Adella POV
The adrenaline that had sustained me in the jewelry store evaporated the moment we sat down in the velvet booth of The Gilded Bean, an upscale café three blocks away. My hands shook so violently that the china cup rattled against its saucer, threatening to spill the dark roast all over the pristine white tablecloth.
"Drink," Azalea ordered, sliding a sugar packet toward me. Her voice was firm, lacking its usual playful lilt. "You look like you're about to pass out, and I am not carrying you back to the car."
I took a sip, the bitter heat grounding me, but it couldn't stop the racing of my heart. Across the table, Azalea watched me with the intensity of a predator assessing its prey. She wasn't just my friend right now; she was the Alpha King's daughter, and she smelled a secret.
"Talk, Adella," she said, leaning forward. Her eyes, a piercing shade of amber, locked onto mine. "That ring. The Blackwood guards. The way the manager looked at you like you were royalty. Who is he?"
I swallowed hard. "Azalea, I—"
"Don't you dare lie to me," she cut in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Braydon is unhinged. If you've got yourself mixed up with some dangerous underground crime lord to get back at him, I need to know. I can't protect you if I'm blind."
"It's not a crime lord," I whispered, my voice trembling. "It's... it's your father."
The silence that followed was heavier than lead. The clinking of spoons and the murmur of other patrons seemed to fade into a dull roar. Azalea blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"My father?" she repeated, the words sounding foreign on her tongue. "Dallas?"
I nodded, gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. "We signed the papers yesterday. It's a... a Binding Protection Contract. A marriage in name only."
I braced myself for her anger. I expected her to scream, to flip the table, to accuse me of gold-digging or betraying our friendship.
Instead, a strange sound erupted from her throat. It started as a snort and quickly spiraled into a full-blown, hysterical cackle. She threw her head back, laughing so hard that a few people turned to stare.
"Oh my Goddess," she gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. She reached across the table and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. "Adella, you didn't just get a shield. You dropped a nuke on him!"
"You... you aren't mad?" I asked, bewildered.
"Mad? I'm ecstatic!" Her grin was predatory, showing a hint of fang. "Do you realize what you've done? Braydon Hyde just threatened the Lycan King's wife. My father isn't just an Alpha, Adella. He's a monster in a silk suit. Braydon didn't just lose you; he declared war on a god."
She sat back, looking at me with a newfound respect. "So, I guess I should call you 'Mom' now?"
"Please don't," I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "It's just a contract, Az. He needed a wife to stop the Council's nagging, and I needed... safety."
"Safety," Azalea mused, her expression softening. "Well, you definitely got that. Nobody touches Dallas Marshall's things and lives to tell the tale."
Suddenly, Azalea went rigid. Her eyes glazed over, losing focus as she stared at a point over my shoulder. The air around her shimmered slightly with the static charge of a powerful Mind-Link.
I froze. Being wolfless, I had never experienced the telepathic connection of the pack, but I knew the signs. She was speaking to someone.
A moment later, she blinked, the color returning to her irises. She looked at me, her expression shifting from amusement to something akin to awe.
"He just linked me," she whispered.
My stomach twisted. "Is he angry? Did the manager tell him?"
"Oh, he knows," Azalea said slowly. "But he didn't ask about the store. He asked, 'Is she okay?'"
I stared at her. "What?"
"He asked if you were okay, Adella," she emphasized, leaning in. "My father doesn't ask questions. He gives orders. He commands. He demands status reports. In twenty-two years, I have never heard him ask a question that soft. He didn't ask about the damage to the store or the reputation of the pack. He asked about you."
For a second, a treacherous warmth bloomed in my chest. Is she okay?
But I crushed it instantly. I couldn't afford to be delusional. Hope was a dangerous thing for a girl like me.
"He's checking on his asset, Azalea," I said, my voice turning cold and flat. I pulled my hand away from hers. "Don't romanticize it. I am an investment. His property was attacked on his territory by a rival. Of course he wants to know if the 'goods' are damaged. It's bad for business."
Azalea frowned, shaking her head. "I don't think so. I felt his tone through the link. It was... dark. Possessive. That wasn't business."
"It's a contract," I insisted, picking up my coffee cup again to hide the tremor in my lip. "That's all it will ever be. And frankly, that's all I want it to be."
Azalea didn't argue, but the look she gave me was filled with pity—and a knowing skepticism that terrified me more than Braydon's rage. She thought this was a fairy tale starting. She didn't understand that monsters like Dallas Marshall didn't save girls like me because they cared. They saved us because they wanted to own us.
And I had just sold myself to the most dangerous owner of them all.
