Chapter 331

I stayed that way until evening, when the door to my room was thrown open with enough force to rattle the hinges.

Light flooded the room, blinding me. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway lights, was Azalea Sterling.

“Get up,” she commanded. Her voice wasn’t an Alpha’s growl, but it carried the imperious tone of a woman who refused to be ignored.

I blinked, shielding my eyes. “Go away, Azalea.”

“No.” She marched into the room, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor. She ripped the duvet off me, exposing me to the chilled air. “You have been rotting in here for seventy-two hours. Dallas is falling apart, you look like a corpse, and I am sick of the silence.”

“I don’t care,” I whispered, curling into a ball.

“Liar.” Azalea grabbed my arm, her grip firm but not bruising, and hauled me upright, ignoring my weak protest. “You are going to shower. You are going to put on the dress I brought. And we are going out.”

“I’m not going anywhere with him,” I snapped, a spark of anger finally piercing the numbness.

“Not with him,” she corrected, shoving a garment bag into my arms. “With me. We’re going to The Velvet Lounge. You need alcohol, Adella. And frankly, so do I.”

I wanted to fight her, but the energy wasn’t there. I let her steer me like a marionette, dressing in a sleek black dress that felt like armor.

An hour later, the sterile silence of the penthouse was replaced by the low, thrumming bass of jazz and the murmur of the city’s elite. The Velvet Lounge was dark, smelling of expensive cigars and aged oak.

Azalea led me to the bar and ordered two shots of tequila without asking. I stared at the amber liquid, the noise of the room washing over me.

“Look,” Azalea said, her voice dropping to a murmur. She didn’t point, but her gaze drifted toward a secluded corner booth at the back of the room.

I followed her eyes and felt my heart stutter.

Dallas was there.

Not the imperious Alpha King who commanded armies. He was slumped in the shadows, a bottle of whiskey half-empty in front of him. His tie was undone, his hair disheveled, and even from across the room, I could feel the waves of self-loathing radiating off him.

“He knows about Rowan,” Azalea said softly.

I turned to her, my eyes widening. “He told you?”

“He didn’t have to. I’m his daughter — I know when he’s drowning.” She took a sip of her drink, her expression grim. “He’s the Alpha King, Addie. He’s supposed to be able to fix anything. But he can’t stop the Council without starting a civil war. He feels like he’s failing you all over again.”

I looked back at him. He was staring into his glass as if it held the answers to a question he was too afraid to ask.