Chapter 94

Chapter 94:

“He’s a monster!” Braydon spat, the venom in his voice lending him a sudden surge of strength. “Have you ever asked him about the missing years in his file? The Pack Wars? He isn’t just an Alpha — he’s a butcher. Rumor has it he loses control, that his Lycan blood makes him volatile. He slaughters everything in his path. His beast, Ragnar — he will eat you alive p>

I stared at him, unimpressed. “Is that all p>

“He doesn’t love you,” Braydon sneered, desperation leaking into his tone. “He’s using you. He knows there’s something in your bloodline — why else would the Alpha King take a wolfless stray? He wants a breeder, Adella. He wants to use you to produce powerful pups and then discard you like trash p>

Something inside me snapped. Not in anger, but in clarity.

“When Katherine fed me silver,” I said, my voice low and steady, cutting through his frantic rambling, “you hid behind your mother’s skirt. You let me writhe on the floor. But Dallas threw himself between me and danger to save a woman he barely knew. Tell me, Braydon — who is the real monster p>

Braydon froze. The truth hung in the air between us, heavy and undeniable.

“Get out,” he hissed, dropping the facade entirely. He sat up straight, the dying invalid vanishing in an instant. “You think you’ve won? You’re nothing. I will go to the Alpha Council. I will make sure no Pack in this country ever hires you. You will be destitute p>

“You already tried that with Gavin Stout,” I replied, turning toward the door. “It didn’t work. Elder Augusta Marshall hired me personally this morning. I start Monday p>

Braydon’s jaw dropped. The color drained from his face — for real this time. The name Marshall carried a weight that crushed his petty threats to dust.

“Goodbye, Braydon p>

𝖱𝘦𝖺𝖽 𝘸𝗶𝘵𝗁𝗈𝘂t 𝗶n𝗍еr𝗿𝘂𝗉𝘵𝗂𝗈ո𝗌 о𝗇 𝗴𝖺lո𝘰𝘃e𝗅𝘴.сo𝗆

I walked out. Behind me came a scream of impotent rage, followed by the shattering crash of porcelain against the wall.

I descended the grand staircase, my heels clicking rhythmically on the marble. Victoria Hyde was waiting at the bottom, her hands clasped anxiously in front of her pearls.

“Is he…” she started, her eyes darting up the stairs as the echo of the crash faded. “Is he alright p>

I paused on the bottom step and looked down at the woman who had watched me be mistreated for years and done nothing.

“He’s fine,” I said coldly. “He still has enough energy to throw things p>

I didn’t wait for her response. I pushed past her and walked out the front door, inhaling the cool, damp air like oxygen after nearly drowning.

The rain had stopped. I looked toward the gate, expecting to see the imposing black silhouette of Dallas’s armored Bentley.

It was gone.

Panic flared in my chest for a split second — a sharp, instinctual fear that he had left me. But then I saw it.

Idling in the spot where the Bentley had been was a bright cherry-red convertible, top down despite the damp weather. Sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing oversized sunglasses that covered half her face, was a young woman with platinum blonde hair and a smile that spelled trouble.

Azalea Sterling.

She lowered her sunglasses and winked at me. “Get in, loser. We’re going to get tacos p>