Sold to Bastard Alpha after My Divorce!-Chapter 74

Kael’s POV

I sat in my car outside the Shadow Moon building again, engine off, staring up at that dark window on the third floor. This had become my nightly ritual now—driving here after midnight, parking in the same spot, watching the same empty window like somehow she might appear there. Like maybe if I wanted it badly enough, the universe would take pity on me and bring her back.

Pathetic. I was completely, utterly pathetic.

Fenrir stirred restlessly in my mind.

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, and immediately her face was there—those silver eyes looking up at me with so much hope, so much fragile trust, even after everything I’d put her through. The way she’d reached for me when I kissed her cheek. The way her fingers had trembled against my skin.

And then my own voice, cold and cruel and calculated, shattering all of it.

*"We went on a few dates. I understand that might have created certain... expectations. But we’re not the same kind of people, Aria. We never were."*

My fist slammed against the steering wheel before I could stop it. The impact sent pain shooting up my arm, and I welcomed it. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to feel something other than this hollow, gnawing emptiness that had taken up permanent residence in my chest.

She was too good for me. That was the truth I’d been running from. She was too pure, too genuine, too real. And I was so terrified of what she made me feel that I’d burned everything to the ground rather than admit I was falling in love with her.

*"Stay away from me after this. We won’t have any relationship from now on."*

Those were my last words to her. My final words. I’d shoved money at her like she was some whore I was paying off, and I’d told her to disappear from my life.

And she had.

God help me, she’d actually done exactly what I asked.

I forced myself to start the car. There was no point sitting here all night again. She wasn’t coming back to this place. She wasn’t coming back to me. And sitting in the dark, marinating in my own regret, wasn’t going to change anything.

I needed to think. I needed a new plan. I needed to find some trace of her, some clue about where she might have gone.

But first, I needed to go home and face whatever fresh hell was waiting for me there.

---

The Blood Crown estate was never quiet, not really. Even in the dead of night, there was always staff moving through the halls, always the hum of security systems, always the distant sound of my father’s paranoia manifesting in patrols and checkpoints.

But tonight, the silence was different. Heavier. The kind of silence that comes after something terrible has happened.

I felt it the moment I stepped through the front door—that sick, familiar tension in the air. The sharp metallic tang that I’d learned to recognize before I was old enough to understand what it meant.

Blood.

My mother’s blood.

I was running before I consciously decided to move, taking the stairs two at a time, my heart slamming against my ribs with every step. The east wing. Their quarters. That’s where the scent was coming from, getting stronger with each breath I took.

I heard the crash before I reached the door—the unmistakable sound of furniture being destroyed, of glass shattering against walls. And then my mother’s voice, high and desperate and terrified.

"Magnus, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!"

I slammed through the double doors so hard they nearly came off their hinges.

The room was destroyed. The antique coffee table had been flipped, its glass top shattered across the floor like a field of diamonds. Paintings hung crooked on the walls. A lamp lay broken in the corner, still sparking feebly.

And in the center of it all stood my father, his massive frame heaving with rage, his fist raised above where my mother cowered on the ground.

She was bleeding. Her lip was split open, blood running down her chin and dripping onto her silver hair. One eye was already swelling shut. She had her arms wrapped around her head, making herself as small as possible, and the sight of it made something inside me finally, irrevocably snap.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!"

The roar that came out of me wasn’t human. It was pure Alpha command, amplified by rage so intense I could feel Fenrir surging forward, trying to force a shift. My vision flickered gold at the edges, my canines lengthening, my body preparing for a fight it had been avoiding for twenty-five years.

My father turned slowly. His red-gold eyes were wild, completely devoid of the calculated control he usually wore like a mask. This was the real Magnus Blood Crown—the monster that lurked beneath the veneer of civilization.

"This doesn’t concern you, boy." His voice was a growl. "This is between me and my mate."

"Your mate?" I laughed, and the sound was ugly, raw with hatred. "You haven’t treated her like a mate a single day in your miserable life. You’ve treated her like property. Like a punching bag. Like something you own instead of someone you’re supposed to love."

"Love." He spat the word like it was poison. "Love is weakness. Love is what’s destroying you right now, isn’t it?"

He stepped toward me, and even now, even with all my rage, I felt the instinctive urge to back down. He was still the Alpha. Still the most powerful wolf in the territory. And he knew it. "You are the reason your mother is bleeding on the floor right now."

He smiled, and there was no humanity in it at all. "The council is getting restless. They’re asking questions about why the Blood Crown heir has been neglecting his responsibilities. Why he’s been skulking around the city like a lovesick puppy instead of securing an alliance with Silver Fang. Why he seems to be following in his pathetic brother’s footsteps."

"Leave Lucian out of this."

"Why? It’s relevant, isn’t it?" He started circling me, the way he’d circled countless opponents before destroying them. "Two sons, both disappointments."

The fury that exploded through me was blinding. I didn’t make a conscious decision to attack—my body just moved, driven by decades of suppressed rage and grief and hatred.

My fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying crack. His head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth, and for one glorious moment, I saw genuine surprise in his eyes. The almighty Magnus Blood Crown, caught off guard by his own son.

Then he hit me back.

His fist drove into my ribs with the force of a sledgehammer. I felt something crack—actually crack—and pain exploded through my side so intense that my vision went white for a second. I staggered backward, gasping, but managed to stay on my feet.

"Finally." My father wiped the blood from his lip, looking almost pleased. "Finally showing some backbone. I was starting to think I’d raised nothing but cowards."

I lunged at him again, and we collided in a flurry of fists and fury. He was stronger than me—I’d always known that—but I was faster, and my rage was a living thing now, feeding strength into my muscles. I got in two more hits before he caught my arm and twisted, sending me crashing into the remains of the coffee table.

Glass bit into my back. Pain screamed through every nerve. But I was already rolling, already pushing myself up, already preparing to attack again.

"STOP!"

My mother’s scream cut through the violence like a knife. She was on her feet now, swaying, one hand pressed against the wall for support.

"Both of you, stop! Please!"

I froze, my fist still raised. My father did the same, though his eyes never left mine.

"Go," she said to him. Her voice was shaking, but she didn’t look away. "Go cool off. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re like this. But get out of my sight."

For a long, terrible moment, I thought he might hit her again. His hands were still clenched into fists. His body was still coiled with violence.

But something in her gaze must have given him pause. Or maybe he was just tired of the fight.

"This isn’t over," he said to me. "You want to challenge me, boy? Do it properly. Submit a formal challenge to the council. See what happens."