Chapter 3 No.3

Adella POV

The interior of the Aston Martin didn't smell like new leather. It smelled like him.

Crushed cedar and the ozone of a gathering storm filled the cabin, heavy and suffocating. It was a sensory assault, a reminder that even miles away, Dallas Marshall was wrapping his fingers around my throat. I sat in the driver's seat, my hands gripping the wheel until my knuckles turned white.

"Connect your phone," Azalea urged, buckling her seatbelt. "This sound system is insane. I want to hear bass that rattles my teeth."

I fumbled with my cracked iPhone, plugging it into the sleek console. The system synced instantly, the large touchscreen dashboard lighting up. But before I could select a playlist, a message notification expanded across the entire screen, the letters bold and impossible to ignore.

Braydon: Stop playing games. Come home. You belong here.

The air in the car grew stagnant. The words hung there, glowing with a possessive toxicity that made my stomach churn.

Azalea let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's not just interested, that's creepy, obsessive psycho level." She poked the screen with a manicured nail. "He thinks you're a lost puppy, doesn't he? 'Come home.' Gross."

"He doesn't like losing things he considers his property," I muttered, quickly disconnecting the phone to banish his words.

"Well, you're driving a car worth more than his entire house now," Azalea smirked, leaning back. "Let him choke on that."

I forced a weak smile, starting the engine. The car purred like a beast waking from slumber. I was fleeing one monster only to drive straight into the lair of another, and the irony tasted like ash in my mouth.

Ten minutes later, we were huddled in a booth at the campus coffee shop. The scent of roasted beans and sugary pastries usually calmed me, but today, my nerves were wire-tight.

"You need to see this," Azalea said, sliding her phone across the table. Her playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a sharp, protective edge.

On the screen was The Howler, the Pack's exclusive social media app. A photo of Katherine Parrish smirked back at me, her arm draped possessively over a brooding Braydon. But it was the caption that made my blood run cold.

Cleaning house. Finally getting rid of the wolfless parasites who think they can climb the ladder by clinging to Alphas. Purity matters.

"She's talking about me," I whispered, the shame burning my cheeks. The comments section was already filling with laughing emojis and cruel agreements from other Pack members.

"Don't worry," Azalea said, taking a sip of her latte. "I handled it."

I looked closer. Underneath Katherine's post, Azalea Sterling-daughter of the Alpha King-had commented a single emoji: a wolf skull.

In our world, that wasn't just a comment. It was a death threat. It meant you are dead to me.

"Azalea, you shouldn't have-"

"She's a bitch, and she's boring," Azalea interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Like... that."

She pointed a finger at my neck.

I froze. In my agitation, I must have tugged at the cashmere scarf Dallas had left for me. I quickly tried to readjust it, but Azalea's hand shot out, stopping me. Her honey-colored eyes widened, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply.

"That's no bruise from a fall, Adella," she hissed, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's a claim."

Panic seized my chest. The dark, purple mark on the sensitive skin of my neck throbbed under her scrutiny. It was where Dallas's teeth had grazed me last night, a branding iron made of flesh and desire.

"I... I walked into a door," I stammered, the lie tasting sour.

"Bullshit," Azalea scoffed. "I know what an Alpha's mark looks like. It reeks of possession." She narrowed her eyes, scanning my face. "Who is he? And don't tell me it's Braydon, because that mark is fresh, and it smells like... power."

I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell the Alpha King's daughter that her father had bought me, marked me, and married me in a span of twelve hours.

"It's... complicated," I managed, looking down at my coffee. "He's an older man. Someone... powerful."

Azalea stared at me for a long moment, the tension stretching thin. Then, unexpectedly, she grinned.

"An older man? A sugar daddy?" She laughed, delighted. "Oh my Goddess, Adella! That is the perfect revenge. Let Braydon rot while you get pampered by some rich, powerful Alpha. I love it."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She didn't know.

Just then, Azalea's phone buzzed on the table. The screen flashed a caller ID that made her smile vanish instantly: The Bank.

"It's my dad," she whispered, her posture straightening reflexively. She answered, her voice shifting from gossip-girl to obedient daughter. "Hi, Dad."

I watched her face, my heart hammering against my ribs. She listened for a moment, her eyes flicking to me with a confused expression.

"Now? But I have Econ in an hour," she protested weakly. A pause. The voice on the other end was low, indistinct, but the tone of absolute command was unmistakable. "Okay. Yes, sir. We're coming."

She hung up and looked at me, grabbing her bag.

"Change of plans," Azalea said, her voice tight. "He wants us at the flagship store downtown. Immediately."

"Us?" I asked, dread pooling in my stomach.

"Yeah. He said you need to be prepped for a dinner tonight." She looked at me, a flicker of suspicion warring with her confusion. "Adella, what kind of 'translation work' requires a gala dress?"

I gripped the edge of the table, the platinum ring on my finger feeling heavier than ever. Dallas wasn't just keeping me; he was putting me on display.

"I don't know," I lied again, standing up on shaky legs.

But I did know. The King was summoning his property.