Chapter 202

Chapter 202:

What I didn’t hear, echoing through a private Mind-Link channel miles away, were Azalea’s parting words to her father in his tower:

The White Wolf is in the den.

I took a deep breath of the apartment’s clean, filtered air — completely unaware that I was breathing in an illusion.

Adella

I smoothed the front of my dress for the tenth time, my palms damp. The apartment smelled of garlic, fresh basil, and the rich, acidic tang of simmering tomatoes — a domestic scent that felt foreign to me after months of living in fear or in transit.

𝘜p𝘥𝗮𝘵еs e𝗏е𝗋у 𝘄𝗲ek оn

Tonight wasn’t just dinner. It was a statement.

I checked the clock on the stove. 6:59 PM.

I wanted to show Dallas Marshall that I wasn’t just the broken, wolfless girl he had pulled from the river. I wasn’t a liability to be guarded or a problem to be solved. I was Adella Everett, and I had found this apartment, signed the lease, and cooked this meal. I was building a life — on my own terms, even if he was part of it.

A sharp knock echoed through the living room.

I took a slow breath, steeling myself against the inevitable pull of the bond, and opened the door.

Dallas stood there, filling the frame in a way that made the hallway seem suddenly narrow. He wore a dark button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. His eyes — dark and unreadable — swept over me, heating my skin like a physical touch.

“You’re punctual,” I said, stepping back to let him in.

“I’m never late for you, Adella,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. He stepped inside, and the apartment instantly shrank. His scent — ozone, rain, and deep cedar — overpowered the smell of the pasta sauce, quietly claiming the space as his own.

He held out a bottle of wine. The label was yellowed, the glass dusted with age. “A housewarming gift p>

I took it and read the script. Parrish Estate, 1998. My breath hitched. This was from the private cellars of the Pack he had dismantled to protect me. A trophy, disguised as a beverage.

“Thank you,” I managed, setting it on the counter. “Welcome to… my place p>

Dallas looked around, his gaze lingering on the high ceilings and the sage green throws I had arranged on the sofa. “It’s impressive,” he said, moving toward the window. “The location is secure, the structure is sound. You have excellent taste. You did well p>

Pride bloomed in my chest — warm and validating. This was exactly what I had wanted. Acknowledgment that I was capable, not just a project to be managed.

“I got lucky. The landlord, Eleanor, gave me a great deal p>

“Luck,” Dallas repeated, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips as he ran a hand along the back of the creamy armchair. “Yes. Fate has a way of providing exactly what we need p>