Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me (by Sherry) novel Chapter 86

Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me

Chapter 86

Violet’s POV:

:

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The urgency in my mother’s voice left no room for questions. I threw essentials into a bag, found Victoria in

the sunroom, and explained I needed to return to Wildfire territory immediately. She didn’t pry, just told

me to take the black Range Rover from the garage and drive safely.

Twenty minutes later I was on the road, each mile tightening the knot in my stomach.

The house looked normal from outside, but the moment I pushed through the front door, the atmosphere

hit me like a wall. The air felt thick, oppressive, charged with grief so heavy it seemed to absorb all sound.

In the dim living room, my mother sat alone on the sofa, her eyes swollen and red, her posture somehow

both rigid and collapsed. On the coffee table lay dozens of printed photographs scattered like casualties.

“Mom?” I dropped to my knees beside her, taking her ice–cold hands. “What happened?”

She gestured weakly at the photographs. I forced myself to look and felt the air punch from my lungs. The

images showed my father–unmistakably him–lying naked on hotel bedding, his face slack with deep

unconsciousness. Draped across him was a woman I vaguely recognized: thirty–something, wearing only a

loosened hotel bathrobe. Her face was turned toward the camera with smug satisfaction, her eyes

challenging anyone who would see these photos.

“They came this afternoon,” my mother managed, her voice scraped raw. “Anonymous package to the house.

He says it’s a setup, that he was drugged, but I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Movement from the hallway made me turn. My father emerged from his study looking like he’d aged a

decade.

“Violet.” His voice was rough. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I stood slowly, my mind separating emotion from analysis. The woman in the photographs–I’d seen her

before. “The driver,” I said suddenly. “From outside The Obsidian. She opened your car door.”

My father nodded, jaw tight. “Kayla Brennan. Works at Wildfire Industries. Last month, business dinner at

Riverside Hotel. I had maybe two drinks, but my memory just blanks after that. Woke up the next morning

in that hotel room, alone.”

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Chapter 86

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My mother made a sound between a whimper and a snarl. I examined the photos with clinical detachment.

The angles were too perfect, too deliberately composed. “This isn’t an affair,” I said flatly. “This is a trap.

Look at the framing. Dad’s clearly unconscious in every shot. Someone constructed this very carefully.”

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“Then explain why he was in that room!” my mother exploded, her composure shattering. “Explain why she

had access, why my bonded mate would put himself in this position!” Her voice broke, and she buried her

face in her hands.

I looked at my father, saw helpless guilt warring with frustration, and felt memory stir. In my previous life,

during Daemon’s systematic destruction of Wildfire Pack, there had been a scandal about Marcus Goldcrest

and improper relationships with subordinates. I’d been too consumed with my own unraveling marriage to

pay attention. But now, staring at these photographs, I felt horrifying suspicion that I was witnessing the

origin of that same weapon.

“Mom,” I said quietly, crouching beside her again. “If these photos reach the council or pack networks, it

won’t just destroy Dad’s reputation. It’ll undermine his Alpha position and give ammunition to everyone

who opposes our pack.”

She pulled away, eyes wild. “You’re talking about politics? Your father might have—”

“I’m talking about survival,” I interrupted, my voice hardening. “And finding out who did this, because this is

targeted, timed, and executed by someone with resources and a specific goal.” I turned to my father. “I need

Kayla Brennan’s contact information. Everything about that night.”

While he retrieved the file, I called Victoria with a vague explanation about family crisis. When my father

returned, I scanned the information quickly. Kayla Brennan, thirty–one, from Riverside Pack–a small neutral

territory. Three years at Wildfire Industries with stellar reviews.

“I’m contacting her directly,” I announced, pulling up the number.

“Violet, no-” my mother started.

“Yes, I can.” I met her gaze steadily. “She’s expecting chaos. What she’s not expecting is calm conversation. If

someone’s pulling her strings, my call might make them slip.”

I dialed. Three rings, then a cautious female voice. “Hello?”

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“Kayla Brennan? This is Violet Blackwood, Marcus Goldcrest’s daughter and Luna of Frost Pack. We need to

talk about those photographs.”

Silence, heavy with calculation. Then all pretense dropped. “Luna Blackwood. I was wondering how long it

would take. Faster than I expected.”

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“Tell me what you want. Money? Position? Protection from whoever’s orchestrating this?”

She laughed bitterly. “Very direct. I’ll tell you what–I’m willing to meet face–to–face. Tomorrow afternoon,

two o’clock, Pinewood Café.”

She ended the call.

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