Chapter 359
Chapter 359:
At the curb, my Chief of Staff, Leo, stood holding the rear door of my armored Cadillac open.
“Are the weekend schedules cleared?” I asked, my voice a low rumble.
“Yes, Senator,” Leo replied, handing me a thin manila folder. “And the final report on Quentin Marks. His assets have been completely liquidated. He is ruined p>
A cold, satisfied smile curved my lips. I didn’t even open the folder. “Destroy it. His name is never to be spoken again p>
Leo nodded, taking the folder back, but he hesitated. His Inner Wolf shifted nervously under my presence. “Sir… bringing Ms. Golden to the Blackstone Estate without a thorough background check… Lord Almon Blackwell will be highly displeased. He expects a vetted Luna p>
I stopped. The atmospheric pressure around the car plummeted to a freezing vacuum.
𝖳𝗁𝘦 𝗺o𝗌t 𝗽𝘰p𝘂𝗹а𝗋 ոо𝗏е𝗅ѕ о𝘯
I turned my head, my golden eyes locking onto Leo. The scent of rosemary and rain spiked with a dark, suffocating wave of pure Lycan dominance. Leo choked, his face turning ashen as his wolf immediately submitted to my Alpha aura.
“My father will accept my Mate,” I growled, the lethal promise vibrating through the crisp autumn air, “or I will remind him who holds the power now p>
I stepped into the dark, leather-scented cabin of the Cadillac, ready to bring my past exactly where she belonged.
Carmella POV
The drive to the Blackstone Estate was a blur of mounting dread. When the armored Cadillac finally rolled to a stop at the end of the mile-long driveway, the imposing ivy-covered stone mansion loomed against the purple twilight like a Lycan fortress.
I stepped out into the crisp autumn air, my legs trembling. An elderly housekeeper waited at the top of the grand stone steps. But as the porch light fell across my face, she froze. All the color drained from her cheeks. Her eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror — followed instantly by a devastating, shattering sorrow.
Beside me, Grant went completely rigid. I didn’t need an Inner Wolf to feel the lethal, freezing warning radiating from him. It was a silent, suffocating threat that forced the housekeeper to drop her gaze and bow her head, ushering us inside without a word.
The foyer was a cavern of black marble and heavy shadows. By the massive fireplace sat an elderly man in a high-backed leather chair. The scent of ancient parchment and power rolled off him, heavy enough to crush my lungs.
“Father,” Grant said, his voice ringing with absolute, unquestionable authority. “This is Carmella. My Mate p>
The word Mate sent a violent shiver down my spine. Almon Blackwell didn’t look shocked. His golden eyes swept over me with cold, calculating precision, assessing my worth in silence.
Before the suffocating tension could break, the rapid patter of footsteps echoed from the grand staircase.
A small boy rushed down, his dark hair disheveled. He stopped dead on the bottom step. His eyes — the exact same golden hue as Grant’s — widened in absolute, disbelieving joy.
“Mom?” Jaxon whispered, his voice trembling.