Chapter 4 - Uninvited Guests
The silence in the corridor turned razor-sharp. Silas hesitated, looking at Vivien with a unspoken warning, but Vivien nodded gently.
"It's fine, Silas," she said softly. "Give us a moment."
The physician reluctantly stepped away, his footsteps fading down the marble stairs. Genevieve closed the distance between them, her heels clicking like tiny hammers against the floor. Up close, the Alpha female radiated power—an oppressive, suffocating aura designed to force lesser wolves to their knees.
"You're lower than a rogue," Genevieve said, her tone smooth, conversational, and utterly venomous. "A wolf without a beast. A useless bloodline. Did you really think you could play house with the Alpha King?"
Vivien didn't bow her head. She didn't drop her gaze. The emotional turmoil of the past twenty-four hours had burned away whatever fear she once possessed.
"Valente made his choice," Vivien replied coldly. "He signed your treaty. You have your kingdom, Lady Genevieve. You don't need to stalk the guest wings."
Genevieve laughed, a bitter, musical sound. "Do you think I care about Valente's bed partners? I care about power. But what intrigues me is why a man who discards trash so cold-heartedly refused to let you leave the territory last night."
Genevieve took a step closer, her nose twitching faintly. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught a stray whiff of the air—a scent that Valente had spent hours trying to wash off his clothes, but which still clung faintly to the space around Vivien.
"The scent of raw Alpha lineage..." Genevieve’s voice dropped to a sinister whisper. Her hand shot out, grabbing Vivien’s wrist with brutal, supernatural strength. "You're pregnant."
"Let go of me," Vivien snapped, trying to pull away, but Genevieve’s grip tightened, her nails digging into Vivien’s flesh.
"A bastard child from a latent human-adjacent rat?" Genevieve’s face twisted in disgust. "This treaty promises that my children will inherit the Belmont throne. I won't allow a dirty mistake to contaminate this house."
Genevieve raised her free hand, her sharp, elongated nails gleaming in the torchlight, aimed directly at Vivien's face.
"Step back from her."
The command roared through the corridor like a physical shockwave. The heavy glass lanterns along the wall shattered simultaneously.
Valente stood at the end of the hall. His suit jacket was gone, his tie loosened, and his eyes burned with a terrifying, apocalyptic gold. Behind him, the shadows seemed to stretch and twist, reflecting the feral rage of his beast.
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Genevieve froze, her hand hovering inches from Vivien. She slowly let go of Vivien’s wrist, stepping back with a tight, furious smile. "Valente. You lied to my father."
"Leave this corridor, Genevieve," Valente said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating growl that shook the floorboards. "Touch her again, and the treaty burns before the ink even dries."
