Chapter 95

Chapter 95:

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Dallas hadn’t left me — he had sent the cavalry.

I walked toward the red car, leaving the grey tomb of Hyde Manor behind me forever.

The wind whipped through my hair, tangling the strands into a chaotic mess, but I didn’t care. For the first time in years, the air tasted like freedom — like gasoline and wet asphalt, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of Hyde Manor.

Azalea drove like she had a death wish, weaving her cherry-red convertible through highway traffic with terrifying precision. She was humming along to the radio, seemingly unbothered by the storm I had just walked out of.

But I couldn’t shake the coldness that had settled in my chest. Not from the wind — from Braydon’s parting words.

A butcher. A monster. Missing years.

“He said Dallas slaughtered people,” I blurted out, my voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. “Braydon. He said Dallas has missing years in his file because he was a monster during the Pack Wars p>

Azalea’s humming stopped abruptly. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t look at me, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, but the playful atmosphere in the car evaporated instantly.

“Braydon Hyde is a desperate little rat,” she said, her tone sharp.

“But is he lying?” I asked, turning in my seat to face her. “About the missing years p>

𝘞𝘩𝘢t 𝖾v𝗲𝗿𝘺𝗼ո𝖾 𝗂𝘴 𝗿𝖾𝗮𝗱і𝘯𝗀 𝘰𝗻

Azalea didn’t answer immediately. She swerved off the highway, taking an exit that led to a quieter, grittier part of town, and pulled into the gravel lot of a roadside taco stand. The neon sign buzzed loudly in the twilight. The air smelled of grease, grilled onions, and cheap cleaner.

She killed the engine and finally turned to face me. Behind her oversized sunglasses, her expression was uncharacteristically solemn.

“He’s not lying about the file,” Azalea admitted quietly. “But he’s lying about the monster p>

My heart hammered against my ribs. “Tell me p>

Azalea sighed, pulling off her glasses and tossing them onto the dashboard. She looked young — barely twenty — but her eyes held a shadow that spoke of old ghosts.

“The Council erased those years because Dallas wasn’t just a soldier, Adella. He was the Commander of the Dire Guard p>

I drew in a sharp breath. The Dire Guard was a myth — a black-ops unit whispered about in fear, tasked with missions no honorable Alpha would touch. Assassinations. Purges.

“They were sent into the Rogue territories to stop an uprising,” Azalea continued, her voice steady but strained. “It was a slaughter. But Dallas didn’t lose control. He did what had to be done to ensure the Packs survived p>

She looked out at the flickering neon sign. “My father, Zane Sterling, was his Beta. His best friend p>

I blinked, the pieces of the puzzle floating in my mind but refusing to connect. “Your father p>