Chapter 124
Chapter 124:
I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to the human private investigator on the other end.
“I don’t care what it costs,” I snarled, my voice vibrating with aggressive ozone. “Dig into his college years. Find every record of him and Fletcher Banks p>
“Yes, Mr. Davenport. We’re on it p>
I ended the call, a dark, bitter smirk twisting my lips. Everyone has a secret. And I will burn his world down with it.
Adelina POV
The faint, pure scent of winter snow and pine in my Alpha office was a stark contrast to the dirty work laid out on my mahogany desk.
I snapped the latex gloves onto my hands, ensuring not a single trace of my wild rose scent would contaminate the evidence. Harvey Hester stood quietly across from me, watching as I slid the high-definition photographs into a plain manila envelope.
The images were damning — Vincent Parrish and Sloane Prescott kissing in the underground parking garage, and the two of them sharing an intimate dinner at Le Bernardin, paid for by the Pack’s widows’ fund.
“Take this to Queens, Harvey,” I commanded, sealing the envelope with a confidential label addressed to Mrs. Lily Parrish. “Mail it from a crowded human post office. I want no digital or olfactory trail leading back to us p>
𝘙𝖾𝗮𝖽 f𝗋𝗈𝗆 у𝗼𝗎𝘳 р𝘩𝘰nе 𝘰𝘯
“Consider it done, Luna.” Harvey bowed his head, took the envelope, and slipped out the door.
I peeled off the gloves and tossed them into the trash. I had just severed Vincent’s financial jugular. Now I only had to wait for his wealthy, powerful wife to bleed him dry.
A flash of movement caught my eye. Through the glass wall of my office, Sloane Prescott was strutting down the executive corridor in a designer dress that cost more than a maid’s annual salary. When she caught me looking, she stopped. A sickeningly sweet, arrogant smirk spread across her face, and she offered a mocking little wave.
She thought I was just a wolfless puppet. She thought she had won.
I didn’t glare. I tilted my head, gave her a flawless, equally sweet smile, and waved back.
Enjoy it while you can, little leech, my mind whispered, cold and absolute. The reckoning is coming.
Sloane turned and walked away, her cloying floral perfume lingering in the hallway like a stain.
I sat back down, but before I could open the quarterly budget, my computer chimed with an urgent email. The sender’s name made my spine straighten: Mrs. Tate.
She was the Luna of a powerful allied Pack and one of our top VIP clients. I opened the message and scanned the furious, capitalized text complaining about a staff member’s highly inappropriate conduct toward her mate, Mr. Tate.
I checked the employee schedule. Sloane was currently assigned to the lobby lounge — exactly where Mr. Tate was having his afternoon scotch.
A dangerous, predatory thrill ignited in my chest. I didn’t need to wait for Lily Parrish’s divorce papers to destroy Sloane. The universe had just handed me a silver bullet.