Chapter 183
Chapter 183:
“Adella?” Augusta’s voice was skeptical, hard. “The girl who defied a rogue with a blade at her throat? I don’t believe it p>
“Believe it,” I spat, though the words lacked any venom, leaving behind only exhaustion. “She looked right at him. She said… she said she loved him p>
A sharp intake of breath from Augusta. She didn’t offer empty platitudes — she knew the weight of a rejection, even an unspoken one.
“Dr. Barber, get to the penthouse immediately. The Alpha is critical,” her voice rang out, not spoken aloud but projected through the Mind-Link with the full force of an Elder’s command.
She settled on the edge of the sofa and moved to brush the wet hair from my forehead. Her expression, usually so stern, softened into something close to grief. “We will fix this,” she stated firmly. “There is something wrong here. That girl p>
“No,” I whispered, my eyes sliding shut as the darkness finally pulled me under. The pain in my chest was dulling, replaced by a heavy, suffocating numbness. “Let her go, Augusta. Just… let her go p>
Duty is done, I thought bitterly as consciousness slipped away.
I felt Augusta’s hand tighten on my shoulder — a silent vow I was too weak to understand. She rose, her aura flaring with a cold, terrifying resolve. She wasn’t going to let this go. But I was done fighting. The King had fallen, and in the silence of the penthouse, only the ghosts of what could have been remained.
Adella
Consciousness returned in jagged shards of pain.
My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, but it was my chest that felt as though it had been crushed by a boulder. Every breath was a shallow, stinging effort. I blinked, my eyelids heavy as lead, trying to focus on the sterile white ceiling above me. The sharp scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs assaulted my nose, burning away the lingering phantom smell of river water.
𝖱оm𝖺𝗇𝘤e ո𝘰v𝘦𝗹s 𝗈𝘯
“You’re awake p>
The voice was soft, laced with a relief that felt cloying. I turned my head, wincing as my neck protested. Braydon Hyde sat in the chair beside my bed, his hand resting over mine. He looked tired, his eyes filled with a performative concern that didn’t quite reach his soul.
“Dallas…” The name rasped from my throat, dry and cracked. Panic flared in my chest, overriding the pain. My last memory was strong arms pulling me from the darkness, a voice commanding me to live. “Where is he p>
Braydon’s expression shifted. A shadow of pity — or perhaps satisfaction — crossed his face. He squeezed my hand, a gesture that felt more like a restraint than a comfort.
“He’s gone, Adella,” Braydon said gently, his voice smooth as oil. “He made sure you were breathing, and then he left. He is the Alpha King, after all. He has a pack to run. His duty was done p>
Duty.
The word was a cold blade sliding between my ribs. Duty was done. Was that all I was? A liability to be salvaged? A box to be checked on his list of responsibilities?