Chapter 444
Chapter 444:
“She locked me out, Carter,” Kain growled, his voice thick with raw agony. “I gave her the world, and she looks at me like I’m a stranger p>
A pause. Carter was speaking into his mind.
Slowly, the chaotic, wounded fury in Kain’s voice began to shift. The blind rage evaporated, replaced by a terrifying, glacial clarity.
“You’re right,” Kain murmured, the realization hitting him like a freight train. “She isn’t being irrational. She built a fortress because she feels unsafe. It’s Isabelle. That bitch must have said something to her p>
I held my breath.
I heard Kain sever the link with Carter. A second later, his voice rang out, completely devoid of emotion — the voice of the Lycan King delivering a death sentence.
“Fletcher, find Isabelle Sterling. I want to know every breath she takes. And find out who told her about Chloe p>
с𝘩i𝘯еѕ𝘦 n𝘰𝗏𝖾𝗅𝘀 𝘵𝘳аո𝗌l𝘢𝘵е𝘥 𝘰n 𝗴𝗮𝗹ո𝘰𝘷𝖾𝗹𝘴.со𝗆
Carmella Golden POV
Five days. That was how long I had existed as a ghost in my own Chelsea apartment. The morning sun cast long, freezing shadows through the blinds, stretching across the living room floor like the bars of a prison cell. I sat on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly at my laptop screen.
Ping.
The encrypted email from the Geneva genetics lab had finally arrived. My hands shook violently as I opened the PDF. I bypassed the complex biological markers and scrolled straight to the bottom of the page. The clinical black text blurred for a fraction of a second before snapping into devastating focus.
Maternal Match Probability: 99.99 p>
A ragged gasp tore from my throat. Jaxon. My sweet, beautiful boy with the dark eyes. He was mine. The overwhelming euphoria of finding my pup crashed violently into the agonizing reality of the seven years stolen from me. I collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor, my rosemary and rain scent turning chaotic and sour with grief. Ferris Hawthorne had lied. Grant Blackwell had orchestrated my entire nightmare.
I wept until my lungs burned. But as the last tear fell onto the wood, the broken, wolfless victim inside me died. In her place, the ruthless CFO rose. I wiped my face, walked to my closet, and pulled out my sharpest, most unforgiving black suit. I was going to get my son back.
Thirty minutes later, I stormed past the bewildered receptionists and shoved open the heavy mahogany doors of Grant Blackwell’s district office.
The room was a monument to his political power, the air thick with the oppressive, triumphant scent of sandalwood and whiskey. Grant sat behind his massive desk. He didn’t look surprised. In fact, as I slammed the printed DNA report onto the polished wood, a dark, predatory satisfaction gleamed in his golden-flecked eyes.
He had known. He had let me find the truth just to watch me walk willingly into his trap.
My chest heaved, but the primal instinct to scream and fight died in my throat. I was a wolfless human standing before a Lycan Senator. Anger was a useless currency here. If I wanted my pup, I had to trade the only thing I had left.