Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 252

LUCIEN'S POV

My boots pounded the stone floors like war drums, each step fueling the rage boiling inside me. The palace corridors blurred—servants scattering out of my way, their faces a mix of confusion and fear. I didn't care.

Adele's words echoed in my head: 'Your father's alive!'

My father. Alive. The man I'd killed with my own hands. The monster who'd beaten the hope out of me, blamed me for Mom's death, turned every day of my childhood into a nightmare. How? How the hell was he breathing?

I didn't have answers. But Naomi would.

She had to.

I slammed into the servants' wing. Her door was at the end—plain wood, unassuming. I didn't knock. Didn't announce myself. My hand was already on the handle when the door creaked open from the inside.

Naomi stepped out.

Her eyes met mine.

Panic flashed across her face—raw, instant.

She tried to slam the door shut.

Too late.

I kicked it hard—boot connecting with wood in a crack that echoed down the hall. The door flew inward, and she staggered back, hand flying to her chest, eyes wide.

I stepped inside, slamming it shut behind me. The room was small—bed unmade, clothes scattered, a faint scent of fear hanging in the air. My wolf was right there, claws extended in my mind, ready to tear.

"Where the fuck did he take her?" I growled, voice low and lethal.

She backed up a step, eyes filled with fear. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't fucking play with me, Naomi." I advanced, every muscle coiled tight. The air between us crackled, heavy with the threat of violence. I could see the pulse jumping in her neck, smell the sweat breaking on her skin. She was scared. Good.

"What are you saying?" she stammered, trying to sound confused. But her eyes darted to the window, to the door—like she was looking for an escape.

I lunged.

My hand wrapped around her throat—not hard enough to crush, but firm enough to pin her against the wall. She gasped, hands flying up to claw at my wrist.

"Last night," I snarled, face inches from hers, "the man I fucking saw you talking to—that was my father, wasn't it? You can't tell me it's a coincidence that you were whispering in the shadows with him, and today my mate screams through the link that he's alive—and then goes missing. You're going to stand here and say you know nothing about it?"

Her eyes bulged, fingers scraping at my hand. "I swear…" she choked out, voice raspy. "Please… I can't… I can't breathe…"

I tightened my grip—just a fraction—watching her face turn redder. The tension in the room was suffocating, every second stretching like a taut wire ready to snap. Part of me wanted to squeeze harder, to make her feel the fear she'd inflicted on Andrea. On me. But I needed answers. Not a corpse.

I released her.

She slumped against the wall, gasping, coughing, one hand rubbing her throat.

"Where did he take her?!" I roared, voice bouncing off the walls.

She shook her head, tears streaming now. "I don't know! I swear, I don't know!"

Liar.

I slammed my fist into the wall beside her head—stone cracking under the impact, dust crumbling down. She flinched, shrinking back.

"You don't want to get on my nerves, Naomi," I said, voice deadly calm now. The calm before the storm. "How long have you been involved with my father? How long have you known he's alive?"

She held her neck, breathing hard, ragged. Her eyes flicked to mine—fear, calculation, resignation all mixing there. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, like we were trapped in a box with no way out. I could hear her heartbeat—fast, erratic. Mine matched it, slamming against my ribs.

"Some… some years back," she whispered finally, voice hoarse.

I waited, staring her down. The silence stretched—tense, electric. She swallowed hard, glancing at the door again.

"Tell me," I growled. "All of it."

She slid down the wall, sitting on the floor, knees drawn up. "He… he came to me. Back when I was still your maid. He offered to make my life better. Said if I came with him, I'd never have to scrub floors again. I thought… I saw an opportunity. To live better. Beyond being a maid. So I went."

I paced in front of her, every step deliberate, tension coiling tighter in my muscles. My father—alive, scheming, pulling strings from the shadows. How? And why her? "Keep going."

She wiped her eyes, breath still shaky. "He got me a small house. On the edge of the pack. Gave me money. Clothes. Everything. He'd come and go—never stayed long. Told me to never mention him to anyone. Said he was… handling things. From the background."

I stopped pacing, turning to face her. The pieces were starting to click—slow, ominous. But not fast enough. Adele was out there. With him. The man who'd destroyed my childhood. The man who'd taught me pain before I knew love. The urgency burned in my veins, hot and relentless. I didn't have time for half-stories. "And then?"

She looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed. "And then… and then I found out…"

"Found out what?!" I snapped, voice cracking like thunder. The room vibrated with it. I towered over her, fists clenched, every nerve screaming for the truth.

She flinched, drawing her knees tighter. "I found out I was pregnant. For him."

The world stopped.

I froze.

Eyes going wide.

Shock slammed into me like a freight train.

"Which means…" I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "Which means Andrea isn't my son… but my brother."

The realization hit hard—brutal, twisting everything inside out.

Naomi nodded slowly, tears spilling over.

The room spun.

My brother.

Andrea—my son—no, my half-brother.

From the man I'd killed.

The man who was alive.

And now he had Adele.