Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I kept them at bay. I refused to give Clinton the satisfaction of seeing me broken. Not here, not in front of all these people.
I opened my mouth, ready to shout at him, to call him out for the coward he was, but before I could make a sound, he stepped forward again. His voice rang out, smooth and full of authority, like he thought he was untouchable.
"From this day forward," Clinton said, his cold eyes scanning the pack, "Dahlia is your Luna. My son is the future of this pack. And Lalaine..." He turned his gaze back to me, that sharp, empty look cutting through me. "Lalaine will no longer be part of this family. She’s weak. She failed me, but she can still prove her loyalty..."
I froze. I didn't know what he meant by "prove her loyalty," but a sinking feeling in my gut told me it wouldn’t be anything good.
He motioned for someone behind him. And then—there it was. The dagger.
Clinton handed it to me like it was some sort of twisted gift. The sharp blade caught the light, gleaming under the chandeliers. My stomach twisted into a knot.
"Prove your loyalty," he said, his voice soft but deadly. "Get rid of Ayla."
The words hit me like a slap. I didn’t even have time to process it. I couldn’t even breathe for a second. My heart skipped in my chest, my hands shaking as I held Ayla closer to me, her cries still echoing in my ears.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. I heard some mutters, whispers of disbelief. But no one moved. No one spoke up. They all just stood there, watching. Waiting.
I could feel their eyes on me, the pressure, the judgment. They all knew what Clinton was asking. They all knew it wasn’t just about proving loyalty. It was a test. A test to see how far I was willing to go to obey him.
I couldn't do it. I wouldn't.
I took a deep breath, my chest tight with fear and fury. "I won’t do it." My voice came out hoarse, but strong. I wasn't backing down. Not this time.
Clinton’s eyes darkened, his lip curling in disgust. The room went cold. There was no hesitation, no remorse in his face. He was just waiting.
"Refusal is treason," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "You think you can defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?"
I stood there, shaking, my daughter held tight in my arms. Ayla’s little hands were clutching at me, her cries growing louder, more frantic. She didn’t understand any of this. All she knew was that her mom was about to be forced to make the worst decision of her life.
And it wasn’t just Clinton’s words that terrified me. It was the look in his eyes. The way he was looking at me like I was a problem to be solved, a thorn in his side that he was ready to remove.
"Clinton, please," I whispered, my voice cracking as I tried to reason with him. "She’s just a baby. Please—"
But before I could finish, he lunged forward. His hand shot out, grabbing me by the wrist, yanking me to the side. Ayla’s terrified wail pierced through the tense air as I stumbled while my heart racing.
He was about to make his move. I knew it. I could see it in his eyes. He was ready to end me.
I could feel him coming closer. His breath on my neck, his rage like a storm crashing down on me. But then something inside me snapped. Something primal. Something fierce.
Instinct kicked in. Without thinking, I yanked the dagger from his hand, the blade cold and sharp in my grip.
In one swift motion, I turned and slashed at him. His arm.
