Chapter 75: It’s Because I Like You

I really felt like hitting him right now.

I looked back at Bradford, Valerie, and my brothers, who were all standing in a tense, protective semicircle. There was no way Edgar and I could speak candidly with them hovering like that.

"Can we... have the living room for a moment?" I asked gently, turning to my family.

Bradford looked hesitant, but Valerie gave a soft nod, ushering the boys back into the kitchen.

They readily agreed to give us space, but I could tell they had no intention of actually leaving us alone. They would be watching our every move through the kitchen doorway, ready to burst in the second it looked like the powerful Alpha was trying to harm me.

Once they stepped back, I sat down on the low wooden stool opposite Edgar—the same one Bradford had just vacated—and folded my arms tight across my chest.

"Little cat," Edgar purred, his low voice vibrating with quiet amusement. "You leveled up."

My lips twisted into a flat, annoyed line. "Thanks to your artifact." I said but didn’t dwell on that topic as I stared straight at him. "Edgar, are you trying to make trouble for me?"

"Of course not," he replied smoothly, taking another slow sip of the lukewarm ginger tea.

"Then why in the world did you mention ’investment’ to my family?" I demanded, my voice dropping into a sharp whisper.

"Because I want to openly put you under my protection," he said, setting the chipped mug down on the wobbly table with surprising delicate care.

I raised an eyebrow, and he leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes locking onto mine. "I understand my sister may try to go after your family as revenge. If I make it clear to the public that your family is affiliated directly with me, even the boldest thugs in this city will think twice before stirring up trouble. Your pack is no exception."

"That still doesn’t explain why you told them you were my investor," I pointed out, unfazed.

"Because it’s true," Edgar said simply. "And because I know your parents worry about you. I also know you’re likely struggling to find a plausible explanation for where you got the money to pay off their debts completely."

My mouth opened to counter, but nothing came out. I pursed my lips, a cold spike of surprise running through me. Just how much did he figure out?

"If I openly introduce myself as your investor," Edgar continued, his tone calm and calculated, "you can use me as your cover for where the money came from. They won’t doubt it. I’ll tell them I’m funding and training you because I don’t want you getting hurt during the Tournament of Power."

It was sound, bulletproof logic. But a tactical flaw immediately popped into my head.

"And why would an Alpha from another pack care if a wolfless Omega got hurt in the Tournament of Power?" I asked coldly. "They’re not dumb. They know how the world works. I bring you no status, no power, and no political benefit. Why would you invest in keeping me safe?"

"It’s because I like you," he said cleanly.

I paused for a second, my mind coming to a dead halt. What did he just say?

"If I use that as the excuse," Edgar elaborated smoothly, completely unbothered, "surely they won’t think I’m trying to extort or use you."

I blinked, taking a sharp breath. An excuse? Saying he liked me as an excuse to explain why he was helping me survive the tournament?

That made sense. Yes, a completely fabricated, strategic excuse... romance. But then...

Then why did my heart just flip?

I caught myself instantly, snapping out of the momentary lapse. "They won’t just believe that either." I said, shaking my head. "That’s harder to swallow than anything else."

Edgar tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Why? Because I’m an Alpha?"

"Yes," I stated flatly. "And because you’re someone far older."

"Older?" Edgar listened to the word, and to my surprise, a deep, rumbling laugh escaped his chest. "How old do you think I am, little cat?"

I eyed his massive, broad-shouldered frame, the sharp, mature line of his jaw, and the absolute authority he carried. "Well... Twenty five? Twenty-six? Around your late twenties, surely. Maybe early thirties."

Edgar’s expression went instantly grim at my guess, and he let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"I’m not that old," he grumbled.

His reaction took me far more aback than his fake confession about liking me. He’s not that old? Who on earth would believe that? Look at him—he was enormous, imposing, and ran a casino under his pack’s name in our territory.

"I’m twenty-one," he revealed flatly.

I stared at him, genuine shock breaking through my usual stoic mask. Twenty-one?! With a body built like a tank and an aura that could crush full-grown wolves?

"Are you kidding me?" I asked in disbelief.

"I can show you my ID if that will clear your doubt," he said, already taking out his wallet from his inner pocket and flashed it at me.

And there he was. A younger picture of Edgar, his full name, the name of his pack, and right there, his date of birth.

I blinked, gulped and counted with my fingers. Ah, he really was 21. But then... I looked back at him. Why did he look so...?

"Growth sprouts," he said, as if he could hear my thoughts, and the gears trying to make sense of his size and his age. "My father was on the bigger side. Being this big is normal."

"Oh!" That explains it.

Wait... is this why he finds it so offensive when people call him ’Mister’?

Poor guy. It must actually be hard for him, constantly being treated like a middle-aged mob boss when he was literally in his early twenties.

Clearing my throat to regain my composure, I brushed the thought aside.

"Well, setting your age aside... the fact that you’re an Alpha still stands. My parents believe in a balanced, simple life. They fear I’ll get sucked into unnecessary high-society drama and schemes if I get involved with someone way above my level."

"I don’t think they’ll focus on that," Edgar murmured, his golden eyes darting briefly toward the kitchen doorway where my family was watching us like hawks.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked out loud.

"Because," he said, turning back to me, his tone growing gentler, "more than being dragged into high-society drama, they fear you dying in the Tournament of Power."