Free Web NovelChapter 58: Chapter 58 Birthday Battle
Christina’s POV
Ysolde had just dumped the photos into half a dozen pack group chats without a single caption.
Then her pack sisters kicked off their performance like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.
Voices up, filters off.
"Is that Beatrice Vance?" one of them said loudly enough for the whole room to hear.
"Sure is. Lucky woman. Had Niall Granger wrapped around her finger back in the day, dumped him,disappeared overseas for years, and still crawled back into his bed like nothing happened."
"Deadass. Word is, he’s paying her to be his secretary now."
"Please, I heard she majored in fashion design or something, nothing to do with management."
"Nepotism much?"
"Bet they do role-play in the pack house. ’Alpha Niall, I need special privileges...’ Bitch, please, we know how you’re earning that position."
They didn’t even bother mind-linking these comments.
If anything, they leaned in louder, projecting their voices like they were auditioning for "Mean Girls: The Werewolf Edition."
Niall and Beatrice were maybe two feet away, and their faces said everything.
Pale, angry, cornered.
Beatrice blinked quickly, like she was fighting back tears.
"That’s not true," she mumbled, her voice trembling. "Niall and I aren’t like that. We’re just colleagues. We only came in together because we bumped into each other at the door."
"Cute excuse."Akira snorted in my head.
Ten out of ten for effort, but no wolf was buying it.
Especially not with Niall standing there like a mute statue.
They hadn’t gone public with their relationship, obviously, though I no longer cared to analyze why.
Maybe sneaking around was part of the thrill for them.
Ysolde drifted past with a wine glass and an Oscar-worthy smirk, then oops—red wine all over Beatrice’s dress.
Hand slipped. Whoopsie.
"Oh dear, my bad. Didn’t see you there," she said, not even pretending to sound sorry. "But since you egged Serenna into throwing wine on me at the pack gathering, I guess we’re even now."
Beatrice clenched her jaw and hissed, "Fine. We’re even."
She tried to move away, but Ysolde wouldn’t let her. "I’ll pay you for the dress. How much is it?"
Beatrice tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Five grand."
Ysolde nodded. "Okay, five grand. Then you owe me fifteen grand."
Beatrice stared. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The dress I wore to the pack gathering. It was tailored by Lycan Couture,twenty thousand dollars.Yours is off-the-rack from Boutique, right? Anyway, wanna do direct deposit or cash?"
Beatrice’s eyes almost popped out of her head. "Twenty grand? Are you freaking kidding me?"
Ysolde scoffed. "Didn’t your mommy and daddy raise you like a spoiled little princess of the Crescent Pack? What, they never bought you a twenty-thousand-dollar dress? Pathetic. Fine, I’ll cut you a discount. Just give me ten. It’ll be my good deed for the Moon Goddess this month."
Beatrice’s face went from cherry red to sheet white.
Her fists clenched tightly. "This is extortion."
"I’ve got receipts," Ysolde said."Want screenshots or printed copies?"
Beatrice whipped her head to Niall. "Say something, Niall!"
He frowned, his Alpha aura flickering weakly.
Ysolde raised a hand, not even looking at him. "This is between the she-wolves, Alpha. Sit down and shut up."
He did.
Beatrice’s lips started to tremble.
She scanned the room like she was hunting for backup.
Found me instead.
Her eyes narrowed. "You put her up to this, didn’t you?"
I shrugged, feeling Akira’s satisfaction bubbling inside me.
Ysolde snapped her fingers in Beatrice’s face. "Uh-uh. Eyes over here. We’re not done. Fork it over."
Beatrice looked around again, desperate now.
But tonight’s crowd was mostly women, not the type to fall for her good looks and damsel energy.
The few men around had the good sense to keep their muzzles shut.
Nobody wanted trouble with Ysolde Carlisle, not when she had a revenge streak a mile long and her family was well-connected among the Northern packs.
Beatrice turned back to Niall,her last hope.
Still useless.
Niall had that glazed, stunned look on his face, like it had just hit him that he wasn’t the Alpha of this party anymore.
Beatrice bit her lip. "This is just revenge! You poured wine on me on purpose! You’re only doing this because of Christina, because she’s too much of a coward to stand up for herself. Well, guess what? That’s why Niall rejected her. No spine!"
"Rip her throat out,"Akira growled inside me.
Crack.
The slap echoed like a thunderclap through the party.
A perfect, open-palmed serve right across her face.
Ysolde flicked her wrist like she’d just scored match point. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
"Everyone knows who the mate-stealer is here. Say one more word about Christina and I’ll knock your teeth out for free."
Niall shot to his feet, pulling Beatrice to his side.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled at Ysolde, his Alpha voice making several weaker wolves flinch.
She turned to the crowd and raised her voice like we were at a pack tribunal. "Oh, now he’s protecting her? Says they’re just colleagues, but look, he’s fixing her soggy dress, escorting her to parties like they’re an old mated pair. Anyone here do that with your ’colleagues’?"
"We’re leaving," Niall growled, grabbing Beatrice’s wrist.
Ysolde blocked their way before they could even turn.
"Going somewhere? On my birthday? After showing up with one gift between the two of you and turning my birthday party into some reality TV bullshit drama?"
Niall looked ready to shift. "Move!"
Ysolde stood her ground.
He shoved her.
Her heels were skyscraper-tall, and she wobbled like a newborn pup.
I caught her before she faceplanted, then stepped right up to Niall.
And slapped him.
Twice.
It felt fantastic, not going to lie.
My hand stung like hell, but watching his smug face whip sideways was worth every nerve ending.
I thought about the trash he’d posted in that pack group chat this week. The dirty jokes, the smug texts, the smugger selfies.
So I slapped him again.
Twice more.
Four clean hits before anyone even realized what was happening.
His face was already puffy from what Hudson did to him, and now it looked like he’d lost a dominance fight with an entire rival pack.
If he’d had any jawline left, it was gone now.
And, weirdly, I kind of understood it.
That sharp, visceral satisfaction of decking someone who totally had it coming, that whole ’fuck around and find out’ vibe.
Not that I was endorsing violence or anything, but sometimes, words just didn’t cut it.
Sometimes actions spoke louder than your therapist’s breathing exercises.
I shook out my hand and snapped, "Apologize to Ysolde."
