Semua Bab Wanted By The Alpha And His Brothers: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Lana's POV The note from ‘M’ which was definitely Morwen had lay buried at the bottom of my jewelry box, a hidden splinter in this new, polished life. I tried to ignore it, to lose myself in the calm rhythm Bastien had built for us. But it was like trying to ignore a heartbeat. The clock is ticking. And so was I. Moving through the spacious, silent apartment, a ghost in my own life. Bastien was out, handling the “business” of our disappearance by setting up new accounts, scouting remote properties. He was a fortress of efficiency, of quiet, dependable action. I was safe. I was comfortable. I was dying inside. Safe didn’t feel like sunshine. It felt like a very well-appointed, very quiet room. With Bastien, there was affection, a deep, brotherly care. He held me at night, his presence a bulwark against nightmares. But there was no fire. No terrifying, glorious inferno that consumed and remade you. There was no pull. The mate bond to Ronan wasn’t just silent; it was a dormant fault

Lana's POV He was arrogant. That one was for sure out of the way. I felt the heat in my cheek cool because a smug man in a tailored suit wasn’t going to make me crumble. I straightened my shoulders, the papers now neatly secured in my hands. “Being early is a sign of respect for other people’s time,” I said, my voice clear and carrying in the quiet corridor. “And scrambling to fix a minor accident shows initiative, not clumsiness. But I suppose interpreting basic courtesy as desperation is a… unique management perspective.” Maison Thorne, already several paces away, stopped. He turned slowly, those pale grey eyes narrowing with fresh interest. He hadn’t expected a retort. He’d expected cowering, apologies. “A unique management perspective,” he repeated, a smirk touching his lips. It wasn’t friendly. It was the look of a chess player spotting an unexpected move. “And you base this analysis on your extensive corporate experience, do you? From what I glimpsed on your fleeing pa

Ronan's POV The engine was cold. It ran on the frozen fuel of my will, and it was starting to grind. Kaelia stood before my desk in the east-wing office, her report delivered in a crisp, professional tone. “Finn’s movements are routine. Perimeter checks, drills with his team, meals in the hall. He communicates with Idris about security protocols, with the quartermaster about supplies. No unusual contacts. No secret meetings. He’s quiet, but he’s clean.” I stared at the map on the wall behind her, not seeing the lines of territory. “Quiet can be a cover. Silence can be planning.” “Or it can be a man who spoke out of turn, lost, and is now keeping his head down to avoid losing more,” Kaelia said carefully. She was the only one who dared offer a counter-opinion anymore. “The pack is tense, Alpha. They jump at shadows. Some of it is the threat from the Witch. Most of it is you.” My gaze snapped to her. “Are you questioning my leadership, Kaelia?” “I’m reporting the atmosphere,” she

Lana's POV The invitation lay in my hands like a lead weight, the elegant calligraphy blurring before my eyes. Blackthorn. The name echoed with a resonance only someone who’d lived in the shadow of packs would understand. The key turned in the lock. Bastien walked in, shaking rain from his coat. His eyes went immediately to the envelope in my hands, then to my face. He didn’t look surprised. He looked resigned. “It came,” he stated, hanging his coat with slow, deliberate movements. “You knew it would.” “Ronan would have to respond.This is how he responds. By forcing our hand in public.” He walked to the island, pouring himself a whiskey, neat. He didn’t offer me one. “We have to go.” “I want to go,” I said, my voice surprising me with its steadiness. Bastien’s head snapped up. “What?” “I want to go,” I repeated, setting the invitation down. “I want to see him. I want to look him in the eye and have him see that I’m not broken. That I made a choice and I’m living with it.” I

Lana's POV Ronan’s wrath was a beacon in the crowded room, a silent thunderclap that made the glittering chandeliers feel dim. My breath caught, my steps faltering for a fraction of a second. But Bastien’s arm under my hand was rigid, a reminder of the role we had to play. I couldn’t afford to be the startled deer, not here. I was the woman who had made a choice, and I had to own it with unshakable calm. I deliberately looked away, breaking the searing eye contact. I focused on the intricate pattern of the marble floor, then on the faces around me, offering polite, vague smiles to no one in particular. Ignore him. For peace. For survival. “The Lancaster contingent. How… fascinating.” The voice was a smooth, cultured baritone, aged like fine wine. Gideon Blackthorn materialized before us, having crossed the room with silent, predatory grace. He was older than Ronan, his dark hair silvered at the temples, his eyes a striking, watchful hazel. He wore his power not as a blazing aura,