A Broken Alpha Heiress' Revenge novel Chapter 117

hapter 117

Riley’s POV

The slap came with wind.

Sharp. Swift. Cruel.

Zara wasn’t holding back. Not a shred of shame, not even with half the Northern Pack elite standing around us. She intended to strike me down in front of them all–to remind everyone that in her eyes, I was nothing more than a disobedient, ungrateful mutt.

The air thickened as a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. I could feel every gaze sharpen, every breath held in anticipation of the blow.

But it never landed.

Duke’s hand caught hers mid–air with a strength that rattled the bones in her wrist. And before anyone could process what was happening, he flung her arm aside with enough force to send her stumbling back. several steps.

The sound of her heels scuffing against the stone echoed like a warning shot.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone gasped again. Another murmured, “She touched the Duskgrave escort?” The implication lingered unspoken: She tried to strike Lucien’s chosen guest?

Zara caught herself just before she hit the ground. Her face, once flawless under layers of powdered pride, now flushed with burning humiliation. Her eyes–those eyes that never held warmth for me–stared at me in disbelief, as though I’d just betrayed her in the cruelest way possible.

But I wasn’t the one who’d betrayed anyone.

My gaze found hers–calm, cool, and utterly detached.

No fear. No pleading. No ache for her approval.

She wasn’t my mother anymore. She was just another threat in a world full of them. Another wolf who tried to cage me, then cried when I learned to bite back.

I watched her flinch under my stare.

She’d expected me to crumble. To cry. Maybe even to fall to my knees like the obedient daughter she thought I still was.

But I didn’t flinch.

And that terrified her more than anything.

11

Her voice wavered, trembling like a thread about to snap. “Riley… how–how could you let him lay hands on me? I’m your mother!”

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17:04 Thu, Aug

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Chapter 117

A humorless smile curled my lips. Cold. Precise. Like the edge of a knife sliding across old wounds.

Finished

“Oh? So you do remember you’re my mother,” I said, voice soft as winter frost. “Interesting. Because I don’t recall any mother who greets her daughter with a slap to the face at her first public appearance in months.”

I tilted my head slightly, eyes never leaving hers.

“Or perhaps… was that your idea of a gift? A warm maternal gesture, Vale–style?”

Gasps and whispers rose like static in the air.

Zara’s face paled. I didn’t stop.

“If that’s the kind of love you’re offering, might I suggest you reserve it for your real daughter–Scarlett?” I said smoothly. “I’m sure she’d be honored to be slapped senseless in front of half the Northern Territory.”

The laughter was quiet at first–muffled, awkward. But it spread. I heard one Luna whisper something behind her fan. I didn’t care.

I stood taller.

I let them see me.

Let them see the she–wolf who refused to bow to the blood that tried to bury her.

Zara’s face went red, then white, then a mottled flush of rage. “I–I only struck you because I care! You ran off without a word! You could’ve died out there! And now you show up looking like a—like a—”

I shook my head, slowly.

“I don’t need your guilt. And I certainly don’t need your slaps.”

Zara staggered back like I’d struck her.

But I wasn’t done.

“I’m not the same girl you pushed into the shadows. I don’t need your approval to exist. I don’t need your name. I have my own. Riley of the Ebonclaw Pack. Daughter of no one. Survivor of all.”

That silence? It came again. Sharper. Deeper. Reverent.

Then-

Alaric Vale’s voice sliced through it like a dagger. Harsh. Mocking.

“You arrogant little mutt.”

I turned slowly to face him.

He stood behind Zara, face twisted with contempt, lips curled in a sneer so familiar it made my wolf bristle.

“I should’ve left you in that orphanage to rot. You were a mistake from the beginning. And now, look at you -parading around like some highborn bitch in heat, desperate to catch a mate at the feast. You think a silk dress makes you worthy?”

I didn’t move.

“I don’t care how many gowns you wear. You’ll always be filth,” he spat. “And if you think I’m going to stand here and let you shame the Vale name at the Duskgrave Matriarch’s birthday, you’re out of your cursed mind.”

“You ungrateful wretch. I took you in when no one else would. And this–this is how you repay me?”

Every word was a slap.

But I didn’t bleed anymore.

I let the rage in his voice wash over me like a cold wave, and when it passed, I was still standing.

Still smiling.

And no longer afraid.