Marked By the Pureblood Alpha (Deanna and Luis) novel Chapter 396

Third-person POV:

Jennifer propped herself up, fury blazing as she stared at Violet and demanded, "You bitch—so damn cheap you actually stuck your leg out to trip me!"

Violet shrugged, putting on an innocent face. "Who tripped you? I didn't see a thing."

Jennifer's face flushed red, her voice pitching higher. "Ahh! Still denying it? It was you—you tripped me!"

The noise drew attention. People watched Jennifer fall and scramble back up, and the air turned painfully awkward.

Victoria saw it too and rushed over to steady her.

"Easy, Jenni. They're jealous. They don't want you on that stage, so they tried to sabotage you. Don't let them get what they want."

Jennifer was still boiling inside, but with Victoria coaxing her, she forced the anger down.

She shot Violet a vicious glare, then turned and strode onto the stage.

After the performance, she swore she would make them pay for this.

Once Jennifer stepped onstage, Victoria turned to Deanna and the others and said coldly, "I never thought the future Luna of Mooncrown Pack would be this kind of person."

Deanna smiled.

"I don't need Mrs. Barkley to hand me a Good Citizen trophy. Even if you don't like who I am, what can you do about it?"

Victoria's throat tightened. She really couldn't touch Deanna at all.

But there was plenty of time.

Who wins or loses—no one knows yet.

Victoria was good at swallowing things down. She took a deep breath and returned to her seat.

Onstage.

Jennifer sat at the center, posture elegant, like something out of a painting.

She gripped the cello, leaned in slightly, and set her fingers to the strings.

A deep, stirring cello note rolled out at once, filling the banquet hall. The melody curved and flowed, her technique effortless—sometimes low and aching, like a wolf howling under the moon, sometimes fierce and surging, like a pack in full run.

The crowd sank into the music, mesmerized, as if nothing else existed.

Go on. Praise me.

"Too bad that woman and the pup in her belly were fine. If that little bastard had died, she'd be useless—and Mr. Eaton wouldn't have made such a huge scene."

The lines looped again and again, echoing through the air like a nightmare on repeat.

The entire charity gala erupted into shocked silence—people staring at each other in disbelief.

Murder?

Who could talk vicious thing like that so easily?

Everyone looked around, trying to find the source and recognize the voice.

After a beat, it clicked: the woman in the recording sounded like Jennifer on stage.

Instantly, every head turned toward the stage.

The reporters, already sharp by nature, surged forward like hungry dogs scenting blood, terrified of missing a story this explosive.

In an instant, camera flashes erupted across the charity gala in a relentless storm.