Alpha's Private Plaything (Elsa and Drake Stone) novel Chapter 161

Chapter 161

Elsa

“Elsa, you think you have any bargaining power here?” His voice was

low, almost conversational, but I knew that tone. It was the calm

before the storm.

He moved with the fluid grace, closing the distance between us. His

fingers caught my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I fought the

urge to spit in his face, my breathing becoming shallow and rapid.

“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again–your life is mine. Your future,

your career, your health. Everything. I decide when you work, where

you live, who you see.”

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to remind me of

his strength. “I said it before–your marriages, your funerals, your

sicknesses, your health–all of it belongs to me.”

I wanted to pull away, to scream, to claw his eyes out–but my

mother’s face flashed before my eyes. Without Drake’s influence,

without his money, how would she get treatment? How would I keep

her safe? The anger inside me collided with paralyzing fear, leaving

me frozen in his grip, my entire body trembling with suppressed rage.

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“You’re a fucking monster,” I whispered, my voice cracking as tears burned behind my eyes. “You took away my mother’s chance at treatment. You gave it to Vera’s father instead.” Tears spilled over, running hot down my cheeks. “Is that what you want? To drive me to the edge until I have nothing left? Until I break completely? You goddamn sadistic piece of shit.”

Drake’s expression hardened, his nostrils flaring, but before he could

respond, Allen stepped forward.

“I can verify that Elsa did miscarry,” he said calmly, his unexpected

intervention causing Drake to release my chin. I stumbled back a

step, wiping furiously at my tears with the back of my hand.

“I have some medical background. My elder brother works at the Twin

Moon Medical Center.”

Drake turned to him, suspicion clear in his stance. “And how exactly

would you verify something like that?”

Allen gestured toward me. “Elsa, may I see your phone? The medical

reports should still be in your email or gallery.”

With trembling fingers, I unlocked my phone, nearly dropping it in

the process. My stomach twisted into knots as I handed it to him.

Allen scrolled through my gallery, stopping on images of the

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gynecological exam report I’d received just days ago–the only

medical documentation I had.

“Here,” Allen said confidently, turning the screen toward Drake. “This

gynecological report shows significant uterine scarring consistent

with multiple pregnancy losses. See these hormone levels? They

indicate recent reproductive trauma.”

I hugged myself tightly, fingernails digging into my arms, feeling

exposed and raw as Allen continued his analysis, expertly weaving

truth with creative interpretation.

“The pattern in her medical history documented here suggests

someone who has experienced multiple pregnancy losses in a short

period. See these white blood cell counts? They indicate her body was

under significant stress.”

Drake’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes were fixed on the

screen. I found myself biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted

blood, desperate to hold back the scream building in my throat.

“Drake,” Allen continued, his voice softer now, “Elsa has been under

enormous pressure these past years. Working sixty–hour weeks,

dealing with her mother’s illness, maintaining your schedule, and

managing pack diplomacy. Her body shows all the signs of chronic

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