Chapter 35
Elena's POV
I was shivering when I finally made it home, the sky already pitch black above me.
The bus had stopped two blocks away from Cross Manor, and I'd walked the rest of the way with frozen tears still stinging my cheeks, my eyes swollen, my heart numb. When I pushed open the manor's front gate, I heard my father's voice from the living room, unusually animated.
"A dinner invitation! The Vance family has invited us to dine with them!" His voice was actually excited. "Vivian, do you understand what this means? They might be considering giving us funding, or offering territorial protection!"
I kicked off my wet shoes and tried to slip upstairs unnoticed, but my father had already heard the door.
"Elena! You're back?" He rushed out from the living room, the excitement on his face pausing briefly when he saw my red-rimmed eyes, but that flicker of concern lasted less than a second before being replaced by something far more important to him. "Tomorrow night you must attend, and you must conduct yourself properly. The Vance family has invited our entire family to dinner. This is a critical opportunity."
I opened my mouth, wanting to say I didn't want to go, but my throat felt blocked, unable to produce sound.
"I don't want—" I finally managed to squeeze out those few words, my voice so weak even I could barely hear it.
"I don't care what conflicts you two have!" My father cut me off, his voice suddenly sharp with a commanding tone, carrying an authority that brooked no argument. "You are his fiancée. This is a pact, not a game! Do you understand? This concerns the survival of our entire family!"
I couldn't resist my parents. I felt my knees weaken, could only nod numbly.
Only then did my father turn back to the living room, satisfied, continuing to discuss with my mother what to wear tomorrow night, what gift to bring. I saw my mother sitting on the sofa, silently arranging a gift box, her face expressionless, showing only a deep, suffocating sense of powerlessness.
I climbed the stairs, each step like dragging chains that weighed a thousand pounds.
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The next evening at seven sharp, we arrived at Blackwood Manor.
The elderly butler led us through a long corridor into the main hall. The room was too large—high ceilings, dark wood paneling, the silver wolf totem mounted on the wall, everything declaring this family's power and status.
Randy sat at the head of the table in a high-backed chair that resembled a throne, the massive Vance family totem looming behind him. Marcus and Isabella flanked him on either side, while Damon stood by the window with his back to everyone.
The moment I stepped into the room, I felt the oppressive layering of pheromones: Randy's ancient Alpha pressure, though weakened, still commanded instinctive fear—the aura of a ruler accumulated over decades; Marcus's pheromones were sharper, colder, like a judge ready to pass sentence at any moment.
"Good evening, Grandpa Randy." I forced a smile, bowing to the head of the table.
Randy looked me up and down with those clouded but still sharp eyes that made me feel like a specimen on a dissection table. "Elena, you seem to have lost weight," he said slowly, his voice carrying the rasp of old age. "Don't go learning from those human girls with their diets. Wolves need strength."
"I'll be mindful of that." My voice sounded hollow and compliant.
Damon finally turned around, our eyes meeting briefly. I saw something in his gaze—exhaustion? Impatience? Or some complex emotion I couldn't read? But it lasted only a second before he gave a bland nod, devoid of any warmth.
The butler indicated we should be seated. By tradition, the fiancée should sit beside the future Alpha, so I was placed next to Damon. When I sat down, he didn't even glance at me, just mechanically picked up his napkin.
The entire meal was unbearably oppressive. Randy, Marcus, and my father discussed territorial matters and business cooperation in low voices, my father desperately trying to appear humble and agreeable, hoping to secure investment. Isabella and my mother made small talk, but Isabella kept casting assessing glances my way that made me feel like I was sitting on hot coals.
The sound of silverware hitting plates echoed through the vast hall, each metallic clink striking against my taut nerves. I struggled to maintain proper posture, cutting food into small pieces, mechanically chewing and swallowing, everything tasting like ash. Damon did the same, his movements elegant but distant, as if performing some ceremonial duty rather than enjoying a meal.
Just after the main course had been served, Marcus suddenly set down his knife and fork and cleared his throat.
"There's a matter that must be addressed tonight."
The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him.
Marcus looked at me, his gaze like an X-ray trying to see straight through me. "Regarding Damon's altercation at the Neon Nest, I reviewed the Enforcement Division's records."
My face went white instantly, the silverware nearly slipping from my hands onto my plate.
"The records show that Damon was protecting a rogue wolf named Scarlett when the conflict occurred." Marcus paused, his sharp gaze boring into me. "But Isabella told me you claimed Damon got into that fight protecting you?"
All eyes turned on me like searchlights. My father stared at me in shock: "Elena? You lied?" Randy frowned: "Elena, why would you say such a thing?"
Only Damon was staring at Marcus, a flash of anger in his eyes.
My mind went blank. I knew the truth—Damon had asked me to help him by lying, saying "just tell them I was protecting you, they'll forgive me more easily," and I'd done it because I wanted to help him. But now, I was the liar.
Marcus continued his interrogation, his voice devoid of warmth: "The enforcement records show no trace of Elena. You merely showed up later to post bail for Damon."
Isabella added coldly: "I'd believed my son had lost control trying to protect his fiancée, which is why I forgave him. And now?"
Damon suddenly slammed his chopsticks down on the table with a sharp crack and stood up. "Is this whole dinner just to put me on trial?"
"Don't speak to your elders that way!" Isabella snapped.
"She was only trying to help me!" Damon's voice carried suppressed fury. "Scarlett was being harassed at the bar—I can't even step in when someone's being bullied?"
Marcus gave a cold laugh. "You think tonight is about targeting Elena? We're protecting this pack's future. You get into trouble, drag her down with you. We'd hoped Elena could rein you in, but instead you've corrupted her."
Damon turned his face away, clearly fed up with the lecture.
Isabella looked at me, her eyes filled with deep disappointment and anger. "Lying for him is acceptable? Elena, when did you become the kind of child who tells nothing but lies?"
The words hit like a slap across the face. I felt all the blood rushing to my head, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms as I fought to keep from breaking down right there.
Damon tried to take responsibility: "This is all on me, alright? I take full blame. Throw me back in the silver chamber if that's what you want."
Marcus sneered. "You think we care whether you go to the chamber or not? The point is your choices. What exactly is your relationship with this Scarlett?"