Chapter 224
Chapter 224:
The voice that filled the War Room was synthesized, calm, and unmistakably mine. I had spent hours recording the voice prompts for the Sentinel AI, stripping out the emotion but preserving the cadence. I wanted to be with her, even when I couldn’t be.
I heard the sharp intake of her breath. Then — silence.
I held my own breath. This was the gamble. Adella was smart — too smart. She would recognize the tone. She would know this wasn’t just a car. It was a leash. A very expensive, very protective leash.
“You’re watching me, aren’t you p>
Her voice was a soft whisper, barely caught by the high-sensitivity microphones embedded in the dashboard. It sent a jolt of electricity straight down my spine.
Ragnar perked up, ears twitching in my mind. She speaks to us.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. But I commanded the AI to remain silent, letting the weight of her question hang in the air as its own confirmation.
On the screen, I watched her vitals. Her heart rate didn’t skyrocket with fear.
It fluttered.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t get out of the car. Instead, I heard the soft pat-pat of her hand against the leather dashboard — a gesture so intimate it felt like she was touching my chest.
“Impossible wolf,” she murmured.
𝗧h𝗲 b𝖾st 𝗋е𝘃іе𝘸ѕ oո
A smile — rare and genuine — tugged at the corner of my mouth. She knew. She knew I was watching, guarding, obsessing over her every move. And she didn’t run. She accepted the fortress I had built around her.
Ragnar purred, settling with a satisfied huff. She accepts the protection. Now we must secure the den.
I tapped the communication link to my property manager.
“Is Unit 4A ready?” I asked, watching the white dot pull safely up to her office building.
“Yes, Alpha. The paint is dry p>
“Good,” I said, cutting the connection.
Watching from a screen was no longer enough.
It was time to move in.
The Mercedes — or the “Ghost,” as the synthesized voice of my boss had called it — purred into its parking spot beneath The Aurelia. My hands were still trembling slightly as I killed the engine. The drive home had been surreal. Every time I drifted too close to a lane marker, his voice corrected me — not a generic GPS robot, but Dallas Marshall’s deep, commanding baritone, stripped of emotion yet heavy with authority.
It had felt like spending forty minutes inside his ribcage.
I grabbed my bag and fled the car, desperate for the sanctuary of my apartment. I needed silence. I needed a glass of wine. I needed to stop thinking about the fact that my billionaire boss had apparently programmed a military-grade vehicle to babysit me.
But peace, it seemed, was not on the menu tonight.
As the elevator doors slid open on the fourth floor, a wall of savory warmth hit me — rosemary, garlic, and roasted lamb.
“Finally! I thought you were going to sleep in that car p>
Azalea Sterling was standing in the middle of the hallway, bouncing on the balls of her feet as though she’d had three espressos too many. She was holding a ceramic dish covered in foil, steam curling from the edges.