Chapter 129: Airborne Wrath
The flight to Saha was smooth. Unfortunately.
She had been hoping for turbulence—something to mirror the fury currently anchored in her chest. But no. The sky was perfect. The tea was hot. The pilot was polite. And she was furious.
"Landing in twenty-eight minutes, ma’am," the steward said, bowing slightly, unaware that her silence was a blade honed over decades of diplomacy and vengeance.
"Lovely," she said, folding the napkin on her lap with the precision of someone imagining it was her grandson’s ridiculous marriage certificate.
Her fingers twitched.
Trevor was going to suffer.
Not in the grand, theatrical way of banishment or estate seizure—please, she wasn’t his mother’s side of the family. But in the quiet way. The real way. The way that meant redecorating every inch of their home with paintings she picked, organizing a real wedding in front of the most judgmental branch of the royal family, and dragging him to six tea appointments with social queens until his ears bled from praise and passive aggression.
And as for the omega—
She exhaled.
She hadn’t seen him yet. Windstone said, "Lucas is quiet but sharper than you’d expect," said, "don’t let his age fool you." She trusted Windstone. Which only made it worse. If even he—her most cynical, most judgmental, most emotionally dead companion—liked the boy, then she was running out of excuses.
And over everything the boy was Serathine’s ward.
But Trevor should’ve told her first.