Chapter 213: The Wolf Unmasked
Sierra stood on tiptoe and bit down on Jonathan’s throat. “Shit!” Jonathan let out a low growl. His restraint snapped. In the next second, he scooped her up and carried her straight to the bedroom. Despite his earlier threats, Jonathan was careful. Even as sweat dripped from his forehead, he didn’t rush. Instead, he watched his prey closely. He waited. Waited for the tension in her brows to ease, for pain to turn into something else. Only then did he begin to move. Jonathan had always been a patient hunter. Years ago, on the plains, he had once stalked a lion for days before striking at the perfect moment. Tonight, he was hunting something even more precious: the one thing he had wanted most—Sierra.
By the time she realized what she had agreed to, it was too late. Jonathan didn’t lie. He had told her—no matter how much she cried, he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, his voice smooth as silk, promising the world and more. At first, Sierra had believed him. But by the end, she knew better. Jonathan was a liar, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Wolves didn’t just bite; they devoured. She cursed at him, furious. But Jonathan only laughed, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She had never seen him like this before. By the time it was over, it was far too late for regrets. Sierra had already been swallowed whole; not even her bones were left.
Sierra was woken by the sound of her phone ringing. It was Dickson. She groggily answered. “Hello—” She barely recognized her own voice. Dickson sounded alarmed. “Ms. Sierra? You’re sick? Your voice sounds awful.” “Yeah, a little cold,” Sierra said vaguely. “What’s up?” “Nothing. I just noticed it’s already noon. You and Mr. Jonathan haven’t come out yet. Do you want to eat together?”
Noon! Sierra glanced at her phone. It was nearly twelve. She had slept that long? “I have a headache. I’ll skip lunch,” she said quickly. “And Mr. Jonathan?” Jonathan? She vaguely remembered him saying something about going back. “He won’t be coming either. He already left.” As she spoke, she sat up—only for a sharp pain to shoot through her legs. She let out a quiet gasp. “Ms. Sierra? What’s wrong?” Dickson’s worried voice came through the phone. “Nothing. I’m hanging up now.”
She ended the call and sat still for a moment. There was only one thought in her head: Never again. After washing up, she stepped out of the bedroom and saw a note left on the table. There was food in the kitchen. Sierra raised an eyebrow. Jonathan had made seafood porridge for her. Where did he even find the time? He even rushed to get back for the ceremony, yet he had still found time to cook for her? She pulled out her phone. Jonathan had sent her several messages: updates on when he left, when he got to the airport, when he landed. The most recent message had been sent just a few minutes ago: “Have you gotten up yet?” Sierra didn’t bother replying.
But she didn’t waste a single bite of the porridge either. Back at the Wynn estate, the ancestral ceremony had just ended. The family was gathered for lunch when Jonathan’s aunt suddenly spoke. “Jonathan didn’t stay at the estate last night, did he? I saw him coming back from outside this morning.” The room went silent. All eyes turned to Jonathan. In the Wynn family, there was a strict rule: no matter what, everyone had to stay at the estate on New Year’s Eve. It was tradition, and breaking tradition was no small offense. It was easy enough to confirm; all they had to do was ask the guards at the base of the mountain. Jonathan met their gazes without flinching. “That’s right. I came back this morning.” His voice was calm, unbothered. For a moment, the room was filled with anticipation, everyone waiting for Mr. Wynn’s reaction. Some of them were hoping for a scolding. But the old man only glanced at Jonathan and sighed. “You’re almost thirty, and you’re still acting on impulse.” And that was it. No punishment, no reprimand, just a casual remark. The tension in the room evaporated, replaced by a new emotion—jealousy. Jonathan had always been treated differently. While others had to abide by the rules, he could do whatever he wanted. They didn’t dare confront him directly. But they didn’t have to. Instead, they turned to someone else: the younger grandson, Jonathan’s direct competition. With carefully chosen words, they whispered in his ear. “The old man favors Jonathan too much.” “Did you see how easily he got away with that?” “If it were anyone else, there would have been consequences.” “You’re just as much a Wynn as he is. Don’t you think it’s time to start fighting for your place?”