Alpha's Private Plaything (Elsa and Drake Stone) novel Chapter 165

Chapter 165

Drake

I sat in my car, the leather seats absorbing the last rays of the setting

sun. The interior reeked of cigarette smoke and the faint trace of

strawberry perfume–Vera’s perfume.

My fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as I took

another long drag from my cigarette, the fifth one in the past hour.

The smoke burned my throat, but I welcomed the sensation. Physical

pain was easier to manage than the thoughts churning through my

mind.

I replayed Sophia’s words from our confrontation. The accusation

that Elsa had suffered a miscarriage while I had forced her to attenu a

business dinner to cover for Vera hit me like a physical blow. I had

dismissed her absence that day as nothing more than a petty act of

defiance or laziness, but now the truth twisted in my gut like a knife.

“Damn it,” I muttered, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.

The memory of Elsa’s pale face, her hollow eyes, the way she had

moved stiffly the following day–all the signs I had chosen to ignore

because they were inconvenient.

The realization made me reach for another cigarette, lighting it with

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trembling fingers. How many times had I misjudged her actions? How

many times had 1 prioritized my business, my pack, and even Vera

over Elsa’s wellbeing? My wolf stirred restlessly inside me, sensing

my distress and responding with agitation.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Kayla, my most trusted assistant. The

one who had replaced Elsa in the office, but could never replace her

in other ways.

“Sir?” Kayla answered on the first ring, her voice crisp and

professional.

“I need you to delete the security footage from the entrance of the

medical center,” I ordered, keeping my voice cold and controlled

despite the storm raging inside me. “I don’t want anyone using it

against us or creating negative publicity for the pack.”

“Right away, Mr. Stone,” Kayla replied without hesitation. “Anything

else?”

I added, my grip tightening on the phone until my knuckles turned

white. “Check on Lillian Hale’s silver poisoning treatment. I want to

know everything–her current status, treatment history, and the

background of her primary physician.”

After ending the call, I sat in silence, the cigarette burning forgotten

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between my fingers. The smoke curled upward, creating ghostly

patterns in the confined space of my car. I thought about Elsa’s face

the last time I had seen her–pale, exhausted, and filled with hatred

directed at me. Her hands had been clenched into fists so tight her

knuckles turned white, body trembling with rage as she’d spat, “You

selfish bastard! You’ve taken everything from me–my freedom, my

dignity, my future. What the hell else do you want?” The memory

made something in my chest constrict painfully.

I flicked the cigarette out the window and started the engine. The

powerful motor roared to life, matching the turmoil of my thoughts.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in the parking lot of the medical center,

waiting for the doctor. The man approached cautiously, his white coat

flapping in the evening breeze, his steps hesitant as if approaching a

predator. Which, I supposed, wasn’t far from the truth.

“Mr. Stone,” the doctor greeted me nervously, his adam’s apple

bobbing as he swallowed. “How may I help you?”

I studied the man’s face, noting the beads of sweat forming on his

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