Chapter 62:
Clayton’s POV:
While I was immersed in my work, a servant’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Excuse me, Your Highness. Here are Miss Dunn’s clothes. What should I do with them?”
I paused, momentarily taken aback. The past few days had been a whirlwind, and it had slipped my mind that Makenna’s clothes were still in my villa. The mention of them brought back the image of Makenna’s eyes—so vulnerable yet resilient, like a delicate deer trying to hide its strength. A strange warmth stirred within me.
After a moment of contemplation, I asked, “How has Makenna been recently?”
I had assigned someone to keep an eye on her, given her uniqueness. There was something about her that intrigued me—her wolf seemed to possess power that could calm Lycan wolves. If I had sensed it, surely my brothers had as well.
I wasn’t entirely sure what Dominic’s intentions were, but I knew Bryan well. When he set his sights on something, he wouldn’t rest until he had it. I suspected that his attempt to take Makenna that day wasn’t his first, and I doubted he had treated her kindly. Then there was Kristina, who never missed an opportunity to antagonize Makenna. And the other sex slaves—they were no better.
As I absentmindedly twirled the pen in my hand, a mix of emotions swirled within me. The servant recounted Makenna’s recent experiences, and I found myself chuckling at the stories. She had won the climbing competition, proving she wasn’t as frail as she appeared. She had shown courage in helping that she-wolf and agreeing to Bryan’s terms—a courage that was rare. And then, she had the wits to put Kristina in her place.
Despite the odds, she continued to endure, her resilience and cleverness shining through her seeming fragility. There was something undeniably captivating about her.
I remained lost in thought, my mind drifting through these reflections, until the servant cautiously inquired, “Your Highness, what should I do with Miss Dunn’s clothes?”
Her voice snapped me back to reality. “Are they cleaned?” I asked.
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The servant nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. The torn parts have also been mended.”
“Keep it,” I said.
She respectfully handed me the clothes. The fabric was soft to the touch—not luxurious, but comfortable—and it reminded me of the moment when Makenna had collapsed into my arms. Her body bore the marks of mistreatment, yet her face was etched with a fierce determination, a refusal to be subdued. She had the strength to speak to me despite her exhaustion.
I chuckled softly to myself. She was certainly a stubborn one.
Rising from my chair, I started toward the door. The servant hesitated, then asked, “Your Highness, where are you going? Should we accompany you?”
I shook my head. “No need. I’ll return these clothes to their rightful owner myself.”
