Chapter 512
A large screen on the wall flickered to life, revealing Marcus Hyde. He sat in a high-backed chair in what looked like the study of Hyde Manor—confined, as he had been for weeks, to the estate where Dallas had effectively placed him under house arrest. His face was haggard, the shadows under his eyes deep, but his voice when he spoke carried the same bitter edge it always had.
“Dallas Marshall is bleeding us dry,” Marcus said, his image crackling slightly on the screen. “We are weeks away from bankruptcy.”
Behind the massive obsidian desk sat his son, Braydon. His left arm was secured in a dark sling—a fresh injury he brushed off with a tight jaw—but his eyes gleamed with reckless ambition. He slid a thick folder across the desk.
“Two hundred million,” Braydon announced. “A bridge loan from The Rogue Syndicate Bank. It saves the Pack, and it funds your project, Adella.”
I approached the desk, my eyes scanning the dense legal text. “What’s the catch?”
“The collateral,” Marcus growled from the screen, his image flickering as he leaned forward. “They want The Everett Trust.”
My breath hitched. The Trust was my parents’ legacy, the last sacred tie to my White Wolf bloodline. Gigi had warned me about leveraging it, about the unseen vultures circling my heritage.
“It’s predatory,” Marcus argued, his voice sharp. “And risking her bloodline’s legacy is madness.”
“It’s war,” Braydon countered, his gaze locking onto mine, challenging me. “Dallas declared war on you, Adella. Are you going to be his obedient little charity case, or are you going to be his rival?”
The memory of Dallas’s suffocating control flared in my chest. I grabbed the pen. I didn’t want to be a victim anymore. Ignoring the knot of dread in my stomach, I signed my name on the dotted line, binding my legacy to Braydon’s.
On the screen, Marcus let out a long, defeated breath. He didn’t try to stop me. There was nothing left he could do.
Dallas POV
The sterile, dim walls of Dr. Alistair Vance’s private clinic felt like a tomb. I leaned back against the pillows, my body trembling from the lingering effects of the silver poison. The scent of ozone and impending storm—my aura—was heavy, suffocating the room.
Duncan stood rigidly beside my bed. “Sir, the application just came through.”
I stared at the tablet in my shaking hands. There it was. Adella’s elegant electronic signature, sitting right next to Braydon Hyde’s.
A visceral, soul-tearing agony ripped through my chest. Ragnar, my Lycan, threw himself against the bars of my mind, howling in absolute devastation. She had allied herself with a Hyde. She had mortgaged her parents’ legacy to a shadow bank—my shadow bank.
“If Braydon defaults,” Duncan said quietly, watching my knuckles turn white, “you will legally own The Everett Trust. She will think you stole it from her. She will hate you even more.”
My grip tightened on the tablet until the glass groaned. “I’d rather be the one to steal it from her than let a stranger do it.” I hit Approve.
“The funds are transferring,” Duncan confirmed. “But sir, the Pack Honor Clause…”