Chapter 276
Chapter 276:
“A crumb,” Volkov sneered, tossing the photograph back onto the pile. “A crumb to lead the mouse into the trap. Did you truly believe I cared about your cousin’s gambling habits? I wanted the White Wolf, Adella. And now I have her p>
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
White Wolf. The legendary bloodline. The reason I was hunted.
“I’m leaving,” I said, forcing a steadiness into my voice that I didn’t feel. “This meeting is over p>
I turned on my heel and walked toward the brass elevator doors, my stilettos clicking sharply against the hardwood. I jabbed the call button. Once. Twice.
Nothing. The indicator light remained dead.
“You can’t leave,” Volkov’s voice came from directly behind me. I hadn’t heard him move at all. That was the terrifying speed of an Alpha, even a Rogue one. “Not until I say so p>
I spun around, pressing my back against the cold metal of the doors. He was too close. The smell of him—stale blood, musk, and expensive cologne—was overwhelming.
B𝖾 𝗽a𝘳𝘵 𝗼𝗳 оu𝘳 с𝗼𝘮𝗺𝗎nі𝗍𝘺 o𝘯
“This is kidnapping,” I hissed. “My mate is the Alpha King. Dallas Marshall will tear this city apart to find me p>
Volkov laughed, a harsh and humorless sound. He held up a small remote control, then slipped it into his pocket with deliberate slowness.
“Let him come,” he said, his eyes gleaming with malice. “But if you scream, if you fight, if you do anything other than behave—I release the tapes p>
“What tapes p>
“The ones I am recording right now.” He gestured toward a hidden camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. “I’ll edit them. I’ll show the world how the wolfless girl came to the Rogue warlord willingly. How she begged to trade herself to settle her family’s debts. I’ll paint you as a traitor, Adella. I will destroy Dallas Marshall’s reputation before he sets foot in this building. The Pack will never accept a Luna who gave herself to the enemy p>
The threat landed like a physical blow. He wasn’t just attacking me—he was holding Dallas’s honor hostage.
Volkov turned back to the table and poured a glass of champagne. The bubbles fizzed violently. He held the crystal flute out to me, his expression mocking.
“A toast,” he commanded. “To our new arrangement p>
My hands trembled as I took the glass. The golden liquid swirled, innocent-looking and deadly. I stared at his smug face—the face of a man who believed he had already won.
Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me.
“Go to hell,” I spat.
In one fluid motion, I threw the contents of the glass into his face.