Chapter 339

I stared at Dallas’s back. I waited for him to deny it. I waited for him to rip Braydon’s throat out for the lie.

But Dallas didn’t move. He stood there, vibrating with lethal energy, and he didn’t deny it.

“Silence,” Dallas commanded.

It wasn’t a request. It was an Alpha command, laced with the ancient power of his Lycan bloodline, rolling over the pavement like a shockwave. Braydon choked, his mouth snapping shut against his will, his eyes bulging.

Dallas turned to the Warriors standing by the door, who had gone pale and rigid under the weight of his aura.

“Get this off my property,” Dallas ordered, his eyes pitch black — no whites, no irises, only the void of the beast. “Revoke his clearance. If he steps foot within ten miles of the Tower, kill him.”

“Yes, Alpha!” The guards scrambled forward, hauling a struggling, mute Braydon off the car and dragging him toward the street.

As they pulled him away, Braydon fought the command long enough to scream one last thing, his voice raw. “He’s using you, Adella! The bond is a lie!”

Silence crashed back down on the private driveway.

I stood there shivering, clutching my purse like a shield. Dallas turned to face me. The black was slowly receding from his eyes, revealing the stormy grey beneath, but the rage was still there. And something else.

Fear.

“Adella—” he reached for me.

I flinched.

His hand froze mid-air. The hurt that flashed across his face was gut-wrenching, but I couldn’t unhear what Braydon had said. The deed. The signatures. The massacre.

“Is it true?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Did my mother cover up a murder for your father?”

Dallas’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and wrapped an arm around my waist without asking — his grip iron-clad and possessive, pulling me flush against him.

“Not here,” he growled, his breath hot against my forehead. He began to march me toward the glass doors, his stride long and urgent.

“Dallas, stop. I want to know—”

“I said not here!” He swept me into the lobby, past the terrified receptionist, and straight into his private elevator. He slammed his palm against the sensor, and the doors slid shut, sealing us in a box of mirrors and tension.

As the elevator began its rapid ascent to the penthouse, Dallas finally looked at me. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the ground crumble beneath his feet.

“We talk,” he said, his voice barely above a breath. “Now.”

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime that sounded like a gavel striking a judge’s bench.

Dallas didn’t push me, but his presence at my back was a physical weight, guiding me into the cavernous living space of the penthouse. The room was a glass box floating above the city, the lights of the skyline blurring through my tear-filled eyes. It felt less like a home and more like a gilded cage.