Chapter 451
The words blurred, but the meaning struck me like a physical blow. Forged bank statements. Fabricated letters. Dallas was going to frame my dead parents as Rogue sympathizers. He was going to freeze Azalea’s future.
The last, pathetic ember of hope in my heart — the foolish thought that Dallas was simply angry, that he still loved me — turned to ash. He wasn’t just rejecting me. He was erasing my entire existence.
“Sign it, Adella,” Braydon said softly, his hand resting on my shoulder. “Free yourself from that monster. I will use the Hyde fortune to protect the gallery. I’ll fund Azalea’s schooling. Just let me protect you.”
A sob ripped from my throat. I was cornered. Defeated.
I took the pen from his hand. With a violently shaking grip, I signed Adella Everett on the dotted line, surrendering my title, my mate, and my soul.
The moment the ink dried, the room began to spin. The edges of my vision darkened. The crushing weight of grief and starvation finally pulled me under, and I collapsed into the suffocating darkness of Braydon’s arms.
Dallas POV
The heart monitor beside my bed beeped in a steady, mocking rhythm.
Then Harrison’s voice echoed in my mind, heavy with sorrow. It is done, my King. She has signed. But — she has collapsed.
A sickening, hollow snap reverberated through my chest. The legal severing of our bond didn’t break the mate-bond itself, but it cut her loose from my Pack, my protection, and my life. The physical backlash was a searing brand against my heart. I gripped the metal bedrails, knuckles turning white, fighting the urge to scream.
In the dead silence of the trauma ward, a single scalding tear slipped from the corner of my eye and soaked into the sterile pillow.
“It’s over,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice breaking. “She’s safe.”
I woke to the sterile pinch of a needle in my arm and the suffocating, sour scent of pine.
The guest suite at Hyde Manor was a gilded cage of cold marble and heavy velvet. Braydon sat beside the massive four-poster bed, his eyes gleaming with a manufactured, sickeningly sweet concern. “You’re awake,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. “Acute gastritis and dehydration. But you’re safe now, Addie. It’s over.”
I stared blankly at the ceiling. The space in my chest where his presence used to live was a hollow, bleeding crater. I had loved him, and he had discarded me. I didn’t want Braydon’s comfort. I didn’t want his voice. I just wanted the apocalyptic void inside me to swallow me whole.
I yanked my arm away, my fingers wrapping around the plastic IV tube.
“Adella, don’t — you need to rest,” Braydon urged, his Alpha tone laced with faux-gentleness as he reached for my wrist.
“I need air,” I rasped, my voice sounding like crushed glass.