Chapter 92 Chapter 92. Zephyr Reads Lysander’s Threat
Zephyr had long known that Zoria’s attitude toward him was terrible, so he did not take it too hard. He even comforted himself that not sleeping together was probably for the best—at least he would not lose control and end up hurting her.
He watched as Zoria hugged the dog and walked into the room, his gaze lingering until the door closed behind her. Zephyr remained seated on the sofa, casually picking up a cigarette from the coffee table and lighting it. The habit of drawing in a deep drag was etched into his bones—the smell of nicotine could temporarily drive away the exhaustion and the simmering irritation boiling in his Alpha chest.
A few minutes later, the phone lying on the table vibrated twice. Zephyr picked it up and glanced at the screen. An unfamiliar number had sent a message.
He opened it to find a photo taken while he and Zoria were having dinner. There was no need to guess who had sent it.
Lysander.
Zephyr narrowed his eyes, his gaze darkening as a thin, mist-like killing intent seeped out, the instinctive aura of a pack leader. Before that feeling could settle, the phone vibrated again.
Lysander: “So you got yourself a new toy and tossed Faye aside, huh, Zephyr?”
Seeing the name “Faye” on the screen felt strangely distant. Come to think of it, he had not seen her in a very long time. If Lysander had not mentioned her, her image might soon have faded completely from his mind.
His temples throbbed violently as a wave of unease surged up—the Alpha’s intuition, sensing cracks forming in the bond of the pack.
Zephyr’s fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as he sent back a single line. “What are you trying to say?”
Lysander: “I mean, if you don’t need Faye anymore, let me have some fun with her. To be honest, I’ve been craving that ‘toy’ from nine years ago for a long time.”
Zephyr shot up from the sofa. An icy chill surged up from the soles of his feet, spreading through every joint until even his fingertips trembled. He took several deep breaths, his face turning pale.
Forcing himself to calm down, he immediately called Faye’s mobile number. The only response was a cold, mechanical voice: the phone was switched off. He switched to calling the villa’s landline. It rang for a while before someone finally answered. Zephyr had barely begun to relax when he heard the maid Jenna’s voice, thick with sleepiness.
“Hello, may I ask who’s calling?”
Zephyr asked coldly, “I’m asking you—where is Faye?”
Startled fully awake by his tone, Jenna stammered, “Ms… Ms. Faye is at home…”
Zephyr immediately sensed something was wrong. His eyes flashed. “Is that so? Then put her on the phone.”
Jenna did not dare say another word. Cold sweat soaked her back. She had just lied. Faye was not at the villa at all. Recently, Faye had often gone out and returned very late. She never said where she had been, only asked Jenna to help cover for her.
Zephyr rarely asked about Faye’s affairs, so Jenna had thought it would be fine. She had not expected her lie to be exposed so quickly.
Zephyr lost his patience. “Speak. Now.”
After a brief silence, Jenna muttered, “Ms. Faye went out.”
“When?”
“Earlier this evening. There was a phone call, and she left right away. By now, she’s been gone for over three hours.”
Zephyr wanted to curse Jenna for letting an Omega go out at this hour—her soft, vulnerable scent in the night was no different from bait for predators. But he knew arguing now was pointless.
He hung up on Jenna and immediately called Lysander, but the call was cut off the moment it connected.
So furious he felt his lungs might explode, Zephyr sent a single message. “Where is Faye?!”
Not long after, another photo was sent. Zephyr tapped it open, and his breath caught instantly.
In the image, Faye was tied to a pillar, her body covered in blood, her eyes empty and hollow. Both arms looked as if they had been severed. Zephyr’s expression turned glacial. His pupils narrowed slightly, like a beast locking onto its prey before tearing it apart—his gaze sharpened, radiating a dark, brutal ferocity.
"Lysander, how dare you do this?!" He bit out each word, yet he did not let his fury drive him out of control. An Alpha accustomed to standing at the head of the pack forced himself to stay calm.
The one in the photo was indeed Faye—but not the Faye of the present. It was Faye from nine years ago. Nine years earlier, she had been taken by Lysander and subjected to unimaginably brutal torture. When Zephyr finally rescued her, the scene he saw was exactly the same as the one captured in this photograph.
Lysander: "I haven’t done anything to her yet. But what happens later is another story. After all, a toy from nine years ago that slipped through my fingers has suddenly fallen back into my hands. If I don’t have a little fun with it, that would be such a waste."
In that instant, the calm that always lingered in Zephyr’s eyes seemed to shatter. Fine red threads spread from the corners, flooding his pale violet irises and staining them a terrifying crimson. The Alpha instinct inside him was pushed to its absolute limit.
Lysander: "Let me show you something even more interesting."
The message arrived, followed immediately by a video sent to Zephyr’s inbox.
Zephyr’s fingers almost trembled as he tapped it open. A part of him was afraid to look. Lysander had a hundred ways to torture his prey, and every single one of them was cruel beyond measure.
Zephyr clenched his fist, his nails digging deep into his palm. When the video began to play, the veins on the hand holding the phone bulged sharply. A pitch-black room filled the screen. In one corner, a frail figure collapsed on her knees, her body shaking uncontrollably. After a moment, she slowly lifted her face toward the camera.
Her entire face was smeared with fresh blood, her features nearly unrecognizable. Her blue eyes were hollow and desperate, a look so empty it sent a chill through him.