Chapter 107

Chapter 107:

For a moment, I thought he might strike me right there in the middle of The Ivy. His nostrils flared, inhaling my scent, searching for the fear that used to be his favorite perfume. He didn’t find it. With a low, guttural growl that only I could hear, he shoved off the table and straightened his jacket.

“This isn’t over, Adella. You don’t walk away from us p>

He turned and stalked toward the back of the restaurant, presumably to compose himself.

Elara let out a breath she seemed to have been holding. “Okay,” she said, her eyes wide. “That was intense. Ex-boyfriend p>

“Ex-fiancé,” I corrected, the word tasting like ash. “And ex-tormentor p>

D𝗂𝘀с𝗼v𝗲r 𝗵𝗶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝗻 𝗴e𝗺ѕ 𝗼𝗇

“Ex-fiancé?” Her eyebrows shot up, but she recovered quickly, spearing a piece of lettuce with renewed vigor. “Remind me never to cross you. You handled him like a pro p>

I offered her a weak smile, but my hands were trembling beneath the table. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me feeling hollow and jittery.

“I need a minute,” I said, sliding out of the booth. “I’m just going to the ladies’ room p>

“Want backup p>

“No, I’ll be fine. He’s probably gone by now p>

That was my mistake — assuming Braydon Hyde knew when to quit.

The corridor leading to the restrooms was dimly lit, lined with plush velvet wallpaper and oversized potted ferns. It was quiet here, the clatter of silverware and conversation muffled by heavy oak doors.

I had just passed a large decorative ceramic planter when a hand shot out from an alcove and grabbed my upper arm in a vice-like grip.

I was slammed against the wall, the air leaving my lungs in a rush.

“You think you’re clever?” Braydon’s face was inches from mine, his breath hot and sour. “Embarrassing me in front of your little friend? Acting like you’re better than me p>

“Let go of me, Braydon,” I said, struggling against his hold.

“You are nothing,” he spat, his eyes dark with malice. “You are a wolfless stray that my father took pity on. You belong to Hyde Manor. You belong to me.” He raised a hand — not to strike me, but to grab my jaw, to force me to look at him. It was a gesture of ownership, one he had used a thousand times before.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I remembered Dallas in the kitchen — the way his power hummed against my skin, the way he looked at me not as a victim but as a queen. Steel, he had said. You have steel in you.

I didn’t pull away. Instead, I brought the sole of my flat shoe down on his foot with every ounce of strength I possessed, crushing the tender bones of his instep against the hard floor.

He howled — a sound of pure shock and pain — and instinctively lurched backward on one foot. But the corridor was narrow. His heel caught the edge of the massive ceramic planter.

Arms flailing, eyes wide with disbelief, Braydon tipped backward.