CHAPTER 34: WHO IS MY BENEFACTOR

Kayden’s POV

I held his gaze, my expression giving nothing away. Slowly, I raised my hand and pointed down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the suite where I’d hidden her.

He got the hint. His smile was tight, strained. "Ah, I see. Thank you. I’ll... I’ll have my people sweep that area." He pulled out his phone, already dialing, muttering about "calling in a favor" and "finding the confused girl." He touched his bleeding cheek. "I should get this looked at. Werewolf claws are no joke."

I just watched him, a silent statue, until he turned and hurried away, his footsteps echoing with false purpose. The moment he was out of sight, the hotel staff reappeared, a medic in tow, their arms full of soft, new clothing. I gestured for them to go into the room.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, a persistent buzz. I pulled it out. Keith. The meeting. I’d completely forgotten.

I stopped the staff before they closed the door entirely. I met the eyes of one of them, my hands moving in concise, clear signs. [Attend to all her needs. When she wakes, make sure she is comfortable and safe. Understood?]

The woman nodded vigorously, her face a mask of solemn understanding. "Of course sir. Absolutely."

I turned and walked away, the image of the silver-haired woman’s pale, terrified face seared into my mind. Why was I doing this? Why did I feel this... pull? This fierce, uncompromising need to shield her? It was an alien feeling, one I hadn’t experienced toward anyone outside my brothers in a very long time.

I shook my head, physically trying to dislodge the thought. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t let it matter.

I have a mate, I reminded myself, the thought a cold, heavy stone in my gut. Scarlet. My fated mate. I had no right to feel this protective urge toward a stranger. It was a betrayal of the bond, however fractured and unwanted it felt.

I shouldn’t bother knowing any more about her. She was safe now. That was enough. My responsibility ended here.

By the time I reached the conference room door, I had forcibly rebuilt my walls, shoving the confusing encounter and the mysterious woman into a box labeled ’Not My Problem.’

***

Eleanor’s POV

The lash cracked against my back, a searing line of fire. I cried out, but the sound was swallowed by the damp, cold air of the basement. My father’s face was a mask of cold fury, my mother’s averted in disdain. Priscilla stood to the side, a faint, triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

"Please," I sobbed, my voice raw. "I didn’t do it. I swear..."

My pleas were met with silence. Their eyes held no love. Only condemnation.

The scene shifted, melting and reforming. I was standing in my apartment. Mira was there, but her face was twisted with a contempt I’d never seen before.

"You’re a beast," she spat, the words like shards of glass. "A monster. I can never be friends with a beast. You deceived me all this time." Her expression softened into something worse: pity. "I was only ever your friend because I felt sorry for you. You’ll always be a shell, Eleanor."

The world crumbled. "Mira, no... please... don’t go... please..."

I jerked awake, a gasp tearing from my throat. My heart was hammering against my ribs, the echo of Mira’s words and the phantom pain of the lash still vivid. My mind spun, disoriented.

Was I taken back? Is it over? Did I never escape?

Panic clawed at my throat. But... there were no ropes. I was lying on something incredibly soft. My body felt clean. I looked down. The bloodstained gown was gone, replaced by a simple, soft cotton dress I’d never seen before. My skin was clean.

What happened? Where was I?

A soft click came from the other side of the room. A door I hadn’t noticed opened, and a woman in a crisp hotel uniform stepped out, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Oh, you’re awake," she said with a professional smile. "How are you feeling?"

I stared at her, my voice a hoarse croak. "Where... where am I?"

"You’re at The Kingsley Hotel, ma’am," she said calmly, as if finding disoriented women in hotel rooms was an everyday occurrence.

The Kingsley. The memory of the masked man, the perfume, the terrifying conversation, slammed into me. "How... how did I get here?"

"We were just instructed to see to your needs and ensure you were comfortable before you leave," she replied, her tone pleasant but giving nothing away.

Before I leave. The words sank in. A wave of dizzying relief washed over me. I could leave. I wasn’t a prisoner here.

"The man..." I started, the memory of strong arms and a safe chest surfacing through the fog of fear. "There was a man. I... I bumped into him. Did he... help me?"

"I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. I was simply assigned to this room."

She knew. I could see it in the slight evasion in her eyes. But she wasn’t going to talk. Whoever my mysterious benefactor was, he had commandeered this hotel’s discretion.

"It’s okay," I said softly, pulling the blankets tighter around me. "Don’t worry about it."

I was safe. For now.

The woman’s polite smile remained fixed. "Is there anything else you need, ma’am?"

I shook my head, then paused. The thought of stepping back out into the hotel hallway, of potentially running into those men again, sent a fresh wave of cold fear through me. My stomach chose that moment to let out a loud, embarrassing grumble.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Actually... could I... order something to eat? I... I don’t have any money," I added quickly, mortified. "But if my... benefactor... wouldn’t mind?"

The woman’s smile softened slightly. "Of course, ma’am. It’s all been taken care of. I’ll have a menu brought up immediately."

***

Few hours later, I felt like a new person. I’d eaten a simple but delicious meal until I was full. The hotel staff had also brought up a selection of clothes—dark trousers, a simple fitted top, a cap, and large sunglasses.

It was a disguise i asked for. I’d pulled my silver hair into a tight bun hidden under the cap.

You should be grateful to your mysterious savior, Beatrice murmured, her tone less sarcastic than usual. But don’t forget. You’re the one who slashed that bastard’s face. You saved yourself first. He just provided the landing pad.

She was right. The memory of my claws tearing into that man’s skin was both terrifying and empowering. I had done that.

But the relief was tinged with sadness. I was safe, but I’d failed. I had no silver chains. My phone was gone, a total loss. I was back to square one, with the full moon creeping closer.

The same staff member reappeared. "The car is ready for you whenever you are, ma’am. It will take you wherever you need to go."

A car. . My mysterious benefactor thought of everything. But a deep, nagging worry settled in my stomach. Who was this person? This kind of help, this level of discretion... it didn’t come for free.

Everything had a price. What would he want in return? My fear of the unknown warred with my terror of the men who were probably still searching for me.

In the end, the immediate fear won. I couldn’t say no. I had no money for a taxi, and walking out onto the street felt like walking into a trap.

"Thank you," I said, my voice quiet. "I’m ready."

I followed her down a private elevator to a service entrance where a sleek, black town car was idling. The driver, a silent man in a uniform, simply nodded and held the door open for me.

I slid into the plush interior, the door closing with a soft, expensive thud. The car pulled away from the curb, leaving the opulent prison and my mysterious savior behind.

The city blurred past the tinted windows, a stream of light and motion. Inside the car, it was silent and still. My mind, however, was racing.

I should report this. I should go straight to the police and tell them everything. About the Discord group, the hotel, the masked men, the attempted trafficking.

But just as quickly, I shoved the thought away. The man in the suit—the one I’d slashed—he’d carried himself with an air of immense power. He was a "high profile" individual, as that monster Leo had called him. Men like that didn’t get arrested. They had lawyers, connections, ways to make problems disappear.

If I went to the police, who would they believe? A powerful, well-connected man with a plausible story about a "confused" woman? Or me—a woman with no evidence, a story that sounded insane, and a history of being easily dismissed?

They would blame me. They would say I’d gone willingly, that I’d caused trouble, that it was a misunderstanding. I’d seen it happen before to other women. The world was built to protect men like him.

A heavy, hopeless anger settled in my chest. Those men were still out there. They would find another victim. Another woman would fall for their trap, and she might not get lucky. She might not have a mysterious savior or... or claws.

The weight of my own powerlessness was suffocating. My hands were tied. I couldn’t stop them. I could only be desperately, pathetically grateful that I had escaped with my life.

The car continued its smooth journey, taking me away from the nightmare. But I knew it wasn’t over. It was just waiting, lurking in the shadows for the next opportunity. And I had never felt smaller or more helpless.