Sold To The Alphas I Hate novel Chapter 146

Chapter 146: Her Disturbed State

Roman’s POV

The moment those words fell from her lips, silence swallowed the room. Not only Isla, but we too were left speechless. Whatever she had endured during those six years, there was little left for us to imagine, and yet none of us dared to.

All we could do was curse ourselves and bear the weight of our own guilt for her broken state.

"Eira," Isla said softly, her tone steady, "calm down."

"Calm down?" Eira’s voice was laced with venom. "I have always been calm. It’s you and those bastards who keep poking at me again and again. Don’t you have anything else to do? Just get the fuck out of my life."

Her gaze burned like fire, her jaw tight with rage, her words sliced through clenched teeth. In that moment, she resembled a wounded beast, snarling at every soul that dared come near.

"You can keep showing your anger," Isla replied, unshaken. "I am here to listen. Go ahead, let it out. Every ounce of bitterness, every shard of pain you’ve buried inside—I am here to share that burden with you."

"Want me to get my bitterness out?" Eira gave a dark, hollow laugh. "How about I kill you first, and then those five bastards hovering around me like snakes?"

"I think this is enough for today. Next session..."

Smash!

The sudden shatter of porcelain echoed through the room as she hurled the vase from the table, splintering it into pieces across the floor. Her glare locked onto Isla, blazing with fury.

"You fucking bitch," she spat. "Did you really think that by telling me a few things about Alice, you were giving me something of worth? Go fuck yourself to know what I’ve been feeling all these years. And if you dare show your face to me again, I swear your daughter won’t have a mother left in this world."

With that, she stormed out of the side house, leaving only the echoes of her rage behind. Isla remained seated, calm and composed. Perhaps, as a doctor, she had faced patients far more volatile than Eira. But for us, it was different.

For us, it was Eira who was breaking apart before our very eyes. And it was her pain that tore our hearts to pieces.

Lucian moved quickly to the exit towards the side house.

Eira was coming out so of course we felt worried where she was going.

Lucian stopped at the glass wall and watched her as she came out of the side house.

"Don’t rush her," Liam said quietly. "Let her absorb her emotions."

We remained still, watching from behind the glass. She was seething, her face darkened with fury, her fists clenched tightly as though she could crush her rage within her own hands. Her breath came fast and heavy, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to contain the storm inside her.

We waited in tense silence, unsure what she would do next, or where she would run.

She drew in several deep breaths, her eyes darting about as though searching for a way out, some escape from herself, from us, from everything. Yet in that moment she looked not only furious, but utterly lost and undone. She was like a vessel overflowing with every extreme emotion at once, incapable of carrying even a single one.

At last she turned sharply and strode toward the rear of the house, her steps quick and restless, as if the ground itself scorched her to flee faster.

Lucian rushed after her, and the rest of us followed close behind.

"She cannot leave the estate. Don’t worry," I told him, catching up. We had to shadow her, yet keep enough distance not to ignite her further.

"Thankfully she cannot take her wolf form," Lucian muttered, his jaw tight. "If she could, restraining her would be impossible. I can’t lose her this time."

Not only he, but none of us could bear the thought of losing her again.

Her path led straight toward the stables, and our hearts seized with terror. The last time she had wandered there, she had tried to end her life.

"No. I’m not here for that. I’m here to be with you," I told her.

"Bastards! Liars!" she mumbled, as if cursing not just me but all mankind.

"Eira..."

She finally looked at me. "Your pretentious care suffocates me. You can go to hell with that and leave me alone," she spat angrily. "Better die and take those bastards with you to hell as well. Just die—all of you."

I remained calm. "None of us will die. We are going to live together with you. You can get angry at us, hit us, curse us—but we are all going to live."

"Fuck off! Leave me alone," she said angrily. "Just go."

In response, I settled next to her on the ground. "I’m not going anywhere. You can do whatever you want with me. You might even strangle me to death to get your anger out. It will help you feel better."

She looked at me angrily and then stood up. Then she abruptly rose to her feet. Her gaze darted around the room, and she seized whatever she could find—cardboard boxes, dried grass stacked in a heap. With all her strength, she flung them at me one after another. The boxes struck my shoulders, the brittle grass scattered across me, sticking to my clothes and hair.

She said nothing, not a single word, but poured her fury into every motion, every throw, as if the act itself could rid her of the poison festering within. And I let her. I sat there, unmoving, enduring it in silence.

At last, when there was nothing left to hurl, her rage seemed to bleed out of her. Her body sagged, her shoulders slumped, and she dropped back to the ground. Sweat clung to her skin, her breaths came ragged and shallow, and her head fell forward as though the fight had been wrung out of her.

Only then did I move. I brushed away the mess she had thrown, strands of dried grass clinging stubbornly to me, though I swept them off as best I could.

Kneeling before her, I gently reached out, tucking back the strands of hair that had fallen over her face. "Are you feeling better now," I asked softly, "or do you want a few more things to throw at me? I can arrange them if you like."

Her response was swift and cold. She slapped my hand away, her face hardened, her silence louder than any words. She wanted no comfort, no touch—nothing from me.