Chapter 118
Chapter 118:
If the club below was a testament to Dallas’s business acumen, this penthouse was a shrine to his power. The space was vast, dominated by dark walnut floors that swallowed the light and brushed metal fixtures that gleamed with clinical precision. Cream-colored leather furniture sat low and heavy against the walls, and the air here was different — crisper, filtered, and saturated with the scent of him. Storm clouds and cedar. It was the scent of a Lycan, heavy enough to taste.
Dallas didn’t pause to let me admire the view. He carried me straight to the center of the room and deposited me gently onto the edge of a massive bed covered in dark grey silk sheets.
“Stay,” he commanded, his voice rough.
He moved to a sleek black cabinet and retrieved a medical kit. I watched him, feeling small in the expanse of his world. This place was perfect. Cold, masculine, and pristine. And here I was — a wolfless girl with a ruined dress, blood drying on her skin, and a history of being nothing.
He returned, kneeling before me without a word. He took my injured arm, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he began to clean away Seraphina’s mark. The sting of the antiseptic made me hiss, but Dallas didn’t flinch. His golden eyes were focused on the task with surgical intensity.
“Dallas,” I started, my voice sounding thin in the quiet room. I looked around again, insecurity clawing at my throat. “Do you… do you bring many women here p>
His hands froze.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioning. Then Dallas looked up. The gold in his irises had darkened, swirling with a mix of offense and something colder.
“Excuse me p>
“I just…” I gestured vaguely with my good hand, regretting the words the moment they tumbled out. “It’s so prepared. It feels like a place designed to impress. I just wondered if this is where you bring your… company p>
Dallas stood slowly, towering over me. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop, his Lycan Ragnar bristling beneath the surface.
𝘞𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯
“What do you think this is, Adella?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “My playground? A place to store my mistresses between board meetings p>
“I didn’t mean p>
“You think I would bring filth into my sanctuary?” He stepped closer, trapping me with his gaze. “You think I would let anyone else touch these sheets p>
I shrank back slightly, unsettled by the raw intensity of his reaction. “I’m sorry. I just don’t fit here, Dallas. Look at this place. Look at me. I’m wolfless. I’m a mess p>
He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working. Then the anger in his eyes shifted into something unreadable.
“Get up,” he said.
I blinked. “What p>
“Get up.” He reached out and pulled me to my feet, not releasing my hand. Instead, he led me toward a seamless panel in the far wall. “You think you don’t fit? Let me show you how wrong you are.” He gripped the handle of the hidden sliding door and shoved it open.