Chapter 251
Chapter 251:
She dodged my hand, her eyes glassy and swimming with fresh tears. “I just want him to know exactly what he threw away,” she hiccuped, her finger aggressively tapping the screen.
Before I could stop her, she hit the speakerphone button. The line rang twice before Quentin answered.
“Carmella? Baby, please,” Quentin’s voice echoed through the quiet penthouse, dripping with a pathetic, fabricated remorse. “I was going to tell you. It meant nothing p>
“You are a rotting fungus, Quentin!” Carmella screamed, her voice cracking with a devastating mix of whiskey and pure heartbreak. “You are a coward and a liar, and I hope your miserable life falls apart p>
From the deep shadows of the oversized leather armchair, a low, dark laugh rumbled through the room.
It wasn’t loud, but it carried the lethal, terrifying weight of an apex predator. Grant Blackwell sat completely still in the dark, yet that single, mocking sound sliced through the air like a silver blade.
On the other end of the line, Quentin stopped mid-apology. The fake remorse instantly vanished, replaced by a sharp, defensive spike of wounded male pride.
“Who is that?” Quentin demanded, his voice pitching higher with sudden, toxic jealousy. “Is there another man with you, Carmella? Is that where you ran off to p>
The sheer audacity of his accusation paralyzed me. But before I could defend her, the shadows in the corner shifted.
Grant stood up.
The atmospheric pressure in the living room plummeted to a freezing vacuum. His scent of rosemary and rain exploded, rolling over the velvet sofa in a heavy, unyielding wave of absolute Lycan dominance. He closed the distance in three terrifyingly silent strides, towering over the swaying, intoxicated woman on the couch.
𝘞𝘦𝘦k𝗅𝘆 𝗋еlе𝘢ѕe𝘀 𝗼𝘯
Carmella blinked up at him, too numb from the alcohol to register the primal danger radiating from his massive frame. Grant didn’t ask for permission. He smoothly plucked the cell phone from her trembling fingers.
“Who the hell is this?” Quentin barked through the speaker.
Grant stared down at the device, his storm-gray eyes completely devoid of mercy. “I will be the man who treats her far better than you ever could,” he stated. His voice was a calm, ice-cold whisper that promised absolute destruction.
Without waiting for a response, Grant ended the call. His large thumb swiped across the screen, permanently blocking Quentin’s number, before he tossed the phone onto the coffee table.
The sudden silence in the room was deafening.
Carmella stared at the black screen of her phone. The finality of the blocked number, combined with the massive amount of whiskey she had consumed, finally broke her. The last ounce of adrenaline drained from her fragile human body. Her eyes rolled back, and she swayed dangerously, collapsing backward.
I lunged forward to catch her, but my wolfless reflexes were far too slow.