Chapter 9
Adella POV
The silence inside the Maybach was thick enough to choke on. Outside the tinted windows, the steel skeleton of the city was rapidly giving way to the dark, encroaching blur of the forest, but my mind was still trapped in the penthouse study.
I could still feel the phantom pressure of Dallas's body caging me against the bookshelf. I could still smell him—ozone, cedar, and that terrifyingly addictive scent of raw power. For a moment back there, when his eyes had darkened to pools of obsidian, I thought he was going to bite me. I thought he was going to claim me not as a fake wife, but as... something else.
Something primal.
I shifted in the leather seat, my hands trembling in my lap. Dallas sat beside me, staring straight ahead, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. He looked composed, the perfect image of the billionaire Alpha, but the air around him crackled with a residual static energy that made the hair on my arms stand up.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "You said 'home,' but... I don't have a home."
Dallas didn't look at me immediately. He signaled a turn, guiding the car onto a private, winding road that cut deep into the mountains. The trees here were ancient, their branches forming a canopy that blotted out the afternoon sun.
"Moonstone Creek," he said.
The name hit me like a physical blow to the chest. All the air left my lungs in a sharp gasp.
"No," I choked out, panic clawing at my throat. "That's... that's impossible. Moonstone Creek was destroyed. The Rogues... the Hyde family absorbed the territory years ago. There's nothing there but ruins."
Memories I had locked away for a decade surged forward—smoke, screams, the smell of burning timber, and the lifeless eyes of my mother. Moonstone Creek wasn't a place on a map anymore; it was a graveyard.
"It was destroyed," Dallas corrected, his voice low and steady, like the rumble of distant thunder. "But I bought the land six years ago. I rebuilt it."
I stared at his profile, stunned. "You? Why would Dallas Marshall want a decimated territory in the middle of nowhere?"
"Because it is secure," he said simply, finally glancing at me. His gaze was intense, stripping away my defenses. "And because no one, especially Braydon Hyde, would dare set foot on my private soil."
He reached across the center console. I flinched instinctively, but he didn't pull back. Instead, his large, warm hand covered my icy ones, engulfing them completely. The heat from his skin seeped into my bones, grounding me, silencing the screaming panic in my head.
"You are safe with me, Adella," he vowed. "I will burn the world before I let anything hurt you again."
I wanted to pull away, to tell him that promises were just pretty lies men told before they broke you. But looking into his eyes, I couldn't find the lie.
Twenty minutes later, the trees broke, revealing a sprawling estate that took my breath away.
It wasn't the rustic pack house I remembered from my childhood. This was a fortress of glass, dark stone, and timber, cantilevered over the edge of the cliff like a predator surveying its kingdom. It overlooked the valley where my parents' village once stood, now lush and green, reclaiming the scars of the past.
Dallas parked the car and led me inside. The interior was cavernous, filled with modern art and furniture that looked like it cost more than my entire life's earnings. But despite the luxury, it felt... empty. Lonely.
"The master suite is down the hall to the right," Dallas said, setting my small bag on a console table. "It has the best view of the valley."
I froze, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. "And... where will you be sleeping?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. We were married on paper. We were alone in the middle of the wilderness. If he wanted to enforce his rights as a husband, who would stop him? I was a wolfless orphan; I had no power here.
Dallas watched me, his jaw tightening as if he could hear my racing heart.
"I have Pack business to attend to," he said, his tone clipping into a professional coolness. "I will be staying in the study in the west wing. You will have the master suite to yourself."
Relief washed over me, so strong my knees nearly buckled. But beneath it, there was a strange, confusing pang of... rejection? No, I scolded myself. Don't be stupid. He's sparing you.
"Oh," I breathed out. "Okay. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," a bright, familiar voice rang out from the back of the house.
I spun around. The glass doors to the terrace were open, and leaning against the frame, holding a glass of champagne, was Azalea.
"Azalea?" I gasped. "How... when did you get here?"
She grinned, her red hair catching the sunlight. "Dad called me while you were packing. Said you might need a friendly face so you didn't die of boredom out here with Mr. Grumpy." She winked at Dallas, who let out a long, suffering sigh.
"I thought you might appreciate the company," Dallas murmured, his eyes fixed on me. "I know I can be... intense."
I looked from Azalea's beaming face to Dallas's stoic expression. He hadn't just brought me here to hide me away like a possession. He had brought my best friend—my only friend—because he knew I would be scared. He gave me the master bedroom. He gave me space.
He was treating me like a person, not an asset.
"I..." My throat felt tight. "Thank you, Dallas. Really."
He gave a curt nod, turning away before I could read the emotion flickering in his eyes. "Dinner is at seven. Azalea, try not to burn the house down."
As he walked away toward the west wing, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of an empire, I felt the ground beneath me shift. I had signed a contract for protection, but standing here in the home built on the ashes of my past, I realized I had no idea who Dallas Marshall really was.
But for the first time in years, I wasn't looking for an exit.
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