Ruby had timed it perfectly.

She had perfected the art of the "accidental" entrance, the blink of surprise, the way her lips parted as if a word was caught right on the tip of her tongue.

Internally, however, her mind was anything but soft. It was cold and boiling with rage.

She had seen Ishita loitering around at the staff quarters, and when she had asked why she wasn’t in the kitchen, the older woman had replied that the King had asked her to leave the kitchen and allow him to make breakfast for the Queen himself.

Ruby had felt like someone had slapped her, and she had come to see for herself.

"I didn’t realise anyone was in here," Ruby said again, masking the acidic burn in her throat. "I was actually looking for Ishita. There’s a minor welfare discrepancy with the lower-level staff in the east wing that needs a signature."

"It’s fine," Derek said, without looking up from the mug he was refilling. "Ishita isn’t here, but sit down, since you’re here."

There was a pregnant pause. Kira looked up from her plate, her expression calm but guarded. She knew Ruby’s "welfare issues" were often just excuses to be near Derek, but she remained silent, choosing to observe the play of power.

Ruby moved into the room with a feline grace, her eyes sweeping over the scene. She took in the golden omelette on Kira’s plate and the rolled-up sleeves of Derek’s black shirt and sat down.

The sight of the Lycan King—a man who usually moved through the world with the destructive potential of a hurricane—handling a spatula and making breakfast was jarring.

"There’s omelette left," Kira said to her, nodding towards the pan on the stove. "Help yourself."

Ruby blinked, mildly surprised by the offer. She rose, took a plate from the rack, and helped herself to the remaining omelette, carrying it back to her seat.

She picked up a fork and took a bite, and despite herself, it was genuinely good. She glanced at the pan, then at Derek.

"Ishita made this?" she asked.

"He did," Kira said, at the exact same moment Derek said, "Ishita left it."

Ruby looked between them.

Kira raised an eyebrow at Derek. "You just told me you made the omelette."

"I said Ishita left it."

"You said no such thing. You said you were testing your cooking skills."

"I said I was using the kitchen."

"That is not the same sentence." Kira turned to Ruby with the expression of a woman presenting evidence. "He made the omelette. He won’t admit it."

"I’m not admitting or denying anything," Derek said, trying not to smile with his mug half-way to his lips. "I’m simply noting that the omelette exists and you should eat it."

"I am eating it." Kira held up a forkful as proof. "I’m also noting for the record that it’s very good and you should be proud."

"I can’t be proud when I did nothing.

"You even made two portions."

"In case I wanted seconds."

Kira stared at him. "You are the worst liar I have ever met in my entire life."

The corner of Derek’s curved into a full smile, and Ruby’s fork paused against her plate. She felt an invisible wall in the kitchen. It wasn’t a wall that kept Derek and Kira apart, but one that encircled them, leaving her on the outside.

He is smiling for her?

Something cold moved through Ruby’s chest.

She set her fork down and reached for a composed, conversational tone.

"Speaking of cooking," she said, looking at Derek, "do you remember how your mother used to make that spiced bread every Sunday morning? The whole east wing smelled of it. You used to come down before anyone else just to get the first slice."

She smiled warmly. "I don’t think anyone has made it since."

Derek smile faded and he shook his head. "No," he said. "They haven’t." Then he looked back at Kira. "Are you going to finish that toast or just look at it?"

Throughout the rest of the meal, Ruby attempted to insert herself into every gap in the conversation. She talked about pack politics, the history of the kitchen, and even made a pointed comment about the "heavy" calories in a full breakfast, but Derek and Kira were locked in a private orbit.

Derek would nudge the toast closer to Kira, or Kira would make a small joke about his cooking skills, and they would share a look that carried a thousand unspoken words.

To Ruby, she might as well have been a ghost. She was invisible. Her blood began to boil, a heat that made the back of her neck prickle.

She thought about Sandra, Derek’s ex-girlfriend. Sandra had been beautiful, high-born, and seemingly perfect for him too, but Ruby had dismantled that relationship piece by piece. She had whispered the right lies, set up the right misunderstandings, and watched with delight as Derek turned his back on her.

I can do it again, Ruby thought, her fingers clenching her napkin under the table. I will do it again.

She had loved Derek for years in the patient way of a woman who knew that timing mattered more than feeling. She had watched Sandra come and go.

When it ended, she had been there through all of it. She had held the space beside him while he rebuilt his walls, had made herself the one constant in a landscape of loss and betrayal, and she had told herself that one day the walls would come down again and she would be exactly where she needed to be.

But the walls had not come down for her.

They had come down for the enemy’s daughter.

Kira finally pushed her plate away, the omelette finished. "I really should go. I need to get to the campus before the first lecture starts, and we have so many preparations to do."

Derek stood up and moved to the far end of the counter, picking up a neat lunch box that had been sitting there since before Ruby arrived. "Ishita packed this. Or rather, I made sure she packed exactly what you liked. There’s fruit and those small sandwiches you don’t admit to enjoying."

Kira blinked, clearly surprised by the gesture. "You... you had her pack me a lunch?"

Derek shrugged. "I just want you eating healthier than those vending machine snacks."

"You are genuinely the strangest man I have ever met," she said.

"Go," he said. "You’ll be late."

He led Kira out of the kitchen, and guided her toward the courtyard with a hand on the small of her back, a protective gesture that screamed ownership.

Ruby remained in the kitchen for a moment, the silence of the room deafening. She stood up, her chest heaving with suppressed rage, and walked out onto the porch, shielding her eyes against the bright morning sun.

In the courtyard, a few cars waited with Connor’s black SUV. Connor stood by the open passenger door. As Derek and Kira approached, Derek leaned down and whispered something to his Head Gamma. Connor nodded, a genuine smile breaking across his usually stern face.

Ruby watched as Connor took Kira’s hand to help her into the car, his touch playful and gentle. The loyalty in that courtyard was sickening.

But the final blow came just before the door closed. Derek reached out, cupping Kira’s chin, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t a kiss for show. It was a gesture of affection.

The cars pulled away, the gravel crunching under the tyres, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Ruby crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes squinting into thin slits. Why? she wondered. Is he treating her like this just because she might be carrying his heir?

She realised then that she didn’t actually know the "why" of this marriage.

Derek had told her it was open, that it was a fake arrangement, and for revenge against her father. What kind of revenge?

"He’s hiding something," she muttered.

She needed to know the real reason. If she knew the secret, she would have the upper hand. She needed to remove Kira, just as she had removed Sandra.

But who would tell her? Derek would sooner rip her throat out than share his secrets.

Kai? Kai was her arch-nemesis; he saw through her masks better than anyone. He would sooner swallow his own tongue than give her anything useful. Connor? No, his loyalty had already been bought by her.

Declan.

Declan was one of the few who hadn’t fallen for Kira’s "innocent" act. He had not softened the way the others had. He watched the girl with the careful eyes of a man still waiting to be proven right about something.

She would ask Declan.

Dead or alive, the wolfless runt has to go.