The Secret Heirs of the Lycan King (by Misha K) novel Chapter 28

**When Midnight Winds Carry Secrets Toward Worlds Yet Unknown**

**Tasha**

As I stepped out of the sleek black SUV that had brought me to Scott Moore’s opulent villa in Manhattan, I found myself momentarily breathless, time seeming to pause for a heartbeat. The sheer grandeur of the place was overwhelming.

Before me stood a magnificent mansion crafted of glass and stone, its modern design accentuated by shimmering glass walls framed with pristine white stone. A fountain gurgled softly in the circular driveway, its tranquil sound a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. As I crossed the threshold into the marble foyer, I was greeted by the sight of twin staircases spiraling elegantly upward, beckoning me to explore further. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow that made the polished floor seem to sparkle. Dominating one wall was an imposing painting of a silver wolf, fierce and majestic, and just above it, a regal portrait of Scott himself commanded attention.

As I took in the lavish surroundings, my gaze flitted from the expensive vases to the antique clock ticking away the seconds, to the massive gold-trimmed mirror reflecting my own ambitious smile. Marble statues and exquisite paintings adorned the space, each piece worth a fortune—enough to fund my next designer wardrobe or even secure a chic apartment of my own. I glanced at Troy, Scott’s Beta, who stood nearby, his expression wary as if he were bracing himself for a headache. Little did he know, one of my objectives here was to sever his ties to the pack. His unwavering loyalty to Scott was a potential obstacle in our plans, and I needed to plant seeds of doubt in Scott’s mind regarding Troy’s reliability.

“Ms. Tasha,” he greeted, his tone polite yet tinged with reluctance. “Welcome to the Alpha King’s villa. Allow me to introduce you to the staff.”

We moved through a spacious hallway into the kitchen, where the aroma of gourmet food wafted through the air. A middle-aged chef was busy wiping down the counters, and I noticed a tall butler standing at attention, along with a cheerful maid polishing silver cutlery. Another maid, looking like a housekeeper, bustled around, ensuring everything was in order.

Four people to maintain this single house? A smirk crept onto my lips. This was the kind of royal treatment a queen deserved.

“Dinner is ready whenever you like, Miss,” the maid chirped, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Thank you,” I replied, waving her off with a dismissive hand. Then I turned to Troy, my voice dripping with authority. “I’ll be staying in the best guest room—the one closest to Scott’s. Ensure the sheets are changed to satin and the pillows fluffed to perfection.”

Troy cleared his throat, his eyes darting toward the housekeeper for guidance. I ascended the stairs, already envisioning myself as the Luna of Werewolves. Her Majesty, I mused, with a sense of glee.

The next morning, I descended the grand staircase clad in luxurious silk pajamas, feeling regal as I made my way to breakfast. The chef had outdone himself, presenting a lavish spread of fluffy omelets, succulent smoked salmon, and a vibrant fruit platter that could have easily fed a small village. I had never seen such a feast at home. Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I took a seat and casually picked up the newspaper lying beside my plate. But as I scanned the headline, my heart dropped.

“WHO IS THIS GIRL?”

My jaw clenched so tightly I feared I might shatter my teeth. I snatched the paper, and there it was—a photo of Scott in a fitted black shirt, leaning toward a woman in a peach dress, her face obscured by the photographer’s angle.

The fork in my hand clattered against the table as a surge of anger coursed through me. I immediately grabbed my phone and dialed Troy’s number, my voice sharp with urgency.

“I saw the headlines. Who is she?” I demanded before he had a chance to greet me.

“I don’t know, Miss,” Troy replied, his tone oddly amused, which only fueled the fire burning in my chest. “The paper didn’t capture her face. Perhaps you should ask Scott.”

“As if I would bother Scott with something so trivial,” I snapped, ending the call abruptly. Scott might possess many admirable qualities, but his temper was not one I wished to provoke. I was not foolish enough to confront him about this.

The only reliable source I had was my spy in his office—Janet, his secretary. I dialed her number, desperation creeping into my voice. “Janet, I need details on the woman in the photo with Scott.”

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