99 Times for Alpha’s Bestie novel Chapter 87

I shook my head in disbelief that a planned quiet evening with comfort foods and chick flicks wound up to this.

“Know your limits, Lucien,” Liam snarled through gritted teeth, pressing down on Lucien’s spoon with brute force.

“I was here first,” Lucien murmured without glancing up. “I do believe that house rules apply.”

“House rules? What house rules?” Liam’s face flushed mottled red. With a vicious flick of his wrist, he sent a spray of scalding broth splattering across Lucien’s Brioni suit sleeve.

Lucien’s brow twitched imperceptibly.

The briefest triumphant smirk crossed Liam’s face as he gripped the table’s edge, muscles coiled to flip it.

That was it. I officially reached my evening with males and their testosterone for the night.

“Liam Sterling!” My palms slammed against the wood as I rocketed to my feet. “This is my home, and that’s my invited guest! You crash in uninvited, harass my dinner companion, and now you’re throwing tantrums? What are you, twelve?”

“Claire, I just-” Liam froze, spoon suspended midair.

“Enough!” I exploded, “Look at this disaster! Intimidating my guest, ruining my dinner-drop that spoon and get out before I have you removed!”

“He provoked-” Liam jabbed his spoon toward Lucien.

“Provoked how?” I stepped between them like a shield. “He was eating quietly until you charged in like a bull in a china shop. Did he touch your food? Breathe in your direction? No! This entire spectacle is your doing!”

“Get OUT!” I drew a shuddering breath and pointed to the door.

Liam’s face cycled from flushed red to deathly pale.

“Fine! Have it your way, Claire!”

Without bothering with his coat, he stormed out, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the picture frames.

My temples throbbed as I surveyed the wreckage of our meal, splattered dishes, overturned chairs, and the dark oil stain creeping across Lucien’s designer sleeve.

Rubbing my face wearily, I managed to say, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Lucien. Give me your jacket, I’ll get it cleaned.”

“If you insist.” He shrugged off the ruined blazer without protest, draping it over the chair. As he reached for the door, I darted after him.

“Come for dinner anytime. Just text me first, okay?”

Lucien froze mid-step. When he turned, something shifted in his features, but I couldn’t place it.

“That Moonves custom furniture draft. Your design?”

“You saw it?” My breath hitched excitedly.

“I gave specifications.” His voice turned deadly quiet. “Yet you delivered quite literally the exact opposite. Do you have problems following client requests?”

Before I could explain, his steel grip clamped around my throat. My back hit the doorframe.

“Drop the act, Claire!” he snarled. “You think pretty furniture can absolve him of the crimes he committed? That monster deserves endless agony, every single day of his miserable life. I want him to suffer worse than she must have because of him.”

“L-lucien, he’s still your father. When the truth comes out-” I gasped out, choking against his crushing grip.

“The truth?” A chilling smile twisted his lips. “The truth is that bastard, and your w***e of a mother are the reason I lost mine. Every word from your mouth is poison.”

His grip tightened. “No amount of sweet-talking will change that.”

When he released me, I hardly noticed the thunderous slam of my apartment door. I slid down the wall, fingers trembling at my bruised neck.

All of my carefully laid plans, the home-cooked meals and carefully planned conversations lay in ruins.

Lucien’s resentment toward my mother and Alpha Emeric was carved in stone. No shared meal or kind words could erase years of bitterness. Not when he was conditioned to believe only one version of the events that took place.

It would be an uphill battle.

Still, I wasn’t about to give up. The fact that Lucien had reached out at all; that alone was progress in my eyes.

The next morning at the office, I received the crushing news that my design draft had officially been rejected, with orders for a full redesign.

Queenie, of course, jumped at the chance to tear into me. She even marched her smug attitude into Merlin’s office to demand that I be terminated for incompetence.

To my relief, Merlin had my back. Instead of reprimanding me as Queenie had openly done, he offered quiet encouragement to try again.

I wordlessly slipped back to my workstation and buried myself in revisions.

At lunch, a co-worker knocked on the corner of my desk to break my intense focus on the project. “Claire, there is someone waiting for you in the lounge.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Who could be visiting me?

Rolling my shoulders and neck, I realized I could use a break anyway, and hurried to the lounge area.

There stood a silver-haired gentleman clutching a gift bag.

Bart.

“To what do I owe this surprise?” I called out with a big smile as I rushed forward.

“Ms. Reese.” He turned, “That arm’s healed nicely. I had to see for myself.”

“Just a flesh wound-no big deal,” I reassured him with a bright smile.

“Good.” He pressed the bag into my hands, “I had a feeling you would be too focused on work to eat, you’re going to need it if you hope to tackle the Alpha beast.”

Bart paused, which was followed by a sigh. “I saw your draft, Claire. It was meticulous work. It’s just a pity that Alpha Lucien rejected it. You’ve been through the wringer.”

“It’s alright, Bart, I understand completely. Please, have a seat.” I quickly prepared coffee for Bart as we settled at a small table to talk.

I shared a brief, warm chat with Bart. It was nice to check up, and although it has been subtle, Bart noticed slight changes taking hold over Lucien’s usual dark approach to things around the pack. Perhaps I was making more progress than I had thought.

I hurried after him as he turned to leave.

Just as we reached the doorway, rain crashed down in sheets, catching us both off guard.

“Bart, wait-I’ll grab an umbrella for you!”

I snatched a black umbrella from the front desk, darting back into the rain beside him without a second thought.

Bart was the last thread tying me to kindness from my old life, I planned to preserve that bond as long as possible.

Grateful yet worried that Bart might catch a cold at his senior age, I tilted the umbrella completely his way, so far that my own shoulder grew damp. My arm slipped naturally through his as I guided him carefully toward the curb.

I instinctively glanced back at the building after waving goodbye to Bart as he drove away, I could have sworn I say a shadowy figure drop to the floor when I looked up.

Was someone spying on me?