Chapter 353
Third Person’s POV
By noon, Trista arrived at a restaurant near the hospital.
Alaina and Wynn had already ordered.
Trista looked at Alaina, hesitating for a second. “Alaina, now that the bond is severed, it wouldn’t be right for me to call you ‘Mom’ anymore p>
Alaina gracefully poured her some juice. “As long as you’re comfortable, a title is just a label. Call me whatever you like p>
Wynn reached out and took Trista’s hand, her voice thick with sympathy. “When you left him, why the hell did you walk away with nothing? You should’ve taken him for everything he’s worth p>
Trista patted her hand and pulled a sleek, black metal card from her purse, sliding it across the table toward Alaina.
“He forced this on me. The amount in here is… insane. Please, take it back to him p>
Trista had checked the balance. It was five billion dollars.
She used to think the Ironthorn men were just cold and selfish; she never understood how they maintained such a stranglehold on Los Angeles or why they looked down on elite European bloodlines like the Lockes.
But when she saw the string of zeros on that account, she finally understood the terrifying depth of the Ironthorn legacy.
This money was a liability.
If the pack elders found out she’d walked away with that much capital, they’d never leave her or the Silverlights alone.
“When Cassian handled the paperwork, he didn’t touch the Ironthorn shares or the real estate,” Alaina said, calmly sliding the card back.
“He didn’t even use the local pack accounts. This money came from his private offshore vaults. It’s his personal property. If he wants you to have it, take it. Wynn and I won’t say a word to anyone p>
Trista remained firm, her finger pressing the edge of the card. “I won’t be able to sleep if I keep this. I didn’t earn it, and I don’t want it p>
Wynn shrugged, playing with her own black card. “It’s a gift. Just keep it. Honestly, that amount isn’t even a quarter of what Ironthorn pulls in every three months. Just put it in your savings and stop worrying about it p>
“Not that much?” Trista let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Wynn, I’m not touching a cent of this p>
Trista’s eyes turned cold. “I’ve spent three years learning just how difficult the Ironthorn Alphas can be. Now that I’m finally out of Cassian’s grip, I want zero strings attached. No financial ties, no favors. I don’t need his charity p>
Seeing the professional, independent wall Trista had built around herself, Alaina realized this was her line in the sand. She didn’t push any further and tucked the heavy card away.
Trista finally felt the lingering weight of that Alpha aura lift.
The three of them sat by the window, and even without the mating bond, the warmth between them remained.
Outside the window, Samantha watched them, her face a mask of fury.
Seeing Alaina—the former Ironthorn Luna-personally looking after Trista, while Wynn leaned into her like they were still sisters, made Samantha’s pupils flare with pure jealousy.
“This bitch lost her title,” she thought. “How does she still have the respect of the Ironthorn women p>
Samantha lurked in the shadows like a scavenger until the lunch ended.
Once Alaina and Wynn drove off, she stepped out and blocked Trista’s path.
“Hold it right there,” Samantha rasped, her voice dripping with cheap aggression.
Trista stopped, looking at her with total boredom. “Samantha, you’re polluting the air just by standing here p>
“You’re unmated, Trista,” Samantha
said, puffing out her chest as if she already owned the place. “Stay away from Cassian, and stop trying to use his family to climb back into the pack. You’re an outsider now. Deal with it p>
Trista wondered if Samantha’s brain had been permanently fried in her “accident” years ago. “Samantha, who the hell do you think you’re
barking at? You think you hate net
leverage because your wolf is falling apart? Or because you have a face that isn’t even worth a marking p>
“Cassian tore up his soul-bond just for me,” Samantha hissed. “That’s all the
leverage I need. If you’re smart, you’ll take your pathetic Silverlights and crawl out of L.A. for good p>
Trista raised an eyebrow, her gaze mocking. “Oh? So you don’t need me to save your life anymore p>
“As long as you’re not hovering around Cassian, I’ll be fine. I don’t need your pity,” Samantha said, straightening her back.
Trista took a half-step back, her eyes scanning Samantha’s outfit with clinical brutality. She was wearing cheap knock-offs—fake leather, messy stitching, a whole outfit that probably cost less than a hundred bucks.
“The janitors at the Ironthorn estate wear custom-fitted workwear that costs ten grand a suit,” Trista said with a cold smirk “And you’re standing here in garbage that didn’t even come from a thrift store, trying to tell me where I can and can’t go? You’re a joke p>
Samantha instinctively tried to hide her scuffed, yellowing sneakers. Her face turned pale.
She was desperate.
Alaina had blocked her acting gigs and drained the child support she’d scammed out of Cassian.
She was currently living on payday loans and handouts from her ex-mother-in-law. She didn’t have a cent for luxury.
But she told herself it didn’t matter. As long as Cassian still felt he owed her his life, the massive Ironthorn vaults would eventually swing wide open for her.