Marked By the Pureblood Alpha (Deanna and Luis) novel Chapter 329

**Chapter 329: What’s Wrong?**

**Deanna’s POV:**

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the haze of sleep, pulling me from the comforting embrace of my dreams. I squinted at the screen, my mind still foggy as I reached out to answer, my voice thick with drowsiness.

“Ms. Wiley, we have a situation,” Ferris’s voice crackled through the line, laced with a palpable tension that instantly jolted me awake.

“Rumors about you and the Alpha of the Grisclaw Pack are spreading like wildfire. It’s already starting to impact the company. Since yesterday, nearly a hundred reporters have been clamoring for an exclusive interview,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush.

The moment I heard that, the remnants of sleep evaporated, replaced by a rush of adrenaline. I sat upright in bed, my heart pounding in my chest. The press conference from the previous day flashed through my mind—how I had only shared half-truths before making a hasty exit. I hadn’t anticipated the fallout would escalate this quickly.

“What happened?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended, a sense of urgency creeping into my tone.

“G-Grisclaw Pack… they confirmed it,” Ferris stammered, his words hanging in the air like an unwelcome cloud.

Without skipping a beat, I switched on my phone data and navigated to the trending news page. My eyes widened as I read the headlines blaring back at me: “Grisclaw Pack confirms Malcolm Faulkner and Mistbane Pack’s Deanna Wiley are officially dating, with a wedding on the way!” followed by “Breaking: Malcolm is confirmed to be the father of Deanna’s unborn baby!” and “Grisclaw Pack’s elder council approves their marriage, calling them a perfect match!”

My fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening as I processed the implications of those words. “Ferris, we need to act quickly. Choose one credible and influential media outlet. I’ll do a proper interview to set the record straight,” I instructed, my mind racing with the need to regain control of the narrative.

Just as I hung up, my phone buzzed again—Malcolm’s name flashing on the screen. A flicker of hesitation coursed through me, but I couldn’t ignore the call.

“Deanna, I’m really sorry,” he began, his voice heavy with regret. “I didn’t manage to clarify things with my pack in time. My mom saw the press conference and assumed we were actually together, and that you’re pregnant. Some reporters twisted her words.”

I remained silent, letting his words wash over me as I absorbed the gravity of the situation.

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