Chapter 382

I slowly lowered the phone and stared at my own reflection in the dark screen — pale, desperate, trapped. Then I turned to face Braydon.

The realization struck me with the force of a physical blow. The timing. The absent shirt. The intimate nickname. It was a performance, and Dallas had been given a front-row seat.

“He’s unstable, Addie,” Braydon sighed, taking a step closer. “He doesn’t trust you. You don’t need that kind of toxicity—”

“Shut up,” I hissed, my voice trembling with a rage so profound it shook my bones.

Braydon blinked, playing the wounded protector. “I’m just trying to help, Addie.”

“Don’t you dare call me that,” I snarled, pointing a shaking finger at the door. “The girl you knew is dead. You killed her. Get out of my room. Now.”

His jaw tightened, the mask slipping for just a moment before he set the mug on the dresser and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

I sank to the floor and buried my face in my hands. I had seen the look in Dallas’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger. It was the look of a king who had just watched his queen commit treason.

Braydon POV

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, I let the sorrowful expression dissolve from my face. A cold, triumphant smile stretched across my lips.

It was almost too easy. The Lycan King was supposed to be a monster of logic and power, but when it came to his mate, he was nothing but a reactive beast.

I walked down the dim, carpeted hallway and pulled the untraceable ghost phone from my pocket, opening the encrypted chat with Suki.

Phase one complete, I typed, my thumb hovering over the send button. You’re up.

I hit send and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Dallas POV

The black screen of my phone reflected a monster.

Ragnar was clawing against my ribs, a suffocating tide of pure, unadulterated Lycan fury. The woman I had claimed as mine. The woman I had opened my soul to. And there he was — Braydon Hyde — half-naked, dripping wet, standing in her bedroom. The image burned behind my eyelids like acid.

I slammed my fist down. The century-old mahogany desk exploded into jagged splinters, the heavy wood collapsing in on itself.

The oak doors to my office flew open. Azalea stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with terror as she took in the shattered room.

“Dad?” Her voice trembled through our mind-link, a desperate attempt to soothe the beast bleeding into my aura.

I couldn’t rein it in. The storm of petrichor and cedar in the room was thick enough to choke on. If she stayed, Ragnar’s blind, jealous rage would consume her. I locked my glowing gray eyes onto hers and forced the full authority of my bloodline into my voice.

“Get. Out,” I snarled, the Alpha Command lacing the words with ice.