Chapter 517

Ron:

My eyebrows pulled together, and I turned toward the warrior.

“What is he doing here?” I demanded of the warrior.

He raised his eyebrow at me, reminding me that I had neither the power nor the right to yell or demand answers.

“Go inside. You cannot deny this meeting,” he said the moment he noticed the look on my face, the one that clearly showed I was seconds away from walking out.

So I moved forward, my eyes locked on the man sitting across from me. I dropped into the chair and slammed both my hands onto the table. He did not flinch, nor did the expression on his face change.

“I hope you remember me,” he said softly, a faint smirk of sympathy playing on his lips, one I immediately disliked.

“I did not expect them to put you here. I mean, it is a little harsh, isn’t it?” the voice was dripping with sarcasm.

The visitor did not feel bad for me. It was a fake attempt to show sympathy, or perhaps to remind me that my condition was meant to be pitied.

“You know, life has moved on for everyone else except you, the forgotten alpha.”

The words struck hard because they were true.

“What do you want? Why are you here?” I asked bluntly.

The Ron who once treated everyone with respect no longer existed. After everything that had happened here, the treatment, the injustice, I no longer felt any obligation to be polite.

“Why are you being so hostile? I heard no one comes to visit you,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and wrinkling his nose as if irritated by the discomfort. “This is uncomfortable. I am not used to sitting on chairs like this. I usually sit on my throne very comfortably. I am sure you are no longer familiar with that.”

He shook his head slowly.

“You do not have that anymore.” he smirked.

“What do you want?” I repeated, refusing to entertain his comments or whatever satisfaction he was trying to gain from this.

“Always straight to the point,” he remarked, almost like it was a compliment, before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “I want to offer you a deal.”

One of my eyebrows rose.

“What makes you think I would accept anything you have to offer?” I asked, leaning back this time and placing my hands in my lap.

I noticed his eyes flicker toward them repeatedly, as if he was afraid I might attack him. I had lost my dignity here, but not my humanity.

“Well, since nobody else is fighting for you anymore,” he said casually, “how about I do it for you?”

My jaw clenched at his offer.

“You want me to believe that you want to fight for me?” I asked.

He shrugged, and I let out a short chuckle to mock his statement.

“I would be a fool to trust you. You know that, right? You would be the last person I would ever put my life in the hands of,” I commented, watching him roll his eyes at my words.

“Besides, I don’t need your help. I already have a lawyer.”

The moment those words left my lips, he let out a chuckle, then pretended to choke

as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Your lawyer works for my pack now,” Elgin added, giving me a mockingly

sympathetic smile, as though he felt sorry for me after ruining everything.

“I will ask you again,” I said slowly, pronouncing each word with deliberate clarity, “what do you want this time?”

He leaned back into his seat.

There was something dead in his eyes when he finally answered.

“I want your pack.”

I watched his face in silence, waiting for him to tell me he was joking. The audacity to think what he was saying

as not odd, and the nerve to still wait for my response, proved he was brain-dead.

“Come on, I need your answer,” Elgin urged, tapping his fingers on the table before leaning back again.

“In return, I will help you clear your name, and I will also find your grandmother’s

killer,” Elgin added with confidence, as if he already knew where to look.

“So you know who killed my grandmother?” I asked, emotions rushing back to me.

“It would not be hard for me to find

out, but I need your pack,” Elgin replied. “So it depends on you, really. Do you value your pack so much that you are going to rot here for

your grandmother’s murder, or

Would you hand over your pack and get justice for her?” he sighed.

“Trust me when I tell you this, Ron, but nobody is really thinking about you anymore,” he continued.

Those words really hit me hard. The problem was that even if I believed what he was saying was similar to the recent situation.

No one came to meet me. Nor was I being told what was going on and what was

not.