Free Web NovelChapter 121: Chapter 121 Family Chat
Sylvia’s POV
The next morning, I skipped the office.
Instead, I drove straight to Frostfang territory with one goal in mind: put Selene in her place.
I’d let her get away with too much for too long—snide comments, false smiles, public shade disguised as "concern." But last night at the gala? That crossed a line.
She didn’t just try to embarrass me—she tried to sabotage a deal I spent months building.
And I wasn’t about to pretend it didn’t happen.
The security footage was already on my phone. I’d clipped the exact moment she tried to derail me with that little "Oh, I didn’t think you had the experience for this level of deal" line—right in front of the European reps.
Cute.
Now she could explain that to my face.
When I arrived at the main house, I found my mother, Alpha Astra, sitting regally on the leather sofa in the great room, about to remove her reading glasses.
Her silver-streaked dark hair was pulled back in her signature severe bun, highlighting her sharp cheekbones that I’d unfortunately inherited.
The power she emanated was palpable even in this casual setting.
She looked up, genuine surprise crossing her features. "Sylvia? What brings you back ?"
I didn’t bother with small talk. My eyes swept the room like a predator scenting blood. "Where’s Selene Frost?"
Her expression hardened faster than a winter storm. "Watch your tone," she said coolly. "She’s your sister. You will speak of her with respect."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Sister? Yeah, no. See, I don’t usually call someone who’s actively trying to sabotage my career ’family.’ Kinda ruins the vibe."
Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowing into that classic Alpha stare-down. "What exactly are you implying?"
"Oh, come on," I said, arms folded, heat building in my chest. "Let’s not do the whole ’pretend we don’t know’ routine. It’s boring."
She raised her teacup like she had all the time in the world, sipping calmly while I sat there vibrating with fury.
Classic Astra—ice in her veins and a steel spine.
Meanwhile, I was ready to flip the damn table.
"Fine," I said, planting myself in the armchair across from her and crossing my legs like the power player I was raised to be.
"Here’s the deal. If your golden girl hadn’t staged her little scene at the gala yesterday, I would’ve closed that contract hours earlier. She nearly cost me everything."
I met her gaze head-on, daring her to pick a side.
My wolf was prowling anxiously beneath my skin, anticipating the inevitable disappointment.
Mother met my gaze, slightly thrown by my directness. "Sylvia, these are serious accusations. Do you have any proof of this?"
I shot to my feet, done pretending I was the respectful, docile daughter she always hoped I’d be.
"Oh, don’t worry, Mother. I came with receipts," I said coolly, pulling out my phone like a weapon and queuing up the security footage.
The video played for exactly forty-eight seconds.
Long enough to watch Selene pull her fake-innocent routine while making a scene in front of international partners.
Long enough to see her calculated little smile as she tried to throw the whole deal off track.
When it ended, I looked at my mother.
Her expression was stormy, sure—but not in the way I expected.
Not in the way I needed.
Instead of fury at Selene, all I saw was quiet calculation.
Damage control mode.
"I see," she said, voice like ice water. "Well, Sylvia, the deal still closed, didn’t it? The client signed."
I blinked. Once. Twice.
"You cannot be serious," I said, jaw tightening. "That’s your response?"
She exhaled, long-suffering, like I was the problem here. "Selene is... spirited. She doesn’t always think before she acts. But her heart’s in the right place."
"She’s older than me," I snapped.
My mother waved a hand, like that was irrelevant. "You know what I mean. She’s sensitive. I’ll have a word with her."
I crossed my arms, my eyes narrowing to slits. "So let me get this straight. I bring you actual video proof of her trying to sabotage an eight-figure contract, and your takeaway is that she’s ’sensitive’?"
Her tone dropped into that well-practiced, condescending register I knew too well. "I’m not choosing sides, Sylvia. I’m simply saying: the project succeeded. No real harm done."
I laughed—sharp, humorless. "No harm? She came for my throat in front of LC Corporation, and you want to chalk it up to emotional turbulence? Are you listening to yourself?"
My wolf stirred, teeth bared just beneath the surface, ready to rip something apart.
"She didn’t just screw with my reputation, Mother. She made it clear she doesn’t respect me. And by brushing it off like this... neither do you."
As soon as she saw the tension in my face, my mother’s voice softened—not much, but enough to register.
"Sivi," she said, using my childhood nickname like it was still a magical reset button. "You’re overthinking again. Just leave Selene to me. Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’ll make your favorite—like the good old days."
Before I could roll my eyes or say no, she was already halfway to the kitchen in her designer house slippers, moving with the kind of elegant determination only a Frost woman could manage. freewёbnoνel.com
"Mom, seriously, you don’t have to go full Martha Stewart on me," I called after her, trying to keep up. "Just ask the chef to throw something together. I’m not five."
She waved a dismissive hand, already elbow-deep in the fridge. "Don’t be ridiculous. I want to do this."
I watched her bustle around the kitchen, efficiently preparing the meal, and felt a heaviness settle in my chest.
This was her tactic—avoid difficult conversations by distracting me with affection and food.
It had worked when I was a child; now it just felt manipulative.
Throughout dinner, she kept my plate full, repeatedly adding more food before I could finish what I had.
"Eat more," she encouraged. "You’ve gotten too thin with all this project work."
"Thanks, Mom," I replied mechanically, knowing that her overfeeding me was strategic—keeping my mouth too full to bring up Selene again.
By the time dinner ended, I was stuffed and frustrated, having completely lost the opportunity to discuss the real issue.
Mother had effectively controlled the entire interaction.
As I prepared to leave, she asked, "Are you sure you won’t stay the night? Your old room is always ready for you."
I shook my head. "No, I can’t. Caesar is waiting for me."
The lie came easily, though I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to invent a reason.
Perhaps because the truth—that I couldn’t bear another minute of this charade—would have been too painful to admit.
As I drove away from the Frostfang territory, my knuckles white against the steering wheel, I finally acknowledged what I’d been trying to deny: in the ongoing battle between her daughters, my mother had chosen her side long ago.
No amount of evidence would ever change that.
