Chapter 169

Chapter 169:

It was Adella, taken years ago — eighteen years old, curled up on a bench in the manor gardens, crying because her wolf hadn’t come. She looked so small. So fragile. So dependent.

That was the Adella I wanted. Not the confident woman striding through the world on the arm of a Lycan King, but the broken girl who had needed me to fix her.

“He can’t protect you like I can,” I whispered to the photo, my voice rough with obsession. “He only wants your power. Your bloodline. I want you p>

Dallas Marshall thought he had won. He thought he could take what was mine simply because he was a King. But Kings had weaknesses. And Adella — she was a weakness for both of us.

I reached for the disposable phone I kept for business that didn’t concern the Pack elders and punched in a number I hadn’t used in years. It rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

“Yeah p>

“Find Jared Solder,” I commanded, staring at Adella’s tear-streaked face in the photograph. “The one my father exiled for negligence. I have a job for him p>

Jared was a loose cannon — a former warrior with a grudge against the world and a desperate need for cash. He was expendable. Perfect for what I had in mind.

𝗔𝘥𝘥ic𝘁𝘪𝘃𝘦 𝗇o𝘃𝘦𝗅s 𝗈𝘯

I would create a nightmare so terrifying that Adella would have no choice but to run back into the arms of the only man who truly knew her. Marshall might be a King, but I was the one who knew her fears.

I tossed the phone onto the desk and downed the rest of my whiskey. The burn felt like a promise.

Soon, Adella. Soon you’ll remember where you belong.

Adella

The silence in the car was heavier than the humidity clinging to the late afternoon air. It had been days since the incident at the restaurant — days of polite nods and cold shoulders. I had hurt him. I knew that. I had taken his raw, terrifying vulnerability and labeled it a duty.

Now, Dallas Marshall was driving me to an unknown location within the Blackwood territory, his knuckles white against the leather steering wheel.

“We’re here,” he grunted, pulling up to a sleek, modern building on a tree-lined street. The leaves were turning gold, casting dappled shadows on the pavement. It was beautiful. Peaceful.

I followed him inside, my heart hammering. He led me to the penthouse, keying in a code with sharp, precise movements. When the door swung open, the scent hit me first — fresh paint, polished oak, and the faint underlying aroma of him. Storms and cedar.

“What is this?” I whispered, stepping onto the warm hardwood floors.

“Go look,” he said, his voice rough. He gestured toward a set of double doors at the far end of the living room.

I walked forward, my fingers trembling as I pushed them open. My breath caught.

It wasn’t just a room. It was a sanctuary.