Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me (by Sherry) novel Chapter 165

Chapter 165

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Celeste, oblivious to the tension, pulled back from Daemon with a bright smile. “Beck! You’re the one who

followed Violet all the way from Frost Pack to Silver Ridge, right? That’s so romantic!”

The words landed like grenades in the silence.

Daemon’s head snapped toward Celeste, then back to Beck. “Followed her to Silver Ridge?”

“Yes.” Beck’s voice was calm, matter–of–fact. “Violet is where I choose to be.”

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I felt my heart rate spike, but I kept my expression neutral. Then, making a decision, I tightened my grip on

Beck’s hand, interlacing our fingers more deliberately. A visible response, a message.

Celeste, still smiling, apparently determined to make everything worse, continued cheerfully, “Oh, and

Daemon, remember when Evan was asking about Violet’s address here? He seemed really concerned about

her too. She has so many people who care about her!”

Daemon’s face had gone dangerously still. The kind of still that preceded violence or ice–cold fury. His

hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Then he pulled car keys from his pocket and turned to Celeste with forced gentleness.

“Celeste, this red BMW X3 is for you.” He pressed the keys into her uninjured hand. “Your hand is injured. I

don’t want you riding that dangerous scooter anymore.”

Celeste’s eyes went wide with shock. “This is… this is too much! I can take the bus, or my electric scooter is

fine-”

“You’re my responsibility,” Daemon said firmly. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

I turned to Beck with deliberate sweetness, pitching my voice to carry. “Beck, I don’t want to walk to the

restaurant. The sun will damage my skin.”

Beck caught on immediately, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. My car’s right here. And I packed

your favorite lunch–everything you like.”

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Chapter 165

He led me toward the car, his hand still firmly holding mine. When we reached the passenger side, he opened the door with theatrical courtesy, the kind of attention Daemon had never bothered to show in

public.

Behind us, I heard nothing. No footsteps, no voice calling out. Just weighted silence.

I slid into the passenger seat, and Beck closed the door gently. Through the window, I could see Daemon standing frozen by his SUV, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Celeste was tugging

tentatively at his sleeve, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Beck rounded the car and got in the driver’s seat, but before he could start the engine, my door was yanked

open.

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Daemon stood there, his hand gripping the door frame. “Are you really with him now?”

“Get your hand off my car,” Beck said coldly.

“I’m asking Violet.” Daemon’s eyes burned into mine. “Are you actually together?”

I held his gaze steadily. “That’s none of your concern. You need to focus on your ‘responsibility.””

Beck got out of the car and came around to my side, placing himself physically between Daemon and me.

“Blackwood, you and Violet completed the rejection ceremony. You have no claim on her.”

“Beck,” I said quietly. “Let’s go.”

I reached out and pulled the car door closed myself. Beck held Daemon’s gaze for another long moment,

then returned to the driver’s seat and started the engine.

As we pulled away, I didn’t look back.

Beck drove to a quiet vegetarian restaurant about ten minutes away, finding a parking spot in a secluded

corner of the lot. He turned off the engine but made no move to go inside.

“We don’t actually have a reservation,” he said with a small smile. “I just needed to get you out of there.”

“I figured.” I leaned my head back against the seat, suddenly exhausted.

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Chapter 165

“But I did bring lunch.” He reached into the back seat and retrieved the thermal lunch box.

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He opened the container, and the smell that wafted out was surprisingly appealing–steamed pumpkin,

grilled chicken breast, quinoa, fresh fruit. My stomach, which had been churning with nausea and stress,

suddenly decided it was ravenous.

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“Thank you,” I said, accepting the utensils he handed me. “For everything. The performance back there, and

this.”

“Sienna asked me to look after you. This is what looking after means.” He opened his own container. “Eat.

You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

He wasn’t wrong. Between morning sickness and work stress, I’d been surviving mostly on crackers and

ginger tea.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while. The food was exactly what I needed–nourishing without being

overwhelming, flavorful without triggering my sensitive stomach.

“If you want to rest after eating, you can recline the seat,” he offered. “I’ll set a timer and wake you before

we need to head back.”

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