novelhome Chapter 189: It’s She
Chapter 189: It’s She
Liam’s POV
"Sold! To Alpha Liam for fifty million dollars!"
The auctioneer’s voice trembled through the microphone, but I was already moving. I didn’t wait for the paperwork, and I didn’t wait for the event staff to carefully pack it up. I stepped right onto the stage, my heavy boots thudding against the wood, and snatched the canvas directly off the easel.
I looked down at the small brass plaque attached to the bottom of the frame. The title printed on it sent another sharp spike of adrenaline straight through my chest.
Safe Haven.
My chest heaved. I’ve found you, Scar... I’ve found you.
I covered the canvas with the thick blue velvet cloth, shielding it from the prying eyes of the crowd, and held it tightly against my chest. It was the most important thing in the world to me now.
"Bill my pack’s private account," I snapped at the lead coordinator, who was bowing and shivering in fear near the edge of the stage.
I didn’t give anyone else a chance to speak. I turned around and marched straight out of the grand ballroom. The moment the heavy double doors slammed shut behind me, the dead silence of the room exploded into a frantic roar of loud whispers and gasps. Let them talk. Let them gossip. They had no idea that the entire world had just changed.
I threw myself into the back seat of my black sedan, placing the wrapped painting securely across my lap. My hands were shaking—a rare, terrifying sight for a supreme Alpha.
"Drive," I commanded the driver, my voice dark and tight. "Get me back to the estate right now. Break every traffic law if you have to. Just move."
The driver didn’t ask a single question. He slammed his foot on the gas, and the car roared away from the luxury hotel, speeding through the city lights in a complete blur.
During the entire ride, my mind was racing. Five years of absolute grief, five years of thinking she was buried in the cold ground, all shattered by a single piece of art. My wolf was practically scratching at the surface of my skin—desperate, wild, and screaming for her. She’s alive. She’s out there.
When the sedan finally screeched to a halt in front of the grand pack house, I didn’t wait for the guard to open my door. I threw it open myself and ran up the marble steps, holding the painting like it was a fragile glass treasure.
I slammed the front doors open. The heavy wood hit the walls with a booming echo.
"Leo! Leonard!" I roared, my Alpha voice vibrating through the entire pack house, making the nearby guards instantly drop to their knees from the sheer pressure of my command.
I stormed into the main living room. Leo was standing near the fireplace, still dressed in his formal suit from his treaty meeting, his face pale and tight with worry. Leonard was sitting on the leather sofa, looking completely exhausted, his hair messy from his long flight, but his eyes were sharp and angry.
"Liam, what the hell is wrong with you?" Leonard snapped, standing up instantly. "You almost broke our minds with that link! What game are you playing?"
"It’s not a game," I panted, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as I stepped to the center of the room. I carefully placed the canvas onto the large coffee table right in front of them.
Leo crossed his arms, his eyebrows drawing together. "Liam, if this is about another false lead—"
"Shut up and look," I interrupted, growing annoyed.
With one swift motion, I gripped the royal-blue velvet cloth and tore it away, revealing the painting of the giant oak tree, the terrified little girl, and the three identical boys waiting below.
The silence that hit the room was deafening.
Leonard stopped mid-sentence, his jaw completely dropping as his eyes locked onto the boy with his arms wide open. Leo froze entirely, his arms dropping to his sides, his eyes widening so much that the color seemed to drain right out of his face.
They didn’t say a word. For a whole minute, nobody breathed. They just stared at the canvas, looking at the exact, perfect detail of the painting.
"Where did you get this?" Leonard’s voice finally broke the quiet. It didn’t have his usual loud, aggressive tone. It was low, breathless, and completely stripped of his anger. He took a slow step forward, his eyes glued to the image of his younger self standing at the bottom of the tree with his arms wide open.
"At the high-profile charity auction in the upper city," I replied, my chest still heaving as the adrenaline crashed through my system. "It was just put up on the stage. The artist’s name is Faceless."
"Faceless..." Leonard whispered, his fingers trembling as he hovered them just a millimeter above the painted canvas, not daring to actually touch it. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up to meet mine. "Liam... this is Scar. It has to be her."
He looked back down at the little girl stuck on the top branch.
"Remember?" Leonard laughed, a sound that was half-sob and half-disbelief. "Remember how much Scarlett loved painting? She used to sit on the porch for hours. She always said she would draw us one day. She promised she would paint our souls so the whole world would know who her protectors were. Liam, Leo... this is Scarlett. She’s alive!"
"Yes, it is her," I said, the words solid and heavy in my throat. Hearing Leonard say it out loud made the reality sink in even deeper. Five years of absolute darkness, and suddenly, a light had been switched on.
"I am calling the organizers right now," Leonard snapped, pulling his phone out of his pocket so fast it nearly slipped from his fingers. His shock was rapidly turning into pure, aggressive Alpha energy. "They need to tell us what this is. They need to give us a name, an address, a location—anything! If they think they can hide her behind some stupid ’Faceless’ title, I will personally burn that gallery to the ground."
While Leonard began pacing the room, barked demands already flying from his mouth into his phone, I turned my attention away from him.
I looked at Leo.
He hadn’t moved a single inch since I pulled the velvet cloth away. He was still standing by the fireplace, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He hadn’t uttered a single word. He hadn’t gasped, he hadn’t sworn, and he hadn’t even blinked. He just stared at the boy in the painting—the one offering a steady hand to guide the frightened girl down safely.
His silence was louder than Leonard’s shouting.
"Leo," I said, stepping toward him. The absolute lack of reaction from our usually logical, grounded brother was starting to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Leo... talk to me. What is on your mind?"