~ ROSELLE ~

Something is going to go wrong; I can feel it in my skin, in the way it prickles and the hairs rise along my arms. I’ve learned not to ignore this feeling. Every time it comes, it usually ends with me being beaten for something. So I can only hope this time is different.

The ride to Westbrook isn’t quite what I expected.

I’d envisioned staring out the window, keeping my eyes closed whenever I could, trying to bury every memory that threatens to surface.

But that’s not what happens.

The moment I try to look out the window, Ronan tilts my head toward him and kisses my nose, then my chin, and finally my lips in a fiery warning kiss that says, even without words, If you stare out that window again, I’m going to kiss you until your lips are red and sore.

Afterward, he rests my head against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me comfortingly.

Nikolai and other warriors accompany us. Our car sits in the middle of the convoy, with two vehicles leading the way and another following behind.

I try not to steal glances at Ronan, even though I’m tempted to tell him that his new hairstyle looks good on him. It makes his face seem sharper, more prominent.

And somehow, it’s even worse when he’s dressed casually. Today, he’s wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts, looking nothing like the intimidating Alpha everyone fears.

I want to ask why he dresses so casually. The first time I met him, he was dressed much the same way, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

It’s strange. Alphas are supposed to be intimidating. Ronan somehow manages to be both terrifying and comforting at the same time.

"We’re here, Rose..." Ronan says after a short while of silence, lifting my head as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

My lips curl into a smile. His grey eyes immediately light up in response, a smile tugging at his own lips.

I’ve noticed he’s been calling me Rose more and more these days, abandoning my full name entirely. And somehow, I love hearing it from him.

"Don’t forget what we talked about, sweetheart," he says softly.

"If you ever feel scared, you can hold my hand. Is that okay?"

I nod. When we step out of the car, Ronan keeps hold of my hand and leads me toward the pack house.

As we walk, his fingers tighten around mine. The simple gesture distracting me from the turmoil churning inside my head.

The guards must have informed Warren of our arrival, because he’s already standing outside, waiting for us.

"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise, Ronan?" he asks.

"We’ve got unfinished business," Ronan replies.

Without waiting for a response, he brushes past Warren and heads inside.

I follow closely beside him. I can feel Warren’s eyes on me. The weight of his stare sends unease creeping through my stomach.

It reminds me of the threat he made. And even though I already told Ronan the truth, I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong.

We walk into the main hall, and Ronan finally releases my hand, but only so he can slam a stack of papers onto the nearest table with enough force to make Warren flinch.

"Let’s discuss the contract terms, shall we?" he says, his voice booming across the room and reverberating off the walls.

Warren’s face pales slightly as his gaze flicks toward me, fury already burning in his eyes while I watch the calculations happening behind them. He’s trying to figure out what I’ve told Ronan and how much damage control he needs to do.

"What about the contract?" Warren asks, attempting to sound casual, but the slight stutter in his voice betrays him.

Ronan leans forward, slowly tapping a finger against the papers as his expression hardens.

"The contract between us states," he says, his voice dropping into a deadly calm tone, "that you were to hand over your sister, and I’d like to assume that’s exactly what happened, right?"

His grey eyes remain locked on Warren’s, silently daring him to lie.

"So I’m going to ask you directly, and I want you to think very carefully before you answer," Ronan continues. "Is Roselle your sister?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

Warren’s gaze darts to me, and for a moment, I see the threat flash across his face. Don’t you dare contradict me. But Ronan notices the look, and his face pulls into a frown, his jaw twitching.

"She’s my foster sister," Warren says finally, and I almost choke at the lie. "But that makes her my sister because she was taken in and adopted by my family. We cared for her. We raised her. Legally and by pack law, she’s my sister."

I stare at him in disbelief, my stomach twisting as the words leave his mouth so effortlessly.

The room falls into an awkward silence as Ronan turns his gaze to me for a brief moment, and I subtly shake my head, letting him know it’s a lie.

Ronan lets out a laugh, but there’s no warmth or humor in the sound, only ice-cold amusement that sends a chill down my spine.

"Foster sister," he repeats softly. "Interesting choice of words."

"If she’s your foster sister," Ronan continues, his voice taking on an almost conversational tone that’s somehow more terrifying than if he’d been shouting, "then by pack law, the throne should pass to her. She’s the rightful heir, she’s royal blood, and the bloodline passes through her."

Warren’s face flushes red as his jaw tightens visibly. "That’s not how it works—"

"Isn’t it?" Ronan cuts him off, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. "If it’s not, I’d like you to educate me, Warren, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been sitting on a throne that was never yours to begin with."

Warren looks at me, and I see the contempt in his eyes. "Okay, I don’t know what this bitch has been feeding you with, but that’s not what happened, and—"

One minute, Warren is still talking, and the next, blood is spurting from his mouth.

It all happens too fast for me to process. The punch Ronan delivers lands straight on his face.