Chapter 47: Chapter 47
Fleur widened her eyes slightly, carefully crafting a flawless mask of mild, polite surprise. She needed Sylvia to believe every syllable, but more importantly, she needed them to continue believing that Odette Wayne was dead and buried.
If they convinced themselves that this uncanny resemblance was nothing more than a striking, freak coincidence, then her secret remained safe.
The realization brought a quiet, desperate measure of relief to her racing heart.
"It’s a good thing she’s dead anyway," Carrie scoffed suddenly, breaking the quiet.
The casual venom in the supermodel’s voice instantly chilled the entire room. "Otherwise, Christian would have gotten rid of her eventually. She was always standing between him and me. Because of her, we had to wait years before we could finally be together."
Disgust dripped from Carrie’s every word. To her, Odette’s tragic demise was nothing more than the convenient removal of an annoying bureaucratic obstacle.
The words struck Fleur like a physical blow straight into her chest, violently ripping open the betrayal she had spent years trying to bury.
So it was true. Carrie knew. And if Carrie knew, then perhaps Sylvia knew as well.
Maybe they had all known. Maybe everyone in Christian’s inner circle had been complicit, and no one had dared to challenge the most feared Alpha in the country.
Suddenly, the memories she had fought so fiercely to suppress came rushing back in a suffocating flood.
The pitch-black darkness. The deafening, echoed roar of angry wolves. The heavy, metallic scent of fresh blood in the air, and the faceless assassins who had hunted her relentlessly through the freezing night.
She remembered the desperate, agonizing struggle just to take her next breath, to survive. Even now, years later, the sheer horror of that night made her very soul tremble, and her wolf issued a soft, wounded whine beneath her surface.
How had she loved that man so completely? How had she given him every single piece of her heart? And why, despite the bloodshed, did a pathetic part of her still struggle to let him go?
"Carrie!" Sylvia’s horrified voice sliced through the mounting tension. "What is wrong with you?" The older woman shot her niece a furious, warning glare. "Do you ever think before you open your mouth?"
Carrie simply rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Clearly, she saw absolutely nothing wrong with her words.
Sylvia immediately turned back to Fleur, a strained, heavily manicured smile plastering itself over her face. "Please, don’t pay any attention to her, Miss Swann. She speaks carelessly. What she said isn’t true at all."
Fleur remained perfectly silent, offering no lifelines.
Sensing the cold atmosphere, Sylvia pressed on, deliberately coloring her next words with a sharp edge.
"Carrie has simply never fully forgiven Odette for marrying Christian. She tends to become a bit... emotional whenever the subject comes up. Besides, Christian loves Carrie. He always has."
The underlying message was impossible to miss. It wasn’t an apology; it was a territorial warning. Stay away from him.
Fleur nearly laughed out loud at the staggering irony of it. There was absolutely no danger of her crossing that line. Not after what she knew. Not after the waking nightmare Christian Wayne had turned her life into. She would never make the fatal mistake of trusting the Alpha King again.
"I understand, Mrs. Wayne," Fleur replied, her tone a masterclass in calm professionalism. Not a single trace of her internal storm surfaced on her face as she smoothly shifted the narrative. "If you and Miss Channing would prefer some privacy, my team can pack up and return later to finish the remaining wings."
Sylvia waved the suggestion away with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
"That’s entirely unnecessary." She linked her arm tightly through Carrie’s, anchoring her niece in place. "Carrie simply wanted to see the progress. She’s naturally eager to move into the mansion full-time once she marries Christian. We’ll look around the gallery while you continue working."
"Of course," Fleur nodded politely, stepping back. "I hope you’re pleased with the final results."
"I’m certain I will be," Sylvia murmured, her smile widening into something predatory. "After all, the famous Fleur Swann designed them."
Carrie remained silent, but her eyes were filled with a naked, unfiltered hostility. If looks could kill, Fleur would have been ash on the charcoal rug.
Fortunately for Carrie, Fleur no longer feared spoiled women playing at high-society games—not after everything she had survived to keep her children breathing.
Moments later, Sylvia practically dragged her scowling niece out of the vaulted suite before another explosive argument could erupt. The exact second their silhouettes disappeared through the doorway, Fleur released a heavy breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Beneath her skin, her wolf finally coiled back down and relaxed.
Clapping her hands together sharply, Fleur redirected her team’s anxious attention. "Alright, everyone. We still have a lot of ground to cover today. We need to complete this wing as soon as humanly possible. Now, where were we?"
An assistant designer quickly stepped forward, handing over a leather-bound notebook, and they immediately plunged back into the safety of layouts, textile textures, and custom furnishings.
Meanwhile, several hallways away in the labyrinthine corridors of the estate, Sylvia’s fragile patience finally snapped.
"What exactly were you thinking back there?" she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice a low, vicious whisper.
Carrie blinked innocently, adjusting her designer bag. "What?"
"You practically exposed everything!"
Carrie shrugged carelessly. "I was just putting that woman in her place. She looks too much like her for my liking."
Sylvia stopped dead in her tracks, the elegant lines of her face darkening with real malice. "And in the process of your little tantrum, you nearly revealed secrets that could create irreversible problems for Christian."
Carrie let out a mocking laugh. "Since when do you care about Christian, Aunt Sylvia?"
The question wasn’t entirely unfair. Carrie knew her aunt better than anyone; she knew the older woman never drew a single breath without a calculated reason.
Sylvia’s eyes hardened into chips of flint. "I care because Christian is useful," she stated, the cold honesty of her admission sending a physical chill through the hallway. "He keeps the Wayne empire fiercely profitable. As long as he is running the syndicate, our lives remain extraordinarily comfortable."
Carrie smirked. At least that answer sounded like the woman who raised her. Sylvia had never hidden her staggering ambitions.
When Adrian Wayne had died years ago during a brutal territorial blood-war between rival packs, Christian had inherited everything—the staggering Wayne corporate empire and the undisputed leadership of the Western Italian wolf syndicate.
Sylvia’s own biological son, David, had been left with a mere fraction of the family’s vast wealth and influence. It had never been enough for Sylvia. She wanted the crown.
But Christian was too powerful to eliminate, too deeply respected, and far too feared. The entire wolf council supported his rule blindly, and the Alphas under his command would never accept another leader.
So, Sylvia had pivoted to a much slower, deadlier strategy: control him, or at least control what came after him.
For years, she had carefully, quietly ensured that Christian remained without an heir.
Now, at thirty-four, the Alpha King still had no acknowledged children to inherit his titles. Meanwhile, David was married and already possessed a healthy two-year-old son.
According to the strict succession provisions left behind by the Wayne patriarch, David’s bloodline stood first in line to inherit the throne should Christian remain heirless. Sylvia had spent a lifetime arranging this chessboard, every move deliberate, every pawn placed with surgical precision.
Yet, one massive obstacle remained: the wolf syndicate itself. The council’s fierce loyalty belonged to Christian alone, and that brand of terrifying loyalty couldn’t simply be inherited by David.
Which was exactly why Carrie was the silver bullet.
Sylvia slowed her pace, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "You need to understand the larger picture, Carrie. Marrying Christian isn’t just about accessing his bank accounts."
Her gaze sharpened, pinning her niece. "If you become his Luna, we gain direct psychological influence over the entire syndicate."
Carrie groaned dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air. "And how exactly am I supposed to achieve that? I’ve tried everything. Flirting, seduction, being absolutely gorgeous... Honestly, sometimes I think he isn’t interested in women at all."
She paused, a ridiculous thought crossing her mind. "Maybe he’s gay."
The declaration was so absurd that Sylvia nearly laughed out loud. But Carrie remained entirely serious.
"It’s been years, Aunt Sylvia. He barely notices women when they walk into a room. He looks right through them." A thoughtful, dark expression crossed the model’s face. "Maybe that’s really why his first wife died. She probably died of boredom."
"Enough," Sylvia snapped, her tone slicing through the nonsense. "Stop talking garbage. You are focusing on entirely the wrong variable."
A slow, predatory smile crept back onto Sylvia’s lips. "The only thing that matters, the only thing that secures our future, is producing an heir."
Carrie frowned, her frustration peaking. "And how am I supposed to do that if he doesn’t even touch me? He won’t let me past his bedroom door."
Sylvia leaned in closer, a knowing, wicked gleam entering her eyes. "My dear, you are many things, but you are hardly innocent. There are ways to ensure a pregnancy that don’t require his willing participation."
Understanding flashed instantly across Carrie’s face, a slow, sly smile spreading across her lips as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. The two women exchanged a long, quiet look—one fueled by pure political ambition, the other by unadulterated greed.
Neither of them noticed the pair of glowing, golden wolf eyes watching them intently from the heavy shadows at the far end of the corridor. And neither realized that their carefully laid plans were already starting to violently unravel.
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