Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me (by Sherry) novel Chapter 159

Chapter 159

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“That would be appreciated,” I said through gritted teeth.

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Daemon reached into his jacket and produced an invitation card, the heavy cardstock embossed with gold lettering. He held it up for the guard to see. “Daemon Blackwood.”

The guard’s entire demeanor changed as his spine straightened. “Mr. Blackwood. Please.”

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Daemon’s hand closed around my wrist before I could process what was happening, guiding me through the

entrance.

“We’re together,” he said firmly when another staff member glanced at us questioningly.

I wanted to yank my hand away, but we were surrounded by werewolf elite who would read too much into any public disagreement, so I forced myself to walk beside him with my head high and my expression

neutral.

The main ballroom was already packed with guests, the air thick with expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and

the underlying musk of dominant wolves. Crystal chandeliers cast dancing light across marble floors, and waiters circulated with champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres that made my stomach turn just looking at

them.

Harrison himself spotted us almost immediately, his weathered face breaking into a broad smile as he made his way through the crowd. He was in his sixties but moved with the easy confidence of a man who’d built

an empire through cunning and connections.

“Daemon! You made it!” He clasped Daemon’s hand in both of his, then his sharp eyes moved to me. “And

this must be–wait, aren’t you Marcus’s daughter? I’ve seen your photos. Beautiful girl, though you rarely

make public appearances. What a lovely surprise!”

“Thank you, Mr. Harrison,” I said, inclining my head respectfully. “My father sends his regrets. Pack business

called him away, but he wanted to ensure the family was represented at your celebration.”

Harrison waved off the explanation. “Marcus has always been reliable, even when he can’t attend personally.

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Chapter 159

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I’m glad you’re here. He glanced between Daemon and me with knowing eyes. “Known Daemon for about three years now through his father. Good business relationship we’ve built.”

Harrison’s wife, Marlene, appeared at his elbow with practiced timing. She was elegant in a navy dress, her

silver hair swept up in a classic style. “You must be Violet,” she said warmly, taking my hand. “Marcus has

spoken so highly of you over the years.”

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We made small talk for a few more minutes before other guests claimed their attention. The moment they

moved away, I tried to put distance between myself and Daemon, but his hand on my lower back tightened,

holding me in place.

The combined scents of the room–heavy perfume, seafood canapés, rich sauces–were making my stomach

churn. I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray, not to drink but to have something to hold,

something to focus on that wasn’t the overwhelming urge to vomit.

“Are you alright?” Daemon’s voice had lost its edge, replaced by something that almost sounded like

concern. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing air through my nose in slow, controlled breaths. “Just warm in here.”

His hand moved higher on my back, and I felt the familiar warmth of an Alpha’s calming touch seeping

through the fabric of my dress. My body responded instinctively, some of the nausea easing despite my

mind’s protest.

I shifted my weight deliberately, driving the heel of my stiletto down onto Daemon’s instep with just

enough force to make my point. His jaw tightened fractionally, but he didn’t move his hand or otherwise

acknowledge the warning.

Across the room, I noticed a young woman watching us with undisguised interest. She was probably mid-

twenties, dressed in an emerald gown that screamed money, her eyes fixed on Daemon with an intensity

that made my skin prickle.

“That’s Iris,” Daemon murmured, following my gaze. “Harrison’s daughter.”

I barely made it through the next hour. The formal lunch was a nightmare of rich foods and overpowering

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smells. I pushed food around my plate, taking tiny bites when absolutely necessary, and excused myself twice to the bathroom where I hung over the toilet trying not to vomit.

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The second time, I was washing my hands at the sink when I heard voices approaching. I ducked into a stall

just as the door opened.

“I still don’t understand why Father insists we be polite to her.” Iris’s voice was sharp with irritation.

“Everyone knows Daemon ended things. Why is she even here?”

“Because her father is Marcus Goldcrest, and your father values that alliance.” Marlene’s tone was patient

but firm. “Whatever happened between her and Daemon is their business. You will treat her with respect.”

“But Daemon’s free now,” Iris pressed. “He hasn’t announced it publicly, but the mark is gone. I checked.

Why shouldn’t I-”

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