Chapter 324
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt like an ascent to the gallows. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. Every floor that ticked by on the digital display brought me closer to him — to the man I loved, to the man who might have built our entire relationship on a foundation of lies.
When the doors slid open, the scent of rosemary and searing steak hit me instantly. It was a domestic smell, warm and inviting — a cruel contrast to the cold dread pooling in my stomach.
I walked into the kitchen. Dallas stood by the marble island, his back to me. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing the powerful muscles of his forearms as he sliced vegetables with unhurried precision. He looked like the perfect partner. The perfect King.
“You’re back,” Dallas said, his voice a low rumble that usually made my toes curl. He turned, a smile touching his lips — but it vanished the second his eyes met mine.
His nostrils flared. The air shifted instantly, growing heavy and charged with static. Ragnar, his Lycan beast, was surfacing.
“You smell like him,” Dallas growled, the knife stilling against the cutting board. His eyes darkened to pitch black. “You smell like Braydon. Why were you with him?”
I didn’t flinch. The fear that had driven me from the park had calcified into cold, hard resolve. I walked closer, stopping just out of reach. I couldn’t let him touch me. If I felt the sparks — that addictive, electric pull of the mate bond — I might lose the courage to ask the question that could destroy us.
“Did you know her?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dallas frowned, confusion warring with the aggression in his stance. “Adella, what are you—”
“My mother,” I cut him off, my voice rising, cracking. “Elara Everett. Did you know her, Dallas?”
The silence that followed was louder than a scream.
Dallas didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a marble statue of a fallen god. He didn’t need to speak. The answer was written in the sudden, devastating stillness of his body.
“Yes,” he said finally. The word was heavy, leaden.
My knees buckled, but I forced myself to stand. It felt as though he had taken the knife from the counter and plunged it straight into my chest.
“Braydon said you’ve been watching me,” I choked out, tears spilling over, hot and stinging. “Since I was a child. He said this — us—” I gestured vaguely between us, “wasn’t fate. He said it was a debt.”
“Adella, listen to me—” Dallas took a step forward, reaching for me.
“Don’t!” I screamed, stumbling back. “Was the mate bond a lie? Did you manipulate this? Was I just a debt to be repaid to a dead woman?”
“It’s not that simple,” Dallas pleaded, his voice raw. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did!” I sobbed. The room began to spin, the edges of my vision blurring into grey static. The scent of him — storm and cedar — which had always been my sanctuary, now choked me like smoke. “You built a cage and called it a castle.”
“Adella!”