Chapter 47
Chapter 47:
I shoved the rings back into the pouch and buried them deep in my pocket, terrified that even the air in the penthouse might betray what I’d done.
By late afternoon, the silence in the apartment shifted. I walked out to the foyer to find Azalea dragging a massive ski bag toward the private elevator. She was dressed in designer winter gear, looking like a model bound for a photoshoot in the Alps.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, eyeing the sheer volume of luggage.
Azalea flashed me a grin that was equal parts mischief and calculation. “Ski trip. Aspen p>
“But your father…” I started, glancing toward the elevator. “He grounded you. He said you weren’t to leave the city p>
“Daddy says a lot of things,” she dismissed, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I’m using my mother’s trust fund. He can’t touch it. And let’s be real, Adella — he doesn’t actually want me here right now p>
𝗗𝗂𝘴с𝗈𝘃𝗲r 𝗵і𝗱𝘥еn ge𝗺𝗌 о𝗻 𝗴𝗮𝗹ոo𝗏е𝗹𝘀.cоm
I frowned. “What do you mean p>
“He’s a male,” she said, rolling her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “A very territorial, very possessive male who just brought his Mate home. I’m the third wheel. He’s sending me to the mountains so he can have the penthouse — and you — all to himself p>
My face heated instantly. “It’s not like that. We have a contract p>
Azalea laughed, a bright, sharp sound. She hit the elevator button. “Keep telling yourself that. Good luck, step-Luna. Try not to break him p>
The doors slid shut, leaving me alone in the echoing silence.
Her words were still bouncing around my skull when the elevator chimed again at five o’clock sharp.
Dallas Marshall stepped out. The air instantly thickened, saturated with his scent — storm clouds and cedar, heavy with Alpha command. He looked impeccable, as always, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Where is Azalea?” he asked, though he didn’t look surprised.
“She went skiing,” I said, watching him carefully. “She said you wouldn’t mind p>
“She needs the mountains,” Dallas replied, walking past me toward the kitchen. He began unbuttoning his cuffs, his movements precise. “And we need clarity.” He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
The word clarity sounded dangerous coming from him — a threat wrapped in silk.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Mrs. Higgins served a grilled salmon salad, moving with her usual silent efficiency. I picked up my fork, bracing myself for the tedious task of picking out the red onions — a vegetable I had despised since childhood.
But as I looked down at my plate, I froze.
There were no onions. Not a single purple sliver.
I looked up at Mrs. Higgins. “Did you p>
“The King updated your dietary profile in the household system this morning, Luna Adella,” she said softly, bowing her head before retreating to the kitchen.
I stared at Dallas. He was cutting his salmon, his face impassive. Even Braydon, who I had lived with for ten years, had never once remembered to ask for no onions.
“You did that?” I asked, my voice small.