Chapter 378
Or was he simply making sure his prize carried no other man’s fingerprints?
Adelia
The silence in the penthouse was not peaceful — it was heavy, like the air before a tornado touches down. Dallas had left for the Alpha King’s office early, leaving me alone with the ghost of his touch and the phantom weight of the collar he had placed around my neck, and then removed.
I sat at the kitchen island, pushing a fork through my untouched salad. My skin still hummed from his possession, but my mind was a battlefield. Am I his mate, or just his prize?
The sudden trill of the landline shattered my thoughts. It was the secure satellite phone Dallas kept for emergencies. I frowned and slid off the stool to answer it. Only a handful of people had this number.
“Hello?”
“Adella… oh god, Adella, please don’t hang up.”
The voice was ragged, broken, and terrifyingly familiar. Braydon.
My hand tightened around the receiver, my knuckles turning white. “How did you get this number? If Dallas finds out—”
“It’s Mom,” Braydon sobbed, the sound wet and desperate. “It’s Victoria. She had a massive heart attack an hour ago. The doctors say she might not make it through the afternoon.”
The anger flaring in my chest was instantly doused by a bucket of ice water. Victoria Hyde. The woman who had baked me cookies when my own parents forgot my birthday. The woman who had taught me how to braid my hair.
“I don’t believe you,” I whispered, though my voice trembled. “This is another game, Braydon. Just like the gala. Just like everything else.”
“I swear on my life, Adella! I swear on the Moon Goddess!” His panic sounded visceral, raw. “She’s in the ICU at St. Jude’s. She keeps calling for you. She’s delirious — asking why her daughter isn’t here. Please. I know you hate me, but don’t punish her for my sins.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
I stood frozen in the vast, empty kitchen, my heart hammering against my ribs. It’s a trap. It had to be. But the image of Victoria — pale and dying — hooked into my conscience and pulled.
I grabbed my cell phone and dialed St. Jude’s Medical Center.
“I need to check on a patient. Victoria Hyde,” I said, my voice urgent.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist droned. “Unless you are listed as immediate family or hold a medical proxy code, I cannot release patient information due to privacy laws.”
“Damn it.” I ended the call and began pacing the floor.
If she was truly dying and I didn’t go, the guilt would eat me alive. I was not Braydon Hyde. I did not abandon family — even broken family.
I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator. My fingers hovered over my phone screen. I couldn’t just disappear. Dallas would tear the city apart if he came home to find me gone.
I typed out a quick message.