Nicolas’s POV

The glass in my hand shattered.

Shards embedded themselves in my palm, cutting deep. Blood welled up immediately, soaking into my shirt cuff.

I didn’t move. Didn’t even look down.

"What did you say?" My voice came out quiet. Too quiet.

Roman knew that tone. Knew what it meant when I went silent like this.

But he didn’t back down. Didn’t run.

"She did what?" I repeated, each word dropping like stones into still water.

"My lord, this is unwise." Roman spoke faster now, words tumbling over each other. "Accepting her as your mate—the outside world will talk. They’ll say—"

My hand shot out.

Five fingers locked around his throat.

I could feel his pulse hammering against my palm. One squeeze. That’s all it would take. Just one.

His windpipe would collapse. His neck would snap.

So easy.

"Are you certain?" I asked. "About what you’re telling me?"

"Yes." His voice came out strangled, barely a whisper. "The entire pack knows. It’s not a secret."

Information was never hard to gather. That’s how Roman had collected so much in such a short time—a few calls, a few threats, and people talked.

They always talked.

"They say she couldn’t handle the rejection," Roman forced out, my hand still around his throat. "So she went after Maxim. Wanted his protection. Wanted an alpha to make her life easier."

My fingers loosened.

I shoved him away.

Roman stumbled backward, catching himself against the wall. His hand went to his throat, massaging the red marks already forming.

"You shouldn’t have marked her," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "She was chasing the man who rejected her. Begging for his attention."

My expression darkened with each word. The air in the room grew heavy, oppressive. Like something was pressing down on everything, making it hard to breathe.

"You need to reject her publicly," Roman continued. He was brave—or stupid—enough to push. "Otherwise, people will say you took Maxim’s leftovers. Her reputation in that pack is already destroyed, my lord."

The outside world had always whispered about me.

Said I killed my family. Said the Moon Goddess cursed me to die alone.

If I brought someone like Irina back as my queen, they’d only talk louder.

They’d say the Moon Goddess gave me damaged goods because that’s all I deserved.

"Keep talking," I said. Crossed my arms. Glass shards fell from my palm, tinkling against the hardwood floor.

Blood dripped down my wrist, soaking into my sleeve. I didn’t look at it.

Blood was nothing. I’d shed oceans of it.

"What else?"

Roman straightened. Drew in a breath.

Then he told me everything.

Every rumor. Every whisper. Every piece of gossip the Iron Thorn pack had spread about Irina.

How she’d pursued Maxim relentlessly. How she’d offered herself to him willingly, repeatedly. How she’d been his toy and loved every second of it.

How she’d been "like that since she was young"—that’s why her father cast her out of the beta’s house. That’s why her fated mate rejected her in front of everyone.

From this angle, Irina was worthless. A broken, desperate omega who’d debase herself for an alpha’s protection.

Roman painted a picture of a girl so desperate, so morally bankrupt, that her own family couldn’t stand to keep her.

I listened to all of it. Every word. Didn’t interrupt once.

The rage built slowly. Not the explosive kind—the cold, calculating kind. The kind that meant someone was going to die, but I’d take my time deciding who.

"The servants who worked in their compound confirmed it," Roman continued. "They saw her sneaking into Maxim’s room at night. Heard her begging him not to reject her. One of them said she even tried to seduce him at his own engagement party to Katerina."

I turned away from Roman. Walked to the window.

The city sprawled below, all those tiny lights. People living their insignificant lives, unaware that their king was standing above them, contemplating murder.

I pressed my bleeding palm against the glass. Left a red handprint.

I turned back to face him. "If she was chasing Maxim so desperately, why did he sell her to an auction house?"

Roman opened his mouth. Closed it.

"Why didn’t he just keep her?" I pressed. "If she was willing, eager even—why go through the trouble of having her father sign a contract? Why make it formal?"

"Perhaps he got bored—"

"Men don’t auction off toys they’re bored with. They discard them. Quietly." I stepped closer to Roman. "Why make a public spectacle of it?"

"I don’t know, my lord."

"Neither do I." I looked at my bleeding hand. The cuts were already closing—wolf healing kicking in. "But I’m going to find out."

My feet carried me back toward the bedroom. Toward her.

The bond pulled at my chest. Insistent. Demanding.

Mine, my wolf kept saying. Ours. Protect.

But Roman’s words echoed in my head.

*She was chasing Maxim. Begging for his attention. Willing. Eager.*

She was exactly where I’d left her. Small. Broken-looking. The blanket had slipped down to her waist, exposing the thin white dress.

And her face.

In sleep, she looked even younger than I’d thought. Couldn’t be more than eighteen. Maybe nineteen at most.

Her features were almost fragile. She looked like a ghost. Like she was halfway to death already.

I remembered her eyes from the auction stage. Even through the terror and pain, I’d seen their color—a startling blue-gray, like storm clouds over the ocean. They’d been wide with fear, dilated with panic.

Her hair fell across her forehead, and I resisted the urge to brush it back. To touch her.

And the bruises.

They covered her arms in layers—purple, yellow, green. Different stages of healing. Days old. Weeks old. Months old.

My eyes tracked over her body, cataloging damage.

Finger-shaped bruises around her wrists. Handprints on her upper arms. Marks around her throat that looked suspiciously like someone had tried to strangle her.

Repeatedly.

The rage burned in my chest.

"So... what do you plan to do next?" Roman asked, his tone careful.

"Strip Maxim of his alpha title. Put his pack under my direct control." The words came out without hesitation.

Roman’s expression confirmed what he’d already suspected—I was planning something brutal.

"Kill them all. Hang their heads above the main entrance of the compound." I felt my mouth curve upward.

Just imagining it made something burn in my chest. The thought of destroying that entire family gave me genuine pleasure, like a predator catching the scent of prey.

"My lord, stop." Roman shook his head. "You have no legitimate reason to do that. Besides—" He paused, his gaze drifting toward the bed. "Irina chose to be with that alpha."

He stared at the sleeping woman, and I caught something rare in his expression—doubt.

He’d said those words himself, but now, looking at that figure curled beneath the blankets, he didn’t seem so certain anymore.

I didn’t share his doubt.

The fact that she’d been with another man—I couldn’t swallow it. The feeling stuck in my throat like a thorn.

But I wouldn’t do what Roman suggested either. Wouldn’t publicly reject her and throw her away.

Why would I?

She was mine.

From now on, she would serve me alone. In my mind, that was clear enough not to need explanation or negotiation.

"—"

The conversation cut off.

A small whimper came from the bed.

I turned.

Irina was moving. Her body twisted painfully beneath the blanket, like something in her dream was pressing down on her, suffocating her. Her lips moved, voice hoarse and broken—she was speaking.

She was begging.

"Please... don’t... I don’t want..."