CHAPTER 173: _ SOLVING THE PROBLEM

Heidi lets Morgan tug her arm. It’s true that he does not but only guides her in a grip that is shifting into an almost-cordial hold. He steers her forward with the sort of confident motion that has broken stronger people than her. Grayson steps out and opens the back door, making Heidi stiffens in the seat, at the knowledge that she is stepping into the waiting sanctum of the two men who have stalked her nights and cliffs of late.

"Don’t be stubborn, baby," Morgan says, sliding into the back seat beside her as he closes the door with a soft click that muffles the courtyard noise. His proximity is immediate, warm, and contained; his arm brushes hers, and the world narrows to a slice of heat and the faint tang of his cologne. The car’s leather smells of sun and expensive polish. For a second it is a place where the noise can be shut away.

Grayson climbs into the driver’s seat and the engine purrs like a contented animal. Tires roll. The city blurs and lights smear like watercolor. The carriage of their drive feels cinematic, dangerous, and absurdly intimate. Students on the pavement turn heads and whisper. Some do it in awe, some with righteous indignation, and the car moves like a black comet through their orbit.

Heidi doesn’t know what to make of her life anymore, but she knows for sure that with the four Bellamys groveling over her, there is nothing like a normal life for her in this pack. She can’t help but fear that sooner or later, she would stand before the school and pack as a cursed she-wolf with four mates and a dual nature gold wolf.

Whether it’ll be with her head raised high or her shoulder slumped is what she isn’t sure of yet. However, making a wild guess—her fate in Duskwind would somehow solely depend on the Bellamys and how they handle this entanglement... she affirms.

It doesn’t make the pickle behind her neck any better though. There’s too much left for thought and imagination.

Morgan reaches for Heidi’s hair, not to hide it but to arrange it with slow attention; fingers teasing at fallen strands, tucking loose pieces behind her ear. His hand is warm, deliberately close to the pulse at her throat where the mark rests under the collar of her blouse. She feels the heat of him like a flame licked at the hollow of her neck and has to bite down on a laugh that tangles with a groan.

"Listen," Morgan says, voice less theatrical now that the car has enclosed them. "We’re not here to judge. We’re here to confirm if you were set up or if something else happened."

He pronounces it almost as if the words could be armor: confirm, set up. Confirmation implies an enemy that can be found. It implies a plan.

Heidi’s jaw tightens. "Confirm that I lied? Is that what you mean?"

Grayson’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. For once, there’s a weight in his eyes. "We want to know the truth. Because if it’s a lie, we can burn the people who made it up. If it’s true—well, we’ll deal with that too. But we want to protect you. That’s enough for now."

She stares at him. Grayson, the Bellamy who flirted like it was a minor sin and who once woodenly held a torch in the labyrinth while she crawled through teeth and mud. He says ’We want to protect you’. The pronoun we slides between them and for an odd, dizzying moment she almost believes it.

She inhales because belief is dangerous and soft. "Of course it’s a lie. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t even..." The words fight for order in her mouth. "I don’t have the nerve to make a stupid video. I would..."

"You would never because you’re ours. You have to do what we say." Grayson says quietly, and there is no teasing in it. The earnestness is raw. It lands in her bones like snow.

Morgan’s thumb traces the curve of her jawline, and the motion is ridiculous in its tenderness. He says, slowly, with a softness that crawls under her skin: "You belong to us. They can try to tear you down, but they’ll answer to more than just me."

The possessiveness in that sentence might have once made her recoil. Now it sits like a weapon, double-edged and gleaming. She feels a hot spike of revulsion and, impossibly, a small, stubborn bloom of relief. The idea of someone making Sierra and her court regret bitterly and thoroughly makes her pulse with cold thrill.

"What do you have in mind?" she asks, because even though the thought of sitting in a car with two of the most infuriating men in her life ought to rattle her, the part of her that has been living off scraps of dignity for weeks recognizes offers like this as currency.

Grayson turns on the streetlamps’ glow as the car rolls into a quieter lane. "Diplomacy first. A direct confrontation with the NAY boys’ sisters will be a full-blown war with their families—don’t forget who their parents are. We can’t just steamroll. But we’re Alpha blood. There are other ways."

Morgan’s fingers rub the warm spot beneath her ear again, methodically soothing. "We’ll find proof they planted the phone. Then we’ll make sure that proof ends up where it matters: Corvin’s desk and everyone who believes in Sierra’s gossip. We’ll tie them to their actions. We’ll corner them."

"And if it’s not enough?" Heidi asks, because the rational part of her brain insists on contingency plans. "What if Master Corvin doesn’t act? What if he’s part of the problem?"

"We’ll make him act," Morgan says. There is no pretence in his voice now, no theatrical villainy except for cold, precise resolve. "We’ll force his hand. Or we’ll force someone above him to take notice."

Oh, this must be how it feels to be a Bellamy; far above the supremacy of the law. She bet they can even threaten the headmaster into doing their wishes.

She exhales. The car hums around them. Outside, the campus slides past. The stone archways and bollard lights, the bent trees throwing long, concerned shadows... all of it. She leans her head back against the seat and watches Morgan in the periphery, noting details that have nothing to do with mercy: the little crease at the corner of his mouth when he’s thinking, the way his fingers look when he rests them lightly on the glovebox. He is an artful danger dressed as a man.

"You really think we can prove they planted the phone? I don’t have proof, just words." Heidi asks, needing to push.

Morgan sighs and shrugs. "That’s where you come in, love." He slides a phone from his pocket. Grayson’s, she guesses, and taps at it. "They are going low to bring you down, so you go lower. That’s the only way to win. You have to become your enemies to beat them."

Heidi squints, wondering where this is leading. For someone she once passed as a fornicating spoiled brat, Morgan seems wise. So clever that it devalues Grayson to the title of a ’follower’ in her eyes.

Or... she could be wrong.