Chapter 170
Chapter 170
+8 Pearls
Third Person’s POV
When Duke looked up, the calculating gleam that had briefly flashed in Carmen’s eyes was completely gone. Her expression had shifted flawlessly–her gaze now wide and clear, her voice trembling ever so slightly, like that of an earnest, helpless student.
“I didn’t see you this morning,” she said softly, clutching the umbrella tighter. “So I thought maybe I’d find you here p>
There was an innocence in her tone, but beneath it lay a kind of quiet persistence.
Duke frowned, trying to summon clarity through the haze of alcohol. Morning- yes, he’d driven past Ashmoor University on his way to report to Lucien Duskgrave. His mind had been clouded by anger, storming over Ebonclaw affairs–he hadn’t spared a second thought for the promise he’d made to this girl about picking up the umbrella.
He gave a tired nod, some of the tension in his shoulders casing “I see that’s why p>
He tried to stand, but his knees buckled beneath him. His body was heavy with drink, and his limbs no longer obeyed.
T–I’ll help you,” Carmen said, rushing forward.
Duke glanced at her again. She was trying hard, genuinely straining to support him.
What he didn’t know –what Carmen would never say aloud–was that she hadn’t just come
She’d looked into him.
o return the umbrella.
Duke, assistant to Prince Lucien of the Stormridge Pack. Loyal. Sharp. Trusted by one of the most powerful heirs in the werewolf world. He wasn’t just some forgetful rich guy. He was a potential weapon–or at least, a key.
She’d started digging the moment she saw that black Maybach outside Ashmoor University. And the more she uncovered about Duke’s position, the more she knew: he was her way in.
After all, wasn’t it always the people behind the throne who made the best targets?
Carmen had learned the hard way–since Riley was dragged down by the Ebonclaw Pack and her mother discarded like refuse–that brute force wasn’t always the most effective path to vengeance. But infiltration? That she could do.
And if Duke happened to have the kind of face that made her stomach flutter, well…. that was just fate making things easier.
She didn’t need to love him. She just needed him to look at her like she mattered.
Back on the sidewalk, Cannen managed to half–carry, half–drag Duke toward his car. His tall frame leaned heavily on her slender one and he groaned as his head lolled back against the headrest when she finally got him into the back seat.
“You drive?” he mumbled.
“Yes” she answered simply
He fished his keys from his coat and handed them to her without another word “Take me home p>
Carmen slid behind the wheel, her expression composed, calculating The moment his eyes closed and his breathing deepened she turned her head ever so slightly–toward the luxury apartment complex address he’d muttered:
Her lips curled
Perfec
The Maybach pulled up to one of Mooncrest’s wealthiest districts–Stormridge Alpha Quarter, where political elites and ancient bloo–llines made their dens
Carmen helped Duke up the stairs, scanning the entranceway and hallway for cameras. Her senses sharpened, she could almost feel the presence of surveillance near the front. But when they reached the bedroom–spacious, warm–tones, and
350 PM P P
Chapter 170
impeccably decorated–she found none.
Good
She dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed.
+8 Pearls
The wolf inside her was calm, but her mind spun with strategies. The room smelled of cedarwood and something distinctly
male. His scent.
Carmen’s gaze flicked to the bedside drawer, the gleam of metal–maybe a weapon inside. She made note of it and then turned back to the man passed out on the bed.
“Sir?” she called sweetly.
No answer.
“Sir?” she repeated, louder this time.
Still nothing. His breathing was deep and even.
So she moved.
She tore at her own shirt, letting the buttons scatter across the room like the beginning of chaos. Tugged her hair loose. Let it fall messily across her face. She mussed the bed, scratched at her collarbone until it bloomed red, then stumbled out of the bedroom, dragging sobs from her throat
“Don’t– don’t touch me! Please–1”
Her voice echoed down the hallway, high–pitched and full of feigned terror.
She bolted out the front door and into the street, shirt gaping open in the cold night air, a trembling silhouette under the glow of the lamplight. The late–night wind caught her hair as she walked with stumbling steps, sobs wracking her shoulders.
To anyone watching, she looked like a broken thing.
But Carmen–Carmen wasn’t broken.
She was playing the long game.
And tonight, she had just placed the first piece on the board.
Send Gifts
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