Blake POV:
Two Royal Guards stepped forward, their heavy combat boots thudding against the greasy tiles of the kitchen floor. They didn't hesitate. They drove their boots directly into the backs of Connor's knees.
The sharp, sickening crack of bone echoed through the silent kitchen. Connor hit the floor hard. A muffled groan tore from his throat. He had never taken a physical beating like this in his life. His pampered existence as an Alpha made him utterly intolerant to real pain.
He looked up at me. His eyes were bloodshot, wide with a frantic, unhinged disbelief. He stared at my casual clothes, then at the crushing, suffocating pressure of the White Wolf aura radiating from my skin. His mind was breaking. I could see it in the way his pupils dilated. He was trying to reconcile the subservient girl who cooked his meals for three years with the monster standing over him.
In the corner, Jaden let out a sharp, pathetic squeak. She scrambled backward, her survival instincts kicking in. She hit a large plastic bucket of kitchen slop. It tipped over.
Foul, sour garbage water cascaded over her expensive couture gown. She didn't even dare to wipe it off. She just sat in the puddle of rotting vegetables and grease, shaking uncontrollably. She had studied the hierarchy of the elites to climb her way up. She knew exactly what royal guards meant.
Connor gritted his teeth. He placed his hands flat on the filthy, oil-slicked tiles. His arms trembled as he tried to force himself up. The ancient pride of the Shadow Creek pack demanded that he never kneel.
I let out a low, cold laugh.
My pupils dilated, flooding with pure, icy blue light. I stopped holding back. Three years of swallowing my pride, three years of scrubbing his floors, all of it poured into the royal bloodline aura I released into the room.
It hit him like a concrete vault. The invisible gravity slammed into his spine. Connor's arms gave out. He crashed chest-first into the floor, his chin slamming against the tiles, leaving a smear of fresh blood. The absolute submission coded into his wolf genetics forced him down. His male pride shattered into dust.
Lena, my Guard Captain, unholstered her silver-loaded pistol. She pressed the cold, black muzzle directly against the back of Connor's skull. She hated him. She had sworn an oath to protect me, and her killing intent was a physical heat in the room.
A red laser sight flickered on the skin of his nape. The silver in the chamber radiated a lethal, burning chill. Connor's wolf instincts recognized the death sentence. His body began to convulse violently.
Mark, the restaurant manager, was already on his knees. His legs had given out minutes ago. He slammed his forehead against the floor, crying, begging, his skin splitting open against the grout. He knew treating me like garbage was going to cost him his life.
I ignored Mark completely. I walked slowly toward Connor. I stopped when the pointed toes of my heels were inches from his face. Just yesterday, he had laughed at these shoes, calling them cheap trash.
In the shadows near the prep stations, Austin leaned against a steel counter. His arms were crossed over his chest. His dark eyes tracked my every movement. I could feel the heavy, predatory approval rolling off him. My display of power was waking something up inside him.
I lifted my chin. I extended my right hand toward Lena. The movement was smooth, ingrained in my muscle memory since childhood.
Lena immediately stepped forward. She held out a heavy, black velvet folder stamped with the dark gold crest of the Royal House. It was the highest level of decree, reserved only for treason.
I didn't take it. I didn't want to touch anything that would touch him.
"Throw it to him," I said. My voice was dead.
Lena didn't just throw it. She slammed the heavy folder directly into the side of Connor's face. The sharp, stiff edge sliced open his cheekbone.
The velvet folder bounced off his face and landed in the puddle of grease and slop. The gold crest was instantly coated in filth.
Connor panted heavily. His eyes were completely red with humiliation. He clamped his jaw shut and refused to look down at the paper. He was clinging to the last, pathetic shred of his Alpha dignity.
Lena lifted her combat boot and stomped down hard on the back of his right hand. She ground her heel into his knuckles. She knew exactly how to break a prisoner.
Connor screamed. His fingers spasmed from the blinding pain. His hand twitched outward, his fingertips brushing against the cold, wet velvet of the folder. The physical agony finally broke his mental wall.
I looked down at him.
"Open it," I said, my voice devoid of any inflection. "Read it."
Connor's hand shook violently. His fingers, covered in grease and his own blood, fumbled with the velvet cover. He was a man who signed billion-dollar contracts without looking, and now he barely had the strength to turn a single page.
He flipped it open.
The thick white parchment was stamped with a massive, blood-red wax seal. The Royal Signet. It was the absolute law. It burned his eyes.
His gaze dragged across the first line of text. His pupils shrank to pinpricks. His lungs stopped working. The words on the page completely annihilated his reality.
He jerked his head up. He stared at me like I was the devil. His lips trembled, opening and closing, but no sound came out. He finally understood he hadn't crossed a stray dog. He had crossed a god.
Jaden noticed his reaction. Her greed overpowered her terror. She crawled forward through the garbage water, trying to peek at the document. She needed to know if she still had a future.
I shifted my gaze to her. The smirk on my face deepened.
"Looks like your little mistress is anxious to hear the results," I said, making sure the word tasted like poison.
Lena pressed the gun barrel harder into Connor's skull.
"The Princess told you to read," Lena barked. "Are you deaf?"
Connor swallowed hard. His eyes were glued to the text. He opened his mouth, his voice dripping with pure, unadulterated despair.
"This is impossible..."
