Chapter 162
Chapter 162:
It was a sale. He was buying my womb and my dead parents’ land. The “pure Alpha blood” clause was a direct jab at my wolfless status — implying I was merely a vessel, and a defective one at that.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw the wine in his face. Instead, I pulled out my phone.
“Reviewing the terms?” Lance asked, taking a slow sip of his wine, a smirk playing at his lips.
“Something like that,” I murmured.
I snapped photographs of the heir clause and the land transfer section, then sent them to Dallas with a single line of text:
This is how they value your Luna.
The reaction was instantaneous.
𝗥om𝖺𝘯𝘤𝖾 𝗮𝗇𝗱 𝗉a𝘀𝗌іon оո ѕ.𝗰о𝗆
Even through the thick glass of the restaurant window, I felt it. A wave of dark, suffocating power rolled over the building. The hairs on my arms stood on end and my heart hammered against my ribs — the sensation of a storm breaking directly overhead. Out on the street, I knew the Maybach was shaking with the force of Ragnar’s rage. Dallas wasn’t just angry. He was lethal.
Lance frowned and glanced around, as if sensing the shift in air pressure. “Is something wrong p>
Before I could answer, a commotion at the entrance drew every eye in the room.
Braydon Hyde stormed into the dining area, his face flushed, his eyes wild and bloodshot — a man completely unhinged. Trailing behind him, practically tripping in her heels, was Katherine Parrish. She looked nothing like the poised, polished woman I knew. Her makeup was smudged and her eyes were wide with terror.
“Braydon, stop!” Katherine hissed, grabbing at his arm, but he shook her off with a growl.
He ignored her. He ignored the shocked diners. His gaze locked onto me first, then shifted to Lance Sterling — and the hatred that crossed his face was so pure it was almost tangible.
He marched straight to our table, his hands balling into fists.
“What the hell is this, Adella?” Braydon shouted, his voice cracking with desperate, manic jealousy. “You think you can just replace me p>
The silence that followed Braydon’s outburst was heavier than the crystal chandeliers hanging above us. Every fork in Le Bernardin paused mid-air. The air pressure in the room dropped — not merely from social awkwardness, but from the collision of pheromones: Lance’s cold, metallic scent clashing against Braydon’s sour, boozy musk. And beneath it all, the distant, terrifying rumble of Ragnar waiting outside.
Braydon didn’t care about the audience. He lunged forward, his hand clamping around my upper arm like a vice.
“I asked you a question, Adella!” he snarled, his breath reeking of whiskey. “You come here, with him? After everything p>
“Let go of me, Braydon,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. I didn’t struggle — I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me panic.
Across the table, Alpha Lance Sterling didn’t even blink. He swirled his wine, watching Braydon with the detached amusement of a scientist observing a lab rat.
“She’s mine!” Braydon shouted at Lance, his chest heaving. “You can’t just buy her p>
“Technically, Mr. Hyde,” Lance drawled, finally looking up, “I haven’t bought anything yet. Though your guardian assures me the merchandise is… compliant p>