Chapter 36
Chapter 36:
The private elevator hummed smoothly as it ascended toward the penthouse, a stark contrast to the turbulence churning in my stomach. Beside me, Azalea was practically vibrating with excitement, recounting every detail of the dress she had just bought for the upcoming Alpha Summit.
“And the way the silk drapes? Dad is going to flip, but in a good way, I think,” she giggled, clutching her shopping bags.
I forced a smile, my hand tightening around the strap of my purse. My phone had notified me twenty minutes ago: Package Delivered.
I had timed it perfectly. Dallas was supposed to be gone for hours handling Pack business. I would walk in, grab the discreet white bag from the concierge desk or the mail pile, and swallow the pill before I even took off my shoes. Crisis averted. Future secured.
The elevator chimed softly, signaling our arrival. The heavy metal doors slid open.
“Home sweet home!” Azalea announced, stepping out first.
𝘛𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗈𝘴𝗍 р𝗼p𝘶l𝖺𝘳 𝗻ovе𝘭ѕ oո
Her cheerful voice died instantly, strangled in her throat.
The penthouse was usually bathed in the warm, golden hues of the city sunset through the floor-to-ceiling windows. But tonight, the air felt heavy and pressurized, like the inside of a submarine diving too deep. The scent hit me before I even crossed the threshold — ozone, rain, and the terrifying metallic tang of a storm about to break.
Dallas was there.
He stood by the massive glass wall, his back to us. He had shed his suit jacket, and the muscles of his back were rigid beneath his white dress shirt, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
But it wasn’t his presence that made my blood turn to ice.
It was what lay on the pristine marble floor, directly in the center of the room, like an offering on an altar.
A crumpled white paper bag. The red CVS Pharmacy logo seemed to scream at me. Beside it lay the small, rectangular box I had ordered only hours ago.
Plan B One-Step.
My breath hitched — a sharp, audible sound in the dead silence.
Dallas turned slowly. His face was a mask of terrifying calm, but his eyes were not his own. They were molten gold, swirling with a feral, ancient rage. Ragnar was at the surface, and he was looking at me not as a woman, but as a traitor. Beneath the rage, there was something worse — a raw, bleeding wound of betrayal.
“Dad?” Azalea’s voice trembled, small and fragile. “I thought you were p>
“Go to your room, Azalea,” Dallas said. His voice was low, barely a whisper, yet it carried a vibration that rattled the glass panes. It was laced with the Alpha’s Command, a power so dense it made the air shimmer. Azalea flinched as if struck. She looked at him, then at me, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. “But p>
“Now p>
The word was a growl, a thunderclap that brooked no argument. Azalea let out a small whimper and dropped her shopping bags where she stood. She cast me one last, helpless look before bolting down the hallway. The sound of her bedroom door clicking shut echoed like a gunshot.
We were alone.