Chapter 359
Gigi turned her predatory gaze to the woman beside him. “And you, Luna,” she said, the title dripping with disdain. “You watched him do it, didn’t you? All to maintain your pathetic illusion of power.”
Victoria Hyde flinched, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. She was trembling, her scent spiking with sharp notes of panic.
“I…” Marcus stammered, panic finally overriding his pride. But then the humiliation became too much. The Alpha in him, however diminished, snapped.
He shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the marble floor. A growl ripped from his throat — weak and pathetic, but a challenge nonetheless. “I will not sit here and be interrogated like a criminal in front of my own Luna! I am an Alpha! I demand—”
Tap.
Gigi brought the tip of her ebony cane down on the floor. A single, light tap.
“Sit down, Marcus,” she said. Her voice was flat. Bored.
“No! I have rights! The Council—”
“If you do not sit down,” Gigi interrupted, her tone shifting to an ancient and terrifying cadence, “I shall take your wolf myself.”
The threat hung in the air, heavier than any physical blow. To be stripped of one’s wolf — to be made wolfless by force — was a fate worse than death for an Alpha. It was a spiritual castration.
“You will live out your days as a wolfless Omega, begging for scraps at the edge of the territory,” Gigi promised softly. “Now. Choose.”
Marcus froze. The color drained from his face, leaving him grey and ashen. His chest heaved as he fought the instinct to posture, but the fear of the Matriarch was primal. Slowly, agonizingly, his knees buckled. He sank back into his chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
He was broken.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I watched Victoria. She was staring at her husband, but there was no pity in her eyes — only calculation. She could see the ship sinking, and she was already looking for a life raft.
“My King.” Victoria’s voice was small and wavering, but distinct in the quiet room.
She didn’t look at Marcus. She turned her body toward Dallas and bowed her head in submission.
“Victoria?” Marcus rasped, looking at his wife with wide, betrayed eyes. “What are you doing?”
She ignored him completely. “Braydon was foolish,” she said to Dallas, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. “But he was organized. He kept records of everything. I know where he hid his ledgers — the ones detailing his entire network with the Rogues. Every name. Every payment.”
She took a breath, sealing her fate and her husband’s doom. “I can give them to you.”
Marcus stared at her, mouth agape, the full weight of his total isolation crashing down on him. He reached for his wine glass with a shaking hand and drained it in one long gulp — the only comfort left for a man who had just lost everything.