Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 86

That voice—there was something hauntingly familiar about it, something that clawed at the edges of my memory. It felt recent, yet just out of reach, like a half-remembered dream.

“Silverstone,” the voice whispered again, now unmistakably closer. “I know you’re awake. Your heartbeat gives you away.”

A sudden wave of dread tightened around my throat, choking me. I forced myself to remain silent, silently cursing the heightened senses that betrayed my waking state so easily.

Without warning, a rough hand yanked me upright, fingers snapping sharply near my face. I flinched instinctively, the sting lingering despite myself.

“Who are you?” I asked, deliberately softening my voice to sound fragile, scared—a mask that came easily given the genuine terror coursing through me. “Why are you doing this?”

A low, mocking chuckle echoed in the dim space. “Don’t pretend you don’t know, Silverstone. That act doesn’t suit you.”

Suddenly, something clicked deep inside my mind. That voice… it was familiar.

“Ryan?” I breathed, shock piercing through the fear. My stomach twisted painfully as the pieces slid into place. “You’re… Ethan?”

“Very perceptive,” he sneered, his tone thick with condescension. “I was wondering how long it would take you to catch on.”

A cold wave swept through my veins, chilling my blood to ice. Ethan Morris—the man who had supposedly been the grateful beneficiary of my father’s kindness—had been Ryan all along. The falsified medical records, the cryptic messages, the entire trap—it was all his design.

“You fucking bastard,” I growled, fury momentarily eclipsing my fear. My hands clenched into fists, the frayed rope cutting painfully into my wrists. “You set me up from the very start!”

“Exactly,” Ethan laughed, the sound hollow and cruel, reverberating off the walls. “I never intended to help you, Silverstone. I was steering you exactly where I needed.”

Carefully, I tested the ropes binding me, confirming I could break free if the moment came. But not yet. First, I needed answers.

“My father didn’t kill Lyra, did he?” I challenged, my voice trembling with anger. “He would never harm an innocent soul! He’s not capable of that!”

Ethan stepped closer, his breath hot against my cheek, carrying the scent of mint mixed with something metallic—silver, perhaps.

“Want to know how she died?” His voice dropped to a cruel whisper, laced with sadistic pleasure. “How she begged for mercy? How she clutched her stomach, desperately trying to protect her unborn pup until the very end?”

My stomach churned violently. I swallowed hard, fighting the nausea as vivid images of a pregnant Lyra pleading for her life flooded my mind.

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