Page 143 of Knotted By my Pack
I blink. Shake my head. “That’s not possible. I made the call myself. I was explicit.”
“Then you’ve lost control,” she says, calm and merciless.
It’s quiet again, too quiet. All those eyes. All that weight.
Elias shifts beside me. “He’s telling the truth.”
“He left that family business. Gutted his trust account for it,” Noah adds, voice cold and even. “You want proof? You’re lookingat it. He could’ve run. Instead, he stayed and helped us protect Cora.”
Cora steps forward. The crowd goes still.
“I trust him,” she says simply. “I’ve seen him bleed for this place. Forme.Forus.He’s not perfect, but he’s trying. If we can’t make room for redemption, then what are we even doing here?”
And then—God—she turns to face the room fully and says the words I never thought I’d hear outside the privacy of four walls and desperate breaths.
“They’re my pack,” she says. “Julian. Elias. Noah. All three of them. And if you cannot trust Julian, then I beg you to trust me. Trust Noah.”
The room is dead quiet.
Some jaws drop. Some eyes narrow. A few older Alphas mutter under their breath, scandal whispered like gospel.
But no one can unhear it.
And me? I can’t breathe. My chest pulls tight, too full. Because they’re standing with me. All three of them. Not just when it’s easy. Not when it’s hidden. But now, when it costs something.
When it matters.
My voice is hoarse when I speak again. “If construction’s still going, then I’ll stop it. Personally. I swear to you—this ends now. No more lies. No more Lockwood control. I’ll make this right.”
Some people nod. Some don’t. But they’re listening again.
The moment ends when the mic crackles and one of the council members calls for recess. The crowd starts to dissolve, buzzing with shock and speculation and something dangerously close to hope.
Cora’s hand slips into mine, grounding me. Elias lays a hand on my shoulder. Noah lingers close, jaw tight.
“I need to make a call,” I say quietly.
They nod.
I step outside into the muggy morning air and dial my father’s private line. It rings once.
He answers on the second. “I was wondering when you’d show your spine.”
“I’m pulling out of the resort,” I say. “Completely. Publicly. The permits. The land. My name. It’s done.”
A pause. Then a short, disbelieving laugh. “Too late, son. Damien’s already replaced you. Signed off this morning. You made your choice. So did I.”
“I’ll go public,” I snap. “I’ll blow the whole thing up.”
“Feel free,” he says, voice clipped. “But no one’s going to care. You’re not the heir anymore. You’re just a footnote. Enjoy obscurity.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone.
Gone. Just like that.
But I don’t feel gutted. I feelfree.
