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ZAIA. I lean back in my office seat, moving my chair slightly from side to side as I stare at the ceiling. Atticus is working on the file. We both were certain there must be a clue in it, and he thinks Sebastian somehow sent it. As much as the thought of him stings, if he is there for Sia, then ma
The poison… “Poison. Who did you deliver the poison to?” I snarl. “I don’t know their name, believe me! My duty was to deliver it, that’s it!” He says, he's shaking now, but I do believe him. He cannot lie under the alpha command. “Poison that you knew would harm me and my unborn pups. You knew t
ZAIA. Silence. One that is an answer louder than any word could possibly be. I stand up and he looks up at me, pale. “I said nothing,” He says, his heart thumping. “I said nothing!” “Your silence was enough,” I say quietly as I walk around my desk and open my drawer. I take out my gun, seeing
Was it because she knew I’d choose the sublime? I don’t know… Setting my phone on record, I slip it back into my pocket, making sure not to cover the speakers. I enter the gates of the King's mansion; the guards allowing me through, and I walk to the front door. I ring the bell, feeling my stomach
ZAIA. She’s not expecting me to say that. All colour drains from her face and her heart thumps harder as she looks at me and our eyes meet before she looks away, trying to compose herself, but it’s futile. “Z-Zaia! Sit down dear, you are just confused-” “I’m not Agatha. I’m not. I know the truth,
“Alpha…” “Agatha King is a traitor, and I am simply questioning her.” I say coldly. “Am I? There is no proof! These men are witnesses to that!” she scoffs. I glance at the guards, and I suddenly realise they are not on my side, even if my command has stopped them. Of course, you would have allie
ZAIA. Pain sears through my waist, spreading like fire through my entire body. I look down, realising I’ve been shot. In my shock at Agatha’s words, I ended up lowering my guard and losing control of the barrier on the door. My ears ring with a shrill whistling sound just as Agatha lunges at me.
“I am not playing,” I answer the unspoken question that I know is on her mind. She glances down the stairs, almost as if she wants to scream for help, but I can already hear the sound of backup approaching. “Gaultier, is he your son, Agatha?” I ask, wondering if my sudden assumption might be true.