Marked By the Pureblood Alpha (Deanna and Luis) novel Chapter 148

**Chapter 148: Cutting Ties**

**Deanna’s POV:**

I wasn’t fabricating a story.

Luis and I had reached a breaking point in our relationship.

Now, we found ourselves entangled in a negotiation about when to finally sever the ties that had once bound us.

Even if I possessed the power to alter our circumstances, the thought of doing anything for the pack felt like a weight I could no longer bear.

From the very beginning, I had recognized Philip as a man who prioritized profit over familial bonds.

Yet, I never anticipated discovering that he had a lover tucked away in the shadows of his life.

Who knows? There could even be an illegitimate child lurking somewhere, a ghost of his indiscretions.

I recalled the tales of Philip’s past; he had once been a man of meager means, while Kathryn was born into the luxury of the Stormhowl Pack.

Their paths crossed at a lavish ballroom party, and from that fateful night, they had become mates.

The Stormhowl Pack offered him everything he could have dreamed of—financial backing, influential connections, and a series of investments that allowed him to ascend to power. That was how Philip transformed Mistbane Pack and built his own empire.

But as the years rolled on, with the Stormhowl Pack’s influence waning, Philip seized the opportunity to make his move.

He proposed a merger, but in truth, he was devouring the Stormhowl Pack whole, leaving nothing but remnants in his wake.

He embodied the very definition of selfishness—cold, ungrateful, and utterly heartless.

The last fragments of respect I had harbored for him as my father shattered into a million pieces.

His face contorted with rage, brows furrowing deeply as he shouted, “You ungrateful brat! Do you even see me as your father anymore? As long as I’m your dad, you’ll do as I command!”

With unwavering determination, I met his furious gaze and replied, “The day I walked away from the company was the day I stopped caring about any of you.”

Then, I turned my back on him, deliberately ignoring his shouts and curses that followed me like a storm.

As I rounded the next corner, the traffic light shifted to red.

Across the street, I spotted a little girl, no older than five, who stumbled over a rock and fell hard onto the unforgiving pavement.

Her cries pierced through the bustling crowd, a small voice filled with distress.

Her mother was quick to react, kneeling down to scoop her up into her arms, offering comfort with a gentle smile that radiated warmth.

Watching this tender moment unfold, a tightness gripped my chest, a familiar ache that seemed to resonate deep within me.

Suddenly, memories flooded back to me—memories of walking hand in hand with Dorothy during our childhood.

I recalled a day when I had also fallen.

When I cried out in pain, she had glanced back, her expression a mix of annoyance and indifference, before continuing on her path without uttering a single word.

I had picked myself up, my knee bleeding, each step a reminder of my solitude as I limped away, alone in my suffering.

That day left an indelible mark on my memory: Dorothy’s cold back as she walked away without a backward glance, and the sheer terror of nearly being struck by a passing car.

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