How To Lose Your Billionaire Alpha Husband In 365 Days (Or Less)!-Chapter 80: Back to Office...

JASMINE’S POV

There was something deeply ceremonial about returning to Heart Enterprises.

Not the ritual kind, nothing moonlit or blood-bound, no ancient chants or flickering candles in forgotten groves.

This was the other kind... the humankind. Routine, deliberate, calculated.

The kind of ceremony that came with clean lines, designer heels clicking like a metronome, and a red-lacquered signature on contracts worth millions.

I needed it.

Needed the press of real floors beneath my shoes, not the soft give of forest earth or the worn threads of bedroom rugs.

Needed the muted hum of office lights, their sterile glow a stark contrast to the whispering pines and the feral pulse of half-shifted bones.

I needed this world to remember who I was.

Because I damn well wasn’t going to let it forget.

The driver opened my door before I even reached for the handle. I got out and walked into the sleek lobby like I hadn’t been gone.

Like I hadn’t driven a G-Wagon into a pool. Or shifted into a creature with claws sharper than my wit. Or almost kissed the man who still held pieces of me I wasn’t ready to claim, his scent lingering in my memory like smoke.

No. I walked in like Jasmine Frost, CEO of Heart Enterprises, my spine straight, my gaze cutting through the polished air.

I could feel people staring, their eyes tracking me like cautious prey. Whispers buzzed around me, soft as static, but nobody actually spoke up.

Good.

That meant they were either afraid of me or respected me... I can work with any.

"Ma’am," security nodded as I passed, his voice low, deferential, though his eyes flicked to the side, as if expecting something to follow me.

Heels clicking against the cold marble, I made my way through the lobby, each step a reclaiming of territory.

A few things had changed.

New flowers are in the vases—white lilies with perfect, almost plastic petals. The scent in the air has changed to a sharp lemon smell, not the soothing lavender I picked months ago.

The front desk assistant looked up, startled, her coffee cup nearly tipping as she scrambled to her feet. "Ms. Heart," she said breathlessly, her voice trembling at the edges. "We weren’t expecting—"

"Clearly," I said in a clipped tone, brushing past her. "Inform the departmental heads that I’ll be meeting with them later today."

Her mouth opened, a protest forming in her wide eyes, her fingers hovering over the phone. I didn’t give her the chance.

I didn’t even stop to greet anyone. Didn’t smile. My presence alone made the air tighten, the weight of my authority pressing against the glass walls, and I liked it that way.

In the elevator, I finally exhaled, the sound soft but heavy in the enclosed space.

"You okay?" Lyra murmured cautiously, her voice a faint ripple in my mind, like a breeze through tall grass.

"No," I whispered, pressing my forehead briefly against the cool metal of the elevator wall, its chill grounding me and pulling me back from the edge of something raw and untamed. "But I will be."

"You’re walking like you own the place."

"I do own the place."

"That’s my girl."

—

My office door hissed open, the sound sharp, like a blade slicing through silence.

Still mine.

Still intact.

But something was off. The light wasn’t quite right, slanting through the blinds at an angle that felt foreign, too harsh.

The papers on my desk were too neatly aligned, stacked with a precision that wasn’t mine. The air held a tension that didn’t belong to me, a subtle intrusion, like a stranger’s perfume lingering in a room.

Lyra stirred in the back of my mind. "Someone’s been nesting in our den."

I ignored the chill that swept down my spine and strode toward the desk, reclaiming the space. My hand reached for the thick leather folder I always kept at the edge of the table—black, matte, and heavy.

I flipped it open.

Meeting logs. Projected losses. Acquisition pitches.

And one authorisation.

Signed not by me.

But by Vale Heart.

My breath slowed, as if I could trap the rising anger in my lungs.

He’d been signing deals under my name. Initiating transitions. Quietly moving pieces across a board I hadn’t even known we were playing on.

Corporate chess.

I sat down in my chair, the leather creaking. I quickly flipped through the pages, looking for information on department changes, licensing updates, and then I found it: leaked authorisations intended to undermine my authority.

He was trying to push me out.

Subtly. Elegantly.

My jaw locked, teeth grinding until they ached. "Clever little snake."

Lyra didn’t respond. Not yet. Too focused, her presence a coiled spring in my mind, ready to snap.

I pushed the folder aside and reached for the drawer near the bottom of the desk, my fingers brushing the polished wood, its surface cool against my skin.

It opened with a creak, the sound grating, like a warning.

And there it was.

The thumb drive.

My Parents’ Final Messages to Me. I plugged it in, my fingers trembling slightly, betraying the calm I wore like armour.

I navigated to the video where my dad had mentioned the old HQ.

"If they ever come for what I left you, remember the first door. The one they thought we forgot. The old Heart still beats there. The final key is waiting."

The first door.

The old headquarters.

No one had touched it in years.

I stood, clenching my fist, before reaching for my phone.

"Sophia," I said the moment she answered. "I need you to meet me tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Downtown. The old site. Bring flats."

"Uh, ominous and weirdly specific. I’m intrigued. Also, what am I walking into?"

"Legacy," I said, glancing at the skyline, the city’s lights glittering like a challenge. "And maybe a trap."

Sophia didn’t even hesitate. "Perfect. I’ll bring pepper spray."

—

By the time I returned to my desk, the city beyond the windows had deepened into dusk, the horizon bruised with purples and golds. A text waited on the screen.

From Aiden.

There’s something I want to show you.

Just that.

No emojis. No elaboration.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen, the weight of his words settling into me like a stone.

Then turned my phone face down. Not today.

Today, I was Jasmine Heart again. CEO. Strategist. Werewolf in Prada heels.

The Alpha could wait.

Or at least... pretend to.

Lyra sighed in the back of my mind, a low, rumbling sound, like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. "Just don’t lie to yourself, Jas."

"I’m not," I said aloud.

But I was.

And we both knew it, the truth a quiet ache in my chest, a secret I wasn’t ready to face.

—

AUTHOR’S POV

The penthouse wasn’t listed in any city records. It was hidden in the tallest part of the city, a secret place known only to those in power.

The walls were soundproof, keeping everything inside from being heard. The air smelled of sage and something older and sharper, like iron or blood.

Dim lights cast long shadows on the dark carpet, giving the place an eerie feel, as if the ghosts of betrayal lurked around.

Elena Sterling sat by the window, sipping from a crystal tumbler filled with 60-year-old scotch, its amber glow catching the light.

Her nails were blood red, filed to points, a silent warning.

Across from her, Vale Heart poured over the silver folder in silence, his fingers tracing the edges of the documents, each page a move in their carefully orchestrated game.

"She’s back," he said finally in a low voice, laced with something close to unease.

"I know." Elena didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the city below, its lights a map of ambition and betrayal.

"She walked into the building like she still owned it."

"She does," Elena replied, swirling her drink, the ice clinking softly, a counterpoint to her calm. "But not for long."

Vale hesitated, his fingers tightening on the folder. "We could wait her out. Apply pressure. Stall the assets. Delay the board vote."

Elena tilted her head, her gaze finally meeting his, sharp and unyielding. "Darling, if we wait, we risk her slipping through. And she’s cleverer than you give her credit for. She’s not just a name on a letterhead."

Vale looked up, jaw tight, a muscle ticking beneath the surface. "She’s my niece, and I can say this for sure. She’s stubborn... just like her father."

"She’s dangerous," Elena corrected, lifting the folder and tapping a long finger against the corner. "And if we don’t bury her name in scandal before the quarterly meeting, she’ll be untouchable."

He leaned back, eyes narrowed, calculating. "So what, you want her off the board?"

"Oh no." Elena’s smile widened, a predator’s grin, all teeth and promise. "I want her ruined first."

Vale didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

Because they both knew—

When it came to blood, betrayal was the oldest tradition of all.