Chapter 455

I pressed delete. The screen went black, leaving me alone in the quiet ruins of my own making.

The penthouse living room was a graveyard of cardboard boxes and packing tape. The comforting scent of storm and cedar that used to wrap around me like a blanket was fading, replaced by the sterile, hollow smell of dust and endings.

“Careful with that box,” Azalea instructed a mover, her usually vibrant voice muted and strained.

I walked over and pulled a large, framed charcoal sketch from the top of the pile. I had drawn it at the lake house. It captured Dallas’s Lycan soul perfectly — the fierce, protective intensity in his storm-gray eyes that I had foolishly believed belonged only to me. Now, staring at the paper, I saw only the face of a stranger who had thrown me away.

“Adella, please,” Azalea whispered, stepping closer. Her eyes pleaded with me to hold onto this one piece of our shattered mate-bond.

I looked at her, my chest completely hollowed out. “The Alpha in this portrait is dead,” I said, my voice devoid of any warmth.

I opened my hands. The heavy frame plummeted, hitting the polished marble floor with a deafening crash. The glass shattered into a hundred jagged pieces, tearing the thick paper straight down the middle. Azalea gasped, staring at the wreckage in absolute shock.

“Throw it all out,” I ordered the movers coldly, stepping over the broken glass.

I marched straight into the massive walk-in closet. The racks were lined with silk, chiffon, and diamonds — the breathtaking wardrobe Dallas had curated for his future Luna. I grabbed a handful of expensive dresses, violently yanked them from their velvet hangers, and shoved them into a black trash bag.

“Adella, stop!” Azalea followed me in, reaching out to grab my arm.

She froze mid-reach. A flash of pure, paralyzing terror crossed her eyes, and she shrank back, her hands trembling. I didn’t yet know about the horrific threat Dallas had leveled against her — the promise of a Swiss asylum and a permanently severed mind-link — but I saw the profound fear anchoring her feet. She was terrified of crossing him, even now.

“These are just costumes, Azalea,” I said, tossing a heavy beaded gown onto the floor. “And I am no longer playing the role.”

I walked to the velvet center island and opened the small jewelry safe. Inside sat a heavy black titanium Amex card. Unlimited. Dallas’s parting gift to ensure I was taken care of.

Azalea swallowed hard, her practical instincts warring with her grief. “You should keep it. For emergencies. You’re going to need to survive without the Pack.”

I picked up the cold metal, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “He thinks he can buy my silence? Pay me off like a discarded Omega?” I grabbed a pair of heavy fabric shears from the vanity. “I am the emergency, Azalea.”

.