How To Lose Your Billionaire Alpha Husband In 365 Days (Or Less)!-Chapter 81: Buying Forgiveness?...

JASMINE’S POV

By sunset, I had sifted through every document I could get my hands on. Each one revealed a part of the puzzle Vale had put together while I was away. Every email and every hint of a deal made without my knowledge felt like a personal betrayal, marked in both ink and ambition.

And the only thing louder than the betrayal was the silence from the people I thought I could trust.

I stood in the middle of the office, the city’s lights casting long shadows across the floor, and closed my eyes, letting the ache settle into my ribs like old bones, heavy and unyielding.

"Are we doing this alone?" I asked, my voice soft, almost lost in the quiet.

Lyra stirred, her presence warm, and fierce, like a spark in the dark. "We were born alone."

"Then let’s be dangerous."

She grinned, wild and full of defiance. I couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a sense of power returning to me—something I had nearly lost.

—

When I got home, the house was too quiet. It wasn’t the peaceful kind of quiet; it felt as though something was amiss.

The kind of silence that makes you uneasy, as if everyone has vanished and you’re the only one left. It sent shivers down my spine, like reality had hit pause and I wasn’t sure what was next.

"Aiden?" I called into the entryway. No answer. Not even the sound of distant footsteps or the rustle of him moving in another room.

I checked the war room.

Nothing.

I checked the kitchen.

Still nothing.

His room, his study... nothing.

I frowned and hit call. It rang once before flipping straight to voicemail.

"You’ve reached Aiden Frost. If this is an emergency, contact—" I hung up.

Lyra, ever helpful, chimed in like a bored soap opera narrator. "Wow. Absent mate. Silent phone. Shadowed mansion. You think this is the part where he dramatically reveals a hidden twin or joins a secret werewolf cult?"

"Not the time."

"Just saying. I’m emotionally invested."

I rolled my eyes and kicked off my heels. "He probably went for a run. Or some stupid brooding activity like chopping wood with a vengeance."

"Hot."

"You’re insufferable."

"You miss him."

That stopped me.

Because I did.

I hated that I did.

"I miss clarity," I muttered.

Lyra scoffed. "You miss him. Period."

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I showered, curled into bed, and stared at the ceiling long after the moon had risen.

Still no sign of Aiden.

No text.

No call.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

And then I dreamed of silver eyes and hands I didn’t want to crave.

—

The next morning, I woke to the soft rustle of fabric and a note on the nightstand. Simple paper, folded in half. No dramatic wax seal, no ridiculous flourish, just his handwriting.

"Be ready in an hour. I have somewhere to take you before work." – A."

I stared at it.

Then rolled over and groaned into my pillow.

"Oh gods," Lyra moaned dramatically. "This is it. The apology tour begins. First: mysterious note. Next: romantic stunt that proves he’s hot, loyal, and emotionally damaged."

"I’m not going."

"You’re going."

"I have meetings—"

"Cancel them. You need this. I need this. If I don’t get emotional closure and sexual tension, I’ll chew through your frontal cortex."

I threw the blanket over my head.

She hummed. "This is what alphas do, Jasmine. They try to mate through acts of grandeur."

"I don’t care about grandeur."

"But you do care about him."

I hated how true that sounded.

I stared at the note for a full ten minutes before finally hauling myself out of bed.

Screw it.

One hour later, I stepped outside in high-waisted pants and a wine-colored blouse that clung to the right places and made me feel like I wasn’t unravelling inside. I didn’t do it for him. I did it because power needed a damn outfit.

Aiden stood by the black SUV, dressed in navy slacks and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Clean-cut. Understated. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

His eyes lit up when he saw me.

"You look..." He paused, then smirked. "Like I should apologise again, just for existing."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not a bad idea."

"Noted."

He opened the passenger door for me. I hesitated just long enough to remind him this wasn’t forgiveness.

The SUV hummed softly as we pulled away from the estate, gliding down the winding drive like nothing in the world could touch us.

Aiden didn’t speak at first.

Which was fine. I wasn’t in the mood for immediate intimacy or awkward small talk. I had one heel perched on the dash, arms crossed, head tilted toward the window, watching the trees blur past like smoke.

He glanced over once, like he was checking to see if I’d combust if he breathed too loudly.

I didn’t combust.

But I also didn’t say anything.

Finally, after maybe ten minutes of tense quiet and three subtle looks in my direction, he broke the silence.

"About yesterday," he said in a low voice, like a man testing for landmines.

I didn’t turn my head. "What about it?"

"I wasn’t avoiding you," he said carefully. "The meeting ran longer than I expected. It wasn’t supposed to—"

"Not a problem... though you could’ve sent a text." My tone wasn’t sharp, just... matter-of-fact. Which, for me, was worse.

"I know," he said immediately. "You’re right."

"I usually am."

That earned a soft huff from him. "That’s also true."

We drove in silence again.

Then, more quietly: "The timing was bad. I know that. I wasn’t trying to disappear."

"I get," I replied.

Another beat.

"I’m not good at this," he admitted. "Balancing you with everything else. Work. Pack. Council. Secrets. I’m trying. But sometimes, I think I forget that trying isn’t the same as doing."

I finally turned toward him.

He kept his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel tightened just a fraction. Enough to make me notice.

After another mile, I sighed. "I’m not asking you to be perfect. I just want honesty. You don’t have to say the right thing, but you do have to say something."

"I can do that," he said.

"You better," I murmured, "because next time I wake up alone to nothing but a note, I’m slashing your tires."

He chuckled under his breath. "Fair."

"You think I’m kidding."

"I hope not."

Lyra stirred with an audible purr in the back of my mind. "He’s learning. Reward him. Lick his jaw or something."

"Not happening," I snapped silently.

"Let me take over for ten minutes. I’ll make him beg."

"Try it and I’ll make you beg."

She growled, low and amused, then went quiet again, lounging like a lazy cat in my subconscious.

—

We pulled into a gated showroom on the north end of the city. Ultra-modern, discreet, and gleaming with glass and chrome. Private security flanked the entrance, but the moment they spotted Aiden, the doors parted like magic.

"This isn’t breakfast," I said, glancing around at the sprawling lot of luxury vehicles.

"No," he said. "It’s a reminder."

"Of what?"

He stopped in the centre of the room. Cars gleamed in every direction—sleek, sculpted, obscene levels of wealth on wheels. Lamborghinis, McLarens, Bentleys in colours you’d only find in science fiction.

Then he turned to me, eyes steady. "Pick one."

I blinked. "What?"

"Any car. Yours."

"...You brought me here to car shop?"

"I brought you here to remind you who you are. Not just my mate. Not just someone recovering. You’re Jasmine Heart Frost—CEO. Queen of her own damn empire."

I stared at him.

Not because I was moved.

But because I didn’t trust it.

"Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?" I asked flatly.

His jaw didn’t tighten, but his eyes did.

"I’m trying to show you that you’re not just surviving," he said. "You’re still her. The woman who walked into a boardroom at twenty-three and rewrote the market. The one who makes people nervous with a glance. The one who doesn’t flinch, until someone lies to her."

I swallowed.

Hard.

Lyra whispered, "...Damn. That hit a little."

"You think a car will fix it?" I asked, arms crossed.

"I think it’ll remind you you’re not small. Not even now."

I turned away from him and walked down the aisle of cars, their curves glinting like temptation.

Most were practical. Luxurious but safe. The kinds of things one buys for the image.

I passed them all.

And stopped in front of something ridiculous.

A matte black Aston Martin, curves like sin, horsepower like a war drum. Not practical. Not subtle.

Definitely dangerous.

"This one," I said.

Aiden blinked. "Seriously?"

I ran a finger along the sleek hood. "I’ll crash it."

"Then I’ll buy you another one."

I looked up, and for the first time since he told me about the curse, I smiled. Just a little.

"You’re ridiculous," I said.