Casts 158_Crowned by Fate

Chapter 158 

 Adrien’s POV<fnb87c> For original chapters go to find?novel</fnb87c>

 Maxwell and my mother walked through the door,ughing together like they didn’t have a care in the world. Their eyes found frozen in the middle of the

 Maxwell’s hand dropped from my mothers waist as if burned.

 “Adrian?” My mother’s voice catsied surprise. “What are you doing here?”

 I fored myself to breathe normally, to push down the rage that threatened to consume me. “Wee into each other.”

 we? Nothing strange about rondleg

 Maxwell’s brow furrowed. “There you go again with your ridilles. You should spend less time reading those useless poems Poetry only not a man’s brain-

 The confusion hit me like cold water.

 I looked at them more carefully, taking in details I’d missed in my initial shock. They weren’t wearing thepetition gear everyone had donned for the Alpha King trials, Instead, they wore casual summer clothes suitable for a beach vacation. My mother’s hair fell past her shoulder, longer than I’d seen it in years. Her face looked younger too, the worry lines that had appeared after my father’s death notably absent.

 Understanding dawned, and I almostughed at the mazes trick. This wasn’t real. None of it was real. 

 “I need to go,” I said, already turning toward the door. “I have things to do.”

 “Wait!” My mother’s voice stopped me. “I’ve made dinner. Stay y and eat with us.”

 Maxwell moved toward the refrigerator, his movements casual and familiar in this space that should have been sacred to my father’s memory. “Your mother made my favorite today. Lamb stew cooked in goat’s milk. The pulled out a bottle of red wine, examining thebel with satisfaction. “You have to try it.”

 Lamb stew cooked in goat’s milk?

 I’d seen the pot on the stove myself just minutes ago.

 was fish stew, halibut and salmon, the way my father always made it

 But arguing would be pointless. This was all an illusion, a trap designed to break me. I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction.

 \“I’m not hungry,” I said, heading for the back door. “Enjoy your dinner.”

 Maxwell strode across the mom and nted himself directly in my path, blocking my way to the back door. His hand caught my arm, his grip firm. “How can you be so rude to your mother?“:

 “Rude?” The word came out as a bitterugh. “What about your private meetings? is that polite to my father?”

 My mother’s face went pale, her eyes darting between Maxwell.<ol><li>me. ‘It’s not what you think, Adrian. Your uncle and I…”</li></ol>

 She turned to set the pot of stew on the table, her hands shaking so badly she nearly spilled it.

 I wondered if they’d been meeting secretly before my father died. If they’d used this fishing cabin for their affair, tainting every good memory I had of this ce. The thought made me sick. My childhood sanctuary, the ce where I’d learned to love the ocean and trust my father’s strength, all of it felt contaminated now.

 Maxwell settled into a chair at the have some stew first.”

 as if nothing had happened,dling stew into his bowl with practiced ease. “Let’s not argue. Come, sit down and

 He filled another bowl and held it out to me. You know, Adrian, the Bible says your shouldnt boil a kid in its mother’s milk. Butmb cooked in goar’s is actually the most delicious thing. Here, taste it”

 I didn’t take the bowl. The smell alone made my stomach turn. The wrongness of it all, the perversion of taking something cook the very creature it should have fed. 

 to nurture and using it to

 1/2 

 “Get out my wolf urged. This pler terks of betrayal ·

 I turned toward the door, determined to leave this twisted illusion behind. I was halfway to the door when footsteps pounded on the pu open, and my father’s Beta stumbled in, his fare fnhed with urgency.

 “Alpha!” He addressed Maswell, and hearing my uncle called by my father title made my jaw clench Alpha Stormbowl is under attack. He needs reinforcements immediately!”

 I stopped in my tracks, every muscle in my body going rigid

 Maxwell didn’t even look up from his stew. “No rush. Let me finish this bowl first,”

 My mother’s reaction was even worse. She showed no concern at hearing her mate was in danger. Instead, the reached for the wine bottle, filling Maxwel ss with steady hands.

 “The wine pairs perfectly with themb,” she said, as if we were discussing nothing more important than dinner arrangements,

 Something inside me snapped. I crossed the room in three strides and grabbed Maxwell by the cor, hauling him up from his chair. The bowl of stew ttered to the floor, spreading its contents across the worn wood.

 “The day my father died,” I snarled, my face inches from his, “did you deliberately choose not to save him?”

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Casts 158