Spoiled By My Nine Beast Husbands (Emma Tibarn) novel Chapter 129

**When She Opened the Door to the Life She Was Afraid to Live by Nora Vale Kingsley**

**Chapter 129: Meeting**

“Mr. Smith,” Thero began with a deliberate caution, his voice steady yet laced with concern, “you were the one who insisted you didn’t want to form any attachments. Perhaps this is the way it was always meant to conclude.”

The truth of that statement hung in the air like a heavy fog, thickening with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Their commander, with all his pride and fierce independence, simply wasn’t cut out for the complexities of love.

He belonged to a life of solitude.

Drake’s expression darkened further, shadows flickering across his features.

“Over?” he echoed softly, disbelief threading through his tone.

“She mentioned she owed me one mental comfort session,” Thero replied, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile silence.

Thero froze, his eyes widening as he processed the weight of Drake’s fixation.

Was he truly still hung up on that?

Was he in pain?

Good. He had it coming.

Before Emma entered his life, Drake had navigated his days just fine without a woman by his side.

Now, the longing for her gnawed at him, yet he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

How typical.

Thero chose silence, letting the tension simmer.

Suddenly, Drake shot to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound that echoed in the room.

“We’re going to the estate,” he declared, his voice icy and devoid of warmth. “I need to see her.”

Thero’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Mr. Smith, I really don’t think that’s wise. Ms. Emma Tibarn likely doesn’t want to—”

He halted abruptly, caught in the vise of Drake’s frigid glare.

That look could have frozen the very suns in the sky.

Thero promptly shut his mouth, the urge to speak evaporating in the face of such intensity.

At the estate, Lucien was deeply engrossed in sorting through a mountain of freshly delivered garments for Emma.

“This one’s hideous. Toss it,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he held up another piece.

“This fabric feels cheap. Into the trash it goes,” he declared, his brow furrowing in disapproval.

Pausing at a third item, he nodded approvingly.

“This one’s acceptable.”

He gestured toward several others. “These as well. Keep them.”

Turning to his attendants, he commanded, “Arrange for another shipment. And contact the finest designer on Central Planet. I want a collection of gowns tailored specifically for Emma.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

The staff hurried off, arms laden with discarded garments, their footsteps echoing in the spacious room.

Moments later, a breathless servant burst in, urgency etched on his face.

“Your Highness,” he panted, “Drake has arrived.”

Lucien’s hand stilled above the papers, surprise flickering across his features.

“He came sooner than expected,” he murmured, closing the file with a decisive snap.

He lifted his gaze, his voice cool and composed.

“Show him to the front lounge. I’ll join him shortly.”

He hesitated, then added, “Instruct the guards to remain out of sight. I don’t want Emma disturbed.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The captain bowed and exited swiftly, leaving Lucien to gather his thoughts.

Rising from his chair, he adjusted his collar and strode out of the study with purpose.

At the top of the staircase, he encountered Edric descending.

It was utterly mind-boggling.

Thero’s thoughts spiraled, but Lucien remained composed, every movement deliberate, every word measured.

“I was delayed in reaching my huntress due to work commitments,” he explained with a faint smile. “Fortunately, she is kind-hearted. She forgave my tardiness. Not wanting me to suffer through my mental power instability, she consented to bond with me.”

Everyone was aware that there were two distinct ways for a huntress to provide mental comfort.

The first was the simple, fleeting kind—the one Emma had once offered to Drake.

The second was a genuine bond. A lasting connection.

The latter proved far more effective in terms of mental comfort.

Lucien’s calm demeanor made it evident which type he was alluding to.

He wanted them to grasp the implications.

And it worked. Drake’s relaxed posture evaporated, replaced by a tense rigidity.

The atmosphere shifted, growing cold and heavy as if a storm were brewing.

His eyes darkened, a tempest of fury swirling within as he glared at Lucien.

Every fiber of his being ached to lash out, to erase that smug expression from the prince’s face.

“Where’s Emma?” Drake demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

“I need to see her.”

Lucien’s laughter rang out, sharp and frosty.

So, he’s already angry? Lucien mused internally, amusement flickering in his chest.

The man had some audacity.

After all he had put Emma through, he still believed he could waltz in and demand her presence? Lucien’s expression hardened, his voice slicing through the air with an icy edge. “Mr. Smith, who do you think my huntress is?”

His tone left no room for doubt. “She has already severed the match with you. You no longer have the right to see her simply because you desire it.”

With a swift motion, he reached into his coat, retrieving the black crystal Emma had gifted him. It landed on the table with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating through the room like a final decree. Lucien’s voice dropped lower, colder. “She stated that since the match is concluded, there is nothing left between you. No meetings. No contact.”