Chapter 87
Chapter 87:
Adelina POV
The cell phone vibrated violently against the polished mahogany of my father’s desk, its harsh buzzing shattering the quiet sanctuary of the Alpha’s office. I stared at the glowing screen. Mother.
Exhaustion seeped deep into my bones. I had just purged the Parrish loyalists from the boardroom, but the phantom chill of the silver-laced wine cellar still clung to my skin. I didn’t want to answer. Yet a small, masochistic part of me needed to hear her voice — needed the final, undeniable proof to sever this toxic bond forever.
I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.
𝗧h𝖾 𝘣es𝘵 rе𝖺𝖽𝘪n𝗀 e𝘹𝘱е𝗋іеnc𝖾 𝗈𝘯 g𝘢𝘭ո𝗼𝗏𝗲lѕ.с𝗈m
“You ungrateful little Pack-wrecker!” Carolyn’s shrill voice pierced my eardrum, dripping with absolute venom. “Brent is sitting in a human jail cell, and Bryan’s accounts are completely frozen! You are destroying your own family p>
I closed my eyes, the faint, pure scent of my father’s winter snow offering a stark contrast to the poison pouring through the speaker. “Brent locked me in a freezing cellar with a silver padlock, Mother. He left me there to die p>
“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Carolyn scoffed, her tone laced with sickening, dismissive annoyance. “It was a joke. You were just a little cold. You always exaggerate everything to play the victim p>
My breath hitched. The sheer audacity of her gaslighting made my chest tight. “A joke? The Pack Doctor diagnosed me with severe silver toxicity and hypothermia. My organs were shutting down. Just like when I was ten, and Kira locked me in that silver-lined storeroom while you looked the other way p>
“You are lying for sympathy!” she shrieked, her panic over losing her lavish lifestyle making her vicious. “You are going to march up to your Lycan King right now and tell him to drop the charges against your brother. You will make him unfreeze our accounts, Adelina, or I swear to the Moon Goddess, I will disown you p>
The threat hung in the air. But instead of the familiar, suffocating fear it usually brought, I felt a sudden, profound emptiness.
The final thread snapped. She didn’t care that I had almost died. She had never loved me. To Carolyn Parrish, I was nothing more than a defective, wolfless resource to be traded for social status and designer clothes.
“You can’t disown what you never claimed,” I said, my voice dropping to a dead, glacial whisper. “We are done, Carolyn. Do not ever contact me again p>
I pulled the phone away, hit the block button, and tossed the device across the desk.
The silence that followed was absolute. For a moment, I felt nothing. Then the crushing, soul-tearing agony of mourning a mother who was still alive crashed over me. A ragged sob tore from my throat. I buried my face in my trembling hands, my shoulders shaking violently as years of suppressed abuse and heartbreak finally broke free. My scent — a chaotic storm of wild roses and bitter, salty tears — flooded the office.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors swung open.
The atmospheric pressure in the room plummeted. A thick, intoxicating wave of ancient cedar and raw, crackling power swept in, instantly suffocating the shadows of my grief.