Chapter 218
Chapter 218:
“I’m not going anywhere,” I vowed into the darkness.
I watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes cast faint shadows across her cheeks. A cold, lethal calm settled over me, quieting Ragnar’s restlessness.
I will destroy anyone who makes you cry, I promised silently, the oath binding itself to my soul. I will burn their world to ash for every tear they caused. Braydon Hyde is a dead man walking. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Morning sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, but I wasn’t looking at the skyline. My eyes were fixed on the tablet propped on my obsidian desk.
On the screen, the thermal feed from the master bedroom showed a single heat signature curled in the center of my bed. Adella was still asleep. She hadn’t fled to the guest room. She had stayed in my den.
A dark, possessive satisfaction coiled in my gut.
I tapped the comms link on my desk. “Connect me to the bank p>
A moment later, my private banker’s voice filled the room. “Mr. Marshall. How can I help you p>
ոеw 𝖼𝘩𝘢𝗽t𝗲𝗋s 𝖾vе𝘳y 𝗐еe𝗸 𝗈𝘯
“The freeze on Azalea Sterling’s trust fund,” I said, my eyes never leaving the sleeping form on the screen. “Lift it. Restore her to Tier 1 status immediately p>
“Sir? I thought you wanted to teach her a lesson about fiscal responsibility p>
“She has contributed to the stability of the Pack,” I replied smoothly.
Azalea was the key. Her friendship was the anchor keeping Adella here. At twenty-two, she understood the game better than most, and her loyalty was genuine. If Azalea was happy, funded, and capable of spoiling her friend, Adella would feel less like a prisoner and more like family.
Manipulation, perhaps. But in the game of keeping my mate, I would use every piece on the board.
I wrote a note on my heavy cardstock stationery — Azalea is coming for lunch. Eat. — and set it on the nightstand beside her. Then I stood, straightened my cuffs, and walked out.
The trap was set. Now I just had to make sure she never wanted to leave it.
Adella
Consciousness returned in a slow, throbbing wave. The sunlight streaming through the penthouse windows felt like an assault, piercing straight through my eyelids. I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my temples, trying to push back the headache drilling into my skull.
Poison feels a lot like medicine.
The memory of my own slurred words washed over me, followed instantly by the phantom sensation of Dallas’s hands on my waist. His scent — rain, pine, and that dark electric power — seemed to cling to my skin, even though I was alone in the guest room. I had woken in his bed but fled to the guest quarters the moment I could stand, too terrified to face him in the cold light of day.
I dragged myself to the kitchen, desperate for coffee.
“Good morning, sunshine p>