Dallas POV
The high-end human club smelled of expensive cigars, polished brass, and cheap intentions. I stared at the amber whiskey in my crystal glass, trying to drown out the relentless, maddening pacing in my head. Spencer Vance was sitting across from me, rambling about corporate mergers and women, but his voice was just white noise.
All I could see was the shredder.
I had fed Gemma’s handwritten Rejection into the blades earlier today, expecting her to break. I had expected tears, screaming, begging—*anything*. Instead, she had just stood there and looked at me. Her eyes were completely dead, devoid of any warmth or submission. That hollow, silent stare was tearing me apart from the inside out.
*“You hurt her! Our Mate! Fix it!”* Kael, my inner wolf, snarled viciously, slamming his massive claws against the confines of my mind.
"Aubree said she's dropping by in twenty," Spencer chuckled, nudging my arm and pulling me from my thoughts.
I didn't even look at him. The mere mention of Aubree's name grated on my nerves. "Tell her to fuck off."
Before Spencer could process the venom in my voice, my phone vibrated against the heavy mahogany bar. It was a message from my brother, Clark. He rarely texted me.
I opened it, and my blood ran ice cold.
A photo loaded on the screen. Three items laid out on a rusted car hood: a passport, a birth certificate I had never seen, and a thick manila folder clearly labeled *Algorithm 405 & 406*.
My lungs seized. That code was the very foundation of Blackwood Global’s logistics and my Pack's entire defense grid. I thought those documents were locked securely in my penthouse safe.
Beneath the image was a single line of text: *She's serious, brother.*
Panic, sharp and suffocating, gripped my throat. This wasn't a pathetic Omega throwing a tantrum. This was a calculated, lethal declaration of war. And my own brother was helping her.
I shoved my chair back so violently it crashed to the floor. My whiskey glass tipped over, shattering against the wood, but I was already moving. I ignored Spencer's shocked shout and stormed out into the night.
The tires of my Maybach screeched as I tore through the city streets, the neon lights blurring into meaningless streaks of color. My phone rang through the car's speakers. It wasn't a mind-link; it was a human phone call. Eleanor.
"Dallas!" my mother's shrill voice filled the dark cabin, vibrating with aristocratic fury. "You need to come home and control your Mate! She had the audacity to order Mrs. Higgins to prepare a guest room for her!"
My grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather groaned under my knuckles.
"A Luna, sleeping in a guest room like a commoner? I won't have the human staff gossiping about this Pack's stability," Eleanor hissed. "I took the keys from Mrs. Higgins. I locked her in the master suite. Get home and remind her who owns the Blackwoods."
I ended the call, slamming my foot on the gas pedal. I wasn't obeying my mother's command. I was answering the deafening roar of my Alpha blood. Kael was practically clawing his way out of my chest, driven by a frantic, possessive need to reclaim our territory and our Mate.
I pulled into the penthouse garage, the engine roaring before I killed it. I took the private elevator up to the top floor.
When the doors slid open, my Alpha aura exploded into the dim corridor. The heavy, suffocating scent of cedarwood and snowstorm swallowed the space. Mrs. Higgins stood trembling by the console table, her face pale with absolute terror, but I didn't spare her a single glance.
My eyes were locked on the heavy ebony double doors of the master suite. Behind that wood was the faint, defiant scent of rain-washed grass. *Mine.*
I didn't knock. I didn't hesitate. I threw my entire weight forward and shoved the doors open with a deafening crash.
