Who's She Laughing With At Midnight?

- Luca

I walked into the house past midnight, still wired from the pack meeting that refused to end. My head was fizzing with stress from territory disputes, budget headaches, and warriors complaining about training schedules.

All of it piled on top of each other until it was enough to make me crazy.

But under all that noise?

Aria.

Earlier at dinner, she was totally silent. She kept dodging my eyes when I tried to talk. She was moving around the house like I had the plague.

I told myself I wasn’t thinking about her. But I was.

All damn night!

And it irritated me more than the stupid meeting did.

Now I wanted quiet.

Instead, my steps froze the moment I walked into the study corner.

The small desk lamp was still on.

We shared this desk once. It used to be hers—before the kids, before everything went sideways and salty. She did her sketches here, her late-night readings, her quiet little hobbies I ignored because I was too busy being a duty-obsessed Alpha.

The desk looked like someone was packing up their life piece by piece.

Her laptop sat open.

I walked over and was about to shut it off when my eyes caught on the screen.

Some tabs. A dozen job applications.

Different packs. Different cities. Seamstress work. Designer apprenticeships. Freelance tailoring.

I didn’t even notice until my hand landed on the table. I saw her resume. Her skill list. Her portfolio of designs—clothes she never showed me, never bragged about, never once tried to make me notice.

My stomach dropped.

This wasn't a threat; she was dead serious about leaving.

She had been quietly building a world outside of mine, just for herself and our children.

A nasty knot twisted in my gut. Was it jealousy, guilt, or panic? All I knew was I hated the feeling.

Furious, I slammed the laptop shut.

I stood frozen there for a long moment. Then I walked upstairs, moving too quietly.

I pushed open the bedroom door. It was empty.

The bed was made. Her nightgown was gone from the hook on the door. The bathroom was dark.

A slow, simmering anger built in my chest.

Where the hell was she?

It was nearly one in the morning. The twins were asleep. The nanny had gone home hours ago.

I checked my phone. No messages.

I scanned my contacts. Then I did something I never do, tapping Find My Mate.

A green dot pulsed on the map.

And my blood ran hot.

My chest tightened.

That’s when I heard her laugh.

I heard a soft, clear, happy laugh from the balcony.

I froze.

Aria… laughing? At this hour?

I walked toward the balcony, slower this time, quiet enough that I heard her through the half-open door.

“Hey, stop,” she giggled cheerfully in a way I hadn’t heard in years. “If I mess up the interview, you'd better pretend you don’t know me.”

Her laughter faded into a playful groan. “Don’t tease me. I finally told him about the divorce. And guess what? He didn’t freak out. Maybe the Moon Goddess took pity on me.”

My jaw clenched hard.

She talked like it was already finalized, without even telling me first. Like I was history, a finished chapter she was neatly closing up.

That unwelcome, stabbing pain hit my chest hard.

I pushed the door open.

Aria looked up, briefly startled, but the shock quickly vanished. Her bright joy disappeared, replaced by a storm cloud the moment our eyes met.

“Hey, I’ll call you back,” she said quickly, and ended the call.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

I leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to my friend.”

"Who was it? Tell me now," I demanded.

“Why do you care?”

“Tell me. Or I'll find out myself.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she shot back.

Because someone else got her warm laughter, and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that.

But I wasn’t about to say all that.

“You’ve never laughed like that with me,” I said instead.

“Maybe because you never gave me space to.”

Blood roared in my ears.

My anger flared. “I told you, Aria. We’re not done.”

“Oh, really? Because you seemed pretty done when you left me alone in our room last night.” She crossed her arms, defiantly.

I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer, my gaze fixed on the screen of her phone. "You told everyone that we're getting a divorce?"

She hesitated, then her chin lifted. “Yes.”

A fresh surge of rage boiled in me. “You don't get to make that decision alone.”

“Watch me,” she said. “The paperwork is already in process.”

I took a heavy step forward, moving into her space until I could feel the warmth coming off her skin. She backed up instinctively, sucking in a sharp breath.

My patience snapped. I grabbed her wrist, not to hurt her, but to keep her from running.

“You think you can just walk away?” I asked, my voice dangerously low.

She tried to pull away.

“I think I can,” she whispered, standing her ground, even though I could see a faint tremor in her hands. “And I think I will.”

“And what were you doing with your laptop?”

She hesitated. “Working.”

“There were many job applications.”

Her jaw twitched. “Yes.”

“You’re actually doing it,” I said before I could stop myself. My grip tightened just enough to make a point. “You’re seriously planning to leave.”

Her breath caught. For a moment, I thought she was about to shove me away or snap back. But she didn’t. She went still, looked right at me, and in that split second, there was something in her eyes that I hadn’t seen in years.

Fear.

And I hated it.

I hated that I was the reason she looked so worn down. I hated whoever was on that phone, making her smile like they owned a part of her. And I hated myself for not noticing how much she was hurting until it was almost too late.

I decided to let her go.

*****