I Rejected My Obsessive Werebeast novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Jessica’s voice echoed through every thread.

I stared at the screen. At the words scrolling past, faster than anyone could read.

Some people would always believe the truth. Some people would always believe the lie.

And the war wasn’t over.

The moment we stepped outside the courthouse, the mob hit us.

Reporters surged forward in a wave–microphones thrust toward my face, camera shutters firing in rapid succession, flashes blinding and relentless. Shouts overlapped into a wall of noise. Miss Collins–over here! Miss Collins, can you comment on the verdict? Is it true that-

Silas moved instantly. One step forward, his body slotting between me and the crowd, his shoulder blocking the microphones, his arm a barrier across my chest. Kane was already pushing through the press, hands up, voice sharp.

“Back up. Give her space. No comments today.”

We carved a path through the mass of bodies, step by slow step. Camera lenses tracked us the entire way. I kept my eyes forward, jaw set, and didn’t say a word.

It took ten minutes to reach the car.

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Inside, the doors closed and the noise cut off.

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The silence was worse. It left room for everything we hadn’t said outside

to settle in.

Kane drove. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. His jaw was tight.

I stared at my hands in my lap.

“He’s in prison,” I said quietly. “But the core charge–the experimentation- didn’t stick. And there’s still a group of shifters missing. No one knows where they are.” I swallowed. “Lucien’s got people on the outside. Organised people. He’s not done.”

Silas’s hand found mine. His palm was warm, solid, his fingers curling around mine with quiet certainty.

“Even behind bars, he can still reach out. Still give orders.” His voice was low, steady. “We don’t let our guard down. Not for a second.”

Kane’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “And Jessica. She’s been clipping footage from the livestream–cutting it up, taking things out of context. Posting it like the trial was a circus. The comments section is a warzone. Half the people watching think we’re the villains.”

I closed my eyes. Let out a slow breath.

‘When we got home, I didn’t say anything. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off the blazer, and sank into the sofa like my body had stopped holding itself up.

The weight of the past weeks–the flood, the drive back, the hearing, the verdict, the missing witness, the missing shifters, Jessica’s endless

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campaign–it all came down at once.

Salas sat beside me. Didn’t ask. Just pulled me against him, one arm around my shoulders, and let me lean my head into the crook of his neck

I stayed there for a long time.

“The case isn’t over,” I said finally. My voice was muffled against his shirt. “That smile he gave me in court–I can’t get it out of my head. This wasn’t an ending. It was a pause.”

He pressed his lips to the top of my head. A long, slow kiss.

“I know,” he said. “We don’t get to rest. Not yet.”

14

That night, I sat at the dining table with every file we had.

The rescued shifters‘ list. Connor’s transport records. The warehouse documentation. The photographs. I spread them out and started cross- referencing–name by name, batch by batch, tracing the routes Connor had described.

Most of the rescued shifters matched the warehouse intake logs. But there was a gap. A group–maybe ten, maybe fifteen–listed in Connor’s transport records as part of the same shipment, but never logged at the warehouse. Never logged anywhere.

They’d vanished in transit.

I circled each name. Wrote notes in the margins. Drew lines between documents.

If we could find them–if we could bring them forward–they’d fill the hole in the evidence chain. The experimentation charge wouldn’t just survive. It would be undeniable.

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I was so deep in the files I barely heard the notification ping.

An email. New. No sender name. No subject line.

I clicked it open.

The body of the email was a single line of text.

“The game has only just begun.”

No signature. No attachment. No return address.

The air in the room went cold.

I turned the screen toward Silas.

His tiger ears snapped forward instantly, rigid. His eyes locked on the words. His jaw tightened until I could see the muscle twitch.

We didn’t ne44

to say it.

Lucien’s people were watching.

I screenshot the email immediately. Every detail–header, timestamp, the routing metadata, the single line of text. I forwarded the full package to the Bureau of Shifter Affairs cybersecurity division and filed a formal

report.

The response came back within the hour.

The email had bounced through multiple relay servers–layers of proxies, each one scrubbing the trail. Tracing it back to the source would be difficult. Near impossible in the short term. The only thing they could confirm was that the origin point was somewhere inside the city.

Not a comfort.

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Chapter 99

The next morning, the three of us sat in the living room. Coffee untouched on the table. Files spread across every surface.

Kane started.

“Here’s where we stand.”

He held up one finger. “Lucien is in prison. But his network outside is still active–they sent that email, they coerced a witness into disappearing. They’re organised. They’re operational.”

Two fingers. “A group of shifters are still missing. We don’t know where they are, we don’t know if they’re alive. Finding them is the only way to complete the evidence chain and nail the experimentation charge.”

Three fingers. “Jessica keeps posting. Keeps twisting the narrative. It’s civil defamation at worst, and we don’t have enough to push criminal charges, Not yet.”

Four fingers. “The justice system may be compromised. Someone inside took Lucien’s money. That means every move we make from here on needs to stay quiet. If word leaks, they’ll scatter.”

He let his hand drop. Looked at both of us.

Silas hadn’t moved. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable. But his tiger ears were forward–alert, listening to everything.

Kane reached for the stack of papers on the coffee table and spread them

out.

“The foundation’s been pulling leads. We’ve got eyewitness reports–people

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who’ve seen unfamiliar figures in black clothing, moving through the industrial district at night. Multiple sightings. Same area.” He tapped one the reports. “Witnesses describe vehicles arriving late, leaving before dawn. Sound carrying from inside abandoned warehouses. One person claims they heard voices–inuffled, like people calling for help.”

He looked up.

“The old industrial zone covers a huge area. Dozens of disused factories, warehouses, storage yards. Going in with a full raid would be reckless. We’d tip them off before we got within a block.”

Silas uncrossed his arms. Lean forward.

“Small–scale reconnaissance. Nighttime. I go in alone, scout the perimeter confirm whether there’s activity worth pursuing.” He turned to me. “You stay out of it. This isn’t a place for you to be.”

I shook my head before he finished the sentence.

“I’m going

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