Chapter 477
Chapter 477:
“Adelina? Please, don’t hang up!” Carolyn Parrish’s voice was a shrill, desperate sob. Through the speaker, I could almost smell the rancid, sour stench of her weak Omega Inner Wolf howling in blind panic. “Bryan left me. The Sterlings threw me out on the street. I have nothing. I’m your mother, Adelina. You have to help me p>
I stared out at the freezing city below. A few months ago, her tears might have triggered a pathetic, ingrained need for her approval. Now I felt absolutely nothing.
“Where were you?” I asked, my voice a flat, glacial void that surprised even me.
“What? Adelina, I need money p>
“Where were you when Kira locked me in the silver storeroom?” I cut her off, the words slicing through the air like a blade. “Where were you when the silver burned my veins and forced my Inner Wolf into a coma? Where were you when the entire Pack humiliated me every single day p>
“I — I had to survive, Adelina! You don’t understand the politics p>
“I understand perfectly,” I replied, my wild roses and storm scent remaining completely undisturbed. “You chose your abusers over your own daughter. You sold me to the highest bidder to keep your status. You owe me nothing, Carolyn, and I owe you exactly the same p>
“You ungrateful little bitch!” she shrieked, her desperation instantly curdling into venom. “I gave you life p>
“And I am finally living it p>
𝘔𝗈r𝗲 𝗇𝗈𝘃𝘦𝗹s 𝘰n.со𝗆
I pressed the red button, severing the call. With two quick taps, I blocked the number permanently.
I felt no rush of vindictive triumph. Instead, a profound, soul-deep peace washed over me. The ghost that had haunted my entire life simply evaporated.
A massive, heavy chest pressed against my back. Kain’s arms wrapped securely around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The intoxicating scent of his ancient cedar enveloped me completely, shielding me from the remnants of my past.
“The peace of final freedom,” Kain murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His powerful Lycan Inner Wolf purred — a low vibration that resonated through my spine, offering silent, unwavering support.
“Yes,” I whispered, leaning my head back against his shoulder. “It’s gone p>
Hours later, the steady hum of the Blackstone Pack’s Gulfstream G650ER filled the luxurious cabin as we soared over the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies, bound for Aspen.
I sat across the aisle from Kain, a cup of herbal tea warming my hands. A few seats ahead, Grant Blackwell was reading a briefing file while Carmella gently adjusted the collar of Jaxon’s sweater. The boy beamed up at her, his dark eyes shining with pure adoration. Grant looked up, his gaze softening as he watched them.
To anyone else, they looked like a flawless portrait of a family blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. But my intuition — sharpened by my own trauma — screamed that something was terribly wrong.
I couldn’t shake the memory of the Blackstone reception in New York.
When Arthur Sterling had approached us, I had watched a visceral, physiological terror seize Carmella’s body. She had recoiled from the human patriarch as if he were a monster dripping with blood. It wasn’t mere dislike; it was a profound, agonizing trauma response.
And Grant? Grant had shielded her, yes. But his reaction had been entirely too calculated.