Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 120

**Fireflies in Winter Rain — Neil A. Varma**
**Chapter 120**

Cassian,

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“The footage has been deleted! Who else came here this evening?” Lorenzo’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving. It echoed off the walls, making the atmosphere feel charged and tense. His irritation was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he fixed his piercing gaze on the employees huddled together, their expressions a mix of fear and confusion.

I sat in the corner, my breath shallow, trying to keep my presence contained. But my dark aura seeped out, escaping my control like smoke from a fire, heavy and suffocating. Cyrus stirred restlessly within me, a beast pacing, pushing against my ribs, demanding to be unleashed. The hunger for blood clawed at my insides, forcing my fingers to twitch nervously against the armrest of my chair. My fangs throbbed faintly, a reminder of the pressure building inside me.

The sight of Roana being framed ignited a fury within me. I knew her too well to accept this farce as truth.

“I… I don’t know. It wasn’t my shift, Beta Lorenzo!” One of the employees stammered, his wide, terrified eyes darting around the room. Lorenzo advanced, dragging a chair closer to the monitor with a harsh scrape that made everyone flinch.

“What about the backup memories?” Lorenzo demanded, leaning in, his brows knitted tightly together in frustration.

“Except for His Majesty, nobody has the passcode to enter the backup memory cards,” the employee blurted out, desperation lacing his voice as if he feared that any hesitation could cost him dearly.

A chill ran down my spine, and I clenched my jaws so tightly that I could feel the muscles in my neck strain against the tension. The realization that I might be staring into the abyss of the greatest betrayal of my life twisted my stomach into knots.

I pushed myself up from my chair, and the employees instinctively stiffened, their postures straightening as they held their breath. None dared to meet my gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

With deliberate, controlled movements, I made my way toward them. My boots whispered against the marble floor, but each step felt like a thunderclap in the heavy silence. Leaning closer to the monitor, my fingers hovered over the keyboard for a heartbeat before I struck the keys with precision. Lorenzo and the others instinctively stepped aside, allowing me the space I needed without uttering a word. The fear in the room thickened, almost palpable, like a metallic taste in the air.

I entered the passcode and pulled up the footage from earlier that day.

And there she was.

Roana.

She left the house precisely at seven, her steps slow and unsteady. Her shoulders sagged under an invisible weight, and her face was pale, eyes hollow, her expression unfocused as if she were wandering through a fog. Something was dreadfully wrong. She looked utterly drained, as if her very essence hung by a fragile thread.

My heart sank at the realization that I might be the cause of her distress.

She exchanged a few words with Sierra, who wore a frown of concern, her lips pressed together tightly after each response Roana gave. Then, after that brief interaction, Roana disappeared from view.

Hours passed in silence.

But at around five in the evening, the footage revealed her return. Her demeanor had shifted; she was pacing again, but it was different this time, making my jaw clench involuntarily.

She still seemed off, yet there was a spark of life returning to her.

Moments later, Carolyn entered the frame, disappearing inside before reemerging three minutes later, a faint smile gracing her lips. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was enough to send a shiver down my spine—a feeling that something was terribly amiss.

Right after Carolyn exited, Roana stepped out again. But this time, she looked shattered, as if someone had doused her in icy water while she wore her favorite dress.

After that, she vanished from sight entirely.

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བྱ་ལ་མང་བ་ན་བག་སཀས་ག་ག་ག་ན་

“Wait a minute!” Lorenzo’s body jerked forward, nearly tipping his chair over. “Your Majesty. Look at this!”

He pointed urgently to the floor-to-ceiling window adjacent to our bedroom. My eyes narrowed as I leaned closer, straining to see.

A figure stood there, cloaked in black, facing the wall.

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind Roana, the robed figure moved towards it with a fluid grace that sent a chill racing down my spine.

Five minutes later, Carolyn reappeared, her initial irritation melting into something more cheerful. She engaged in a conversation with the robed figure, her hands moving expressively, her face shifting between smugness and annoyance. Their exchange was tense, charged with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, the robed figure strode into my bedroom, as if they had every right to be there. Carolyn remained silent, her elite servant lingering for several moments before finally leaving the room.

Roana never returned.

Not visibly. Not in any footage.

Only Carolyn’s elite servant was seen pacing around my bedroom repeatedly, as if guarding something—or someone—until Sierra arrived upstairs, balancing a tray of hot chocolate and cupcakes, Roana’s favorites.

Sierra’s hand trembled slightly as she adjusted the tray, perhaps sensing the tension that hung in the air.

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