Chapter 189

Chapter 189: Chapter 189

Lysander’s pov

My mother didn’t answer immediately. She sat back on the sofa, her dark eyes scanning the pristine, sterile walls of my high-security cell with sharp, calculating precision. The soft warmth of her hand over mine was the only thing anchoring me to the room, keeping the suffocating panic from dragging me back under.

"First," she said softly, her voice dropping into a low, steady murmur, "you stop shrinking into yourself like a helpless victim. That is exactly what Julian wants. He wants you terrified, exhausted, and silent so Drake sees nothing but a broken fool who can’t handle his own life."

I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching in her grip. "Mom, you don’t understand how cold Drake has become. He doesn’t look at me like he used to. He looks at me like I’m a traitor who destroyed his trust."

"I saw how he looked when he slapped Julian across the face, Lysander," she countered, leaning in close so her breath barely stirred the hair over my ear. "A man who is completely done with you doesn’t strike his old lover for speaking your name with disrespect. Drake is hurt, and his pride is wounded—which makes him dangerous, but it also makes him blind to what Julian is actually doing behind his back."

She turned my hands over in hers, looking down at my pale, trembling fingers.

"Julian is playing a dangerous game," she continued, her instinct lending a sharp, predatory edge to her tone. "He’s using Drake’s anger as a shield to torment you in private while acting like an innocent, loyal companion in front of him. But he made a massive mistake when he staged that attack in your room."

"Drake knew Julian lied," I whispered, remembering the way Drake’s thumb had brushed my jaw on the floorboards. "He smelled Julian’s aura on me. He warned him never to touch me again."

"And that is our leverage," my mother said, her eyes flashing with a fierce, unwavering light. "Julian is desperate. He thought he could drive you out, but now that he knows about the child, he knows he’s running out of time. A desperate vampire makes sloppy moves, Lysander. He is going to strike again—not openly, but covertly. He’ll try to poison your food, tamper with your medical tonics, or push you until you break."

A sudden, icy terror struck my core, making my breath hitch in my throat. I instinctively pulled one hand free to press it flat against my lower abdomen. "If he tries to hurt the baby—"

"He will try," she interrupted firmly, her hand coming up to rest gently over mine, framing my stomach with protective warmth. "Which is why we aren’t going to wait around like sitting ducks. From this moment on, I taste every meal, I inspect every vial of tonic anyone sends to this room, and I stay by your side twenty-four hours a day. Drake locked me in here thinking he was containing a problem, but he just gave you a guardian."

She squeezed my hand, forcing me to meet her fierce, dark gaze.

"When Julian makes his next move and he will make one, we aren’t just going to defend ourselves," she declared, her voice laced with absolute resolve. "We are going to catch him red-handed. We catch him with the evidence, and we force Drake to see the serpent he’s been harboring in his home."

I looked at my mother, feeling a faint, long-buried spark of strength flicker back to life beneath my ribs. For days, I had been surviving in absolute, terrifying solitude, crushed under the weight of my own secrets and Julian’s relentless psychological torture. But sitting here beside her, surrounded by her warm wolf aura, the suffocating walls of my cage felt just a little less inescapable.

"And what about Drake?" I rasped out, my throat tight as the image of his cold crimson eyes flashed in my mind. "Even if we expose Julian... Drake still believes I gave myself to Darius. He still thinks this child might be a curse instead of his heir."

My mother’s face softened slightly, a wicked, knowing smirk suddenly touching her lips as her eyes darkened with an ancient, primal wisdom.

"Then you use the one weapon that bound him to you in the first place," she murmured, leaning in so close her lips brushed my cheek. "You seduce him, Lysander."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "What?!"

"It was raw, blinding passion that started all of this," she urged smoothly, her hand resting firmly on my shoulder. "That pureblood is starving for you. He’s masking his desire behind cold walls and iron doors because he’s terrified of how much control you have over him. You go back to the beginning. The next time he steps foot in this room to check on you or inspect your body, you stop acting like a shivering prisoner. You strip away his control, you use your bond, and you make him remember exactly what his hands feel like on your skin."

I stared at her, my skin flushing hot despite the chill in the room, my mind reeling at the bold, dangerous territory she was pushing me into.

"Make him crave you until he can’t breathe," my mother whispered fiercely. "Drive him so wild with desire that his cold, arrogant pride shatters. When the time comes, you look him dead in the eye and take your place back—not as a captive begging for mercy, but as his mate."

Drake’s pov

I stood in the dim corridor outside the private wing, my arms folded over my chest, my coat draped around my shoulders like armor.

Through the thick, reinforced paneling, I could hear the faint, low murmur of their voices.

My long fingers tightened into fists against my sleeves.

I had locked them in together to maintain security over the territory, but the quiet intimacy of their reunion clawed at my pureblood marrow. I could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of the life developing in Lysander’s core—a quiet, thrumming heat that called out to my ancient blood through the walls, demanding protection, demanding ownership.

The digital interface near the threshold chimed softly, flashing a pale blue icon.

"Sovereign," Dr. Star’s voice transmitted through the private comms channel, crisp and professional. "The high-tier vitality tonics and nutrient supplements have been prepared according to your specifications. Shall I have the kitchen staff deliver them to the west wing?"

I stared at the closed iron door, my crimson eyes burning in the dim light of the corridor.

"No," I replied smoothly, my voice flat, low, and laced with an absolute, uncompromising authority that left no room for error. "I will inspect every batch myself before it enters that room. Bring them directly to my study."