Chapter 509
I closed my eyes, picturing Adella’s fierce, stubborn face. If I sent Duncan in now, she would only see me as the monster trying to stop her from saving a dying man. She had to see Fowler’s true face for herself.
“No,” I commanded, the effort leaving me breathless. “Stand down. Let him dig his own grave.”
Adella POV
The sharp scent of antiseptic and bleach in Dr. Evans’s VIP suite did little to mask the heavy, metallic copper of Anson’s blood. I stood rigidly by the window as the private human doctor finished stitching the jagged tear in Anson’s forearm, wrapped it in thick white gauze, and quietly slipped out of the room.
Anson lay back against the pillows, his face pale, his breathing shallow. The fight with Sloane had drained him, and for a moment, he looked almost pathetic—a predator brought low by his own scheming.
I should leave, I thought. I had done my part. I had gotten him to a doctor. There was no reason to stay.
But as I reached for the door, his voice stopped me.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, his tone stripped of its usual smooth arrogance. “Just like that?”
“You’re stable. The doctor said so himself.”
He let out a weak laugh that turned into a wince. “Stable doesn’t mean safe. Sloane has connections everywhere. If she finds out where I am…” He let the sentence hang, letting me fill in the blanks.
I hesitated. He was manipulating me—I knew that. But the memory of Sloane’s rage, the statue swinging through the air, the blood pooling on the white carpet… it was fresh. If she came back, Anson wouldn’t survive a second round.
“Fine,” I said, my voice tight. “I’ll stay until morning. But at seven AM, I’m gone.”
He nodded, a ghost of his usual smirk touching his lips. “Thank you, Adella.”
I walked over to the small sink and poured a glass of water just to have something to do with my trembling hands.
“We used to be so good together, Adella,” Anson murmured from the bed, his voice dropping into that smooth, persuasive cadence he always used when he wanted something. “Before all this mess.”
“Stop, Anson,” I said coldly, setting the glass on his nightstand. “Don’t do this.”
He sighed, shifting against the pillows. His eyes darkened with a calculated, venomous pity. “I know why you’re clinging to him, but you need to know the truth. He’s a broken King, Adella. An Alpha whose beast is so shattered he can’t even complete a Marking.”
My breath hitched. The memory of the clinic flashed behind my eyes—the crushing weight of Dallas’s lips on mine, the violent, undeniable sparks that had ignited my blood and sent my soul into a tailspin. A broken beast couldn’t make my entire existence vibrate with such raw, electric power. It was a lie. A vile, desperate lie meant to strike at the very core of an Alpha’s honor.
I turned to him, my eyes blazing with absolute ice. “Don’t you dare speak of him that way.”
The fragile, fake peace in the room shattered instantly. Anson’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, predatory gold.