's no way.
Well, fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck love and all its bullshit promises.
Swiping angrily at the tears burning my eyes, I grab the broom and start sweeping up the shattered remains of that hideous vase, tossing its sad remains into my trash can before I grab my phone to call the only person who can help me out of this fucking mess.