CHAPTER 168
The suffocating silence that followed Isabella's piercing question was thick with the dying scent of Alaric's shattered pride and the bitter, lingering taste of Clara's restraining magic.
The kitchen, for all its gleaming, state-of-the-art lighting and cold, polished marble surfaces, suddenly felt less like a modern sanctuary and more like a cruel, ancient stage of the absurd—a place where the past and present were colliding with violent force.
Lucian's hand remained anchored firmly onto Isabella's waist, his thumb tracing the expensive silk of her dark robe in a possessive motion.
Through the thrumming threads of their bond, Isabella could feel the vibrating hum of his suspicion—a dark, cold current that swirled in the back of his mind, questioning why she possessed such an intimate, detailed knowledge of this wolf's history.
