Chapter 515
I sat stiffly at the wrought-iron table on the garden patio, staring at my untouched breakfast. Across from me, Braydon looked remarkably composed for a man who had tried to force a Mark on me hours ago. His arm was freshly bandaged, and he had doused himself in bergamot cologne, but his face was still pale, his movements careful.
He slid a sleek tablet across the glass tabletop.
The Hyde Alliance: A New Power Couple to Dethrone the Tyrant? The RogueNet headline blared in bold letters, accompanied by a paparazzi photo of us entering the estate.
“It’s a lie,” I said, my voice flat.
“It’s a narrative, Adella,” Braydon corrected smoothly, leaning forward. “My Pack is questioning my leadership because of Dallas. We need to show them a united front. Last night… my Inner Wolf was just eager. The fever clouded my judgment. Let me make it right.”
Before I could process his audacity, he pushed his chair back and dropped to one knee. From his pocket, he produced a velvet box, snapping it open to reveal a massive, antique pink diamond—the ring of the Hyde Pack Luna.
“Marry me,” he urged, his eyes gleaming with a dark, calculated obsession. “Let me Mark you. We can make this lie a reality.”
I looked at the ring, feeling nothing but a cold, hollow disgust. “Put that away, Braydon,” I said, my tone dropping to a glacial whisper. “I am here because you signed a two-hundred-million-dollar loan. You are my weapon against Dallas, and I am your business partner. There is no affection here. If you ever try to touch me again, I will walk out those gates and let Dallas tear you apart.”
The color drained from his face, his jaw clenching as the humiliation of my public rejection set in. He opened his mouth to snap back, but a deafening roar swallowed his words.
Three black, armored SUVs tore up the long driveway, their heavy tires carving deep trenches into Braydon’s manicured lawn. They slammed to a halt just yards from the patio. In seconds, twelve Dire Guard Warriors clad in black tactical gear swarmed out, forming a lethal perimeter.
The air grew heavy, pressing down on my chest. It was the kind of presence you felt in your bones before you saw the man himself.
The back door of the lead SUV opened. Beta Duncan Whitaker stepped out, his face grim, and turned to assist the man inside.
My breath hitched.
Dallas Marshall emerged, but he wasn’t walking. Duncan eased him into a sleek, black wheelchair. Dallas’s skin was ashen, his cheekbones sharp and hollowed out, but his storm-gray eyes burned with a terrifying, possessive fury as they locked onto me.
“She is my Mate. My Luna. My responsibility.” Dallas’s voice was a raspy, guttural growl that vibrated through the patio stones. “She is coming home.”
Braydon stepped in front of me, puffing out his chest. “You’re trespassing, Marshall! And you’re delusional. The Rejection ritual is complete. She is mine now.”