Chapter 50 The push
ADIRA
He pushed me.
Again.
It’s not the force of the fall that knocks the breath out of me. It’s the humiliation. The searing, blinding burn of being discarded like I’m nothing. My elbow throbs where I hit the floor, the sharp edge of the dresser cutting through skin I was too proud to protect.
I blink at the ceiling, stunned. Not from impact. From rage.
He pushed me. Again.
Like I’m some nuisance. Some obstacle in the way of what he really wants.
I force myself upright, teeth clenched. My knees wobble beneath me, legs trembling, not from weakness, but from the storm boiling under my skin. I touch my side and flinch. Wet. Warm. Blood.
He doesn’t even know he hurt me.
And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
I stagger to my feet, using the edge of the bed to balance. My hand slips in my own blood on the floor. I wipe it away angrily, leaving streaks of red on the polished wood like a reminder that I was here. That I bled for this.
I glance at the door he walked out of like I meant absolutely nothing.
Last night was supposed to be different.
I was supposed to be his partner. His future queen. The one at his side. The announcement has just been made.
Instead, he ran after her.
Iris.
The girl he marked.
The girl who should never have made it past the gates.
Their bond is a threat, to me, to everything I’ve worked for, to the crown I’ve bled for.
And I’m bleeding again.
I stumble to the mirror and peel back the fabric at my ribs. The cut’s not deep, but it stings like hell. Bruises are already blooming up my arm from where I hit the floor. I force down the lump in my throat and stare at myself.
My mascara is smudged. My lips are trembling. I look like a girl on the edge of tears.
I hate it.
I hate how I keep letting this happen. How I keep making space for a man who treats me like I’m disposable.
And yet, I stood there last night, in a room full of power, smiling like everything was perfect.
“Where’s your fiancé?” one of the elders asked, swirling wine in his glass like the question was casual.
I laughed. Light, effortless, fake.
“Oh, Darian? He just stepped out to take a call. You know how he is with business.”
More guests asked. More questions. More excuses.
“He’s checking on security.”
“He went to greet Alpha Conan.”
“He’ll be back soon.”
He didn’t come back.
Not to me.
Not for me.
I swallowed the embarrassment with every sip of champagne, each one colder than the last. I smiled through it all, even as the other she-wolves whispered behind their perfect little fans and jeweled flutes.
I told myself to be patient.
Iris would be dealt with.
She wasn’t the problem. The bond was.
The bond.
Something primal. Uncontrollable. Dangerous.
But that’s the thing about power, it doesn’t matter where it comes from. What matters is who controls it.
Iris may have the bond. But I have strategy. Loyalty. Legacy. I have position.
And if Darian won’t see that, maybe his father will.
The Lycan King doesn’t deal in emotion. He sees value. He rewards strength. Dedication. Consistency.
Everything I’ve given. Everything I’ve sacrificed.
And if I can’t win the son, I’ll make damn sure I have the father.
I wrap a shawl around my shoulders, wincing at the movement. I’m bleeding, bruised, and furious.
But I will not break.
I walk out of the room, heels echoing down the corridor. I straighten my back, lift my chin, and smile.
Let the court see me.
Let them whisper.
I’ll give them something to talk about soon enough.
The game has changed.
And I intend to win.
The corridor stretches endlessly as I limp toward the Lycan King's study. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my injured side, but I welcome it. Let the bruises show. Let the tears fall. I need them to see, need him to see, what Darian has done.
I pause outside the grand oak doors, composing myself. A deep breath, a practiced sob, and I push them open.
Inside, the Lycan King stands by the fireplace, his imposing figure silhouetted against the flames. But it's the other man in the room who makes my heart stutter. My father.
"Adira?" he says, concern etching his features as he rushes to me. "What happened?"
I let the tears flow freely now, collapsing into his arms. "Father... it's Darian. He... he pushed me."
The Lycan King's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. "Explain."
I pull back slightly, ensuring my voice trembles just enough. "I confronted him about his absence during the celebration. He was... cold, dismissive. When I tried to reason with him, he shoved me. I fell, hit the dresser. I think... I think I might be bleeding."
My father growls, stepping forward with barely contained fury, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Is this how your son treats his betrothed? Is this the man you’ve raised to one day rule our kind? Because if this is a glimpse into their future, into my daughter’s future, then perhaps we should reconsider this union entirely.”
His words hang heavy in the air, a bold threat, one that makes my heart stop.
I blink through the tears clinging to my lashes, panic coiling beneath my ribs. No. Not that. Not that. The union is the one thing I can’t afford to lose. The crown. The title. The power that comes with being Queen of the Lycans. I’ve come too far, endured too much, swallowed too many insults from Darian to let it all slip away now.
“Father, please,” I breathe, reaching for him, forcing my voice to break in just the right places. “Don’t say that. I-I love Darian. Truly.”
He looks at me, his expression hardening into disbelief.
I press on, clutching his arm. “I want to be his Queen. I want to stand beside him. But I can’t keep enduring this… this violence. I only wanted to talk to him. And he… he pushed me like I was nothing.”
The Lycan King raises a hand, silencing us. "I apologize for my son's behavior. This is unacceptable. I assure you, it will not happen again."