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Chapter 53 - 53

The Vincent estate glittered like a crown on the hillside that night.

The courtyard was transformed into a marble dream: golden chandeliers floated above silk-draped tables, each lit by candles that danced in the warm summer breeze. The scent of champagne, fine cigars, roses, and fresh pine from the estate's ancient garden mingled in the air, wrapping around the guests like a spell.

It wasn't just a party.

It was a show of power.

Vincent power.

Elias Enigma—Daddy Vincent, as he was known by both feared allies and trembling enemies—had spared no luxury. The estate was swarming with business partners, mafia associates, foreign dignitaries, and wolves cloaked in black silk and darker secrets.

In the center of it all stood his sons: Max, Silas, and Sam. Each dressed in custom-tailored black suits, glinting with subtle symbols of their rank and familylegacy. Noah stood near them, a glass of untouched wine in hand, his body angled protectively toward Sam.

Lucien, ever sharp and silent, observed everything. James and Oliver arrived together, the alpha king and his omega queen. And not far behind, the triplets' inner circle filtered in: Axel, Damon, Reese, Jett, and Aria.

The Andersons and Millers mingled with poise, moving between mafia heads like lions through tall grass.

Then she arrived.

She wasn't announced. She wasn't important.

Just another pretty face from a lesser-known mafia clan—small, bitter, desperate for relevance.

She was omega.

And behind her stood an older alpha, his hair graying at the temples, his eyes sharp with manipulation. They carried the scent of ambition… and something else beneath itDanger.

"Lord Noah," the omega purred, stepping forward with a coy smile. Her silk dress clung to her curves as she offered a glass of wine, golden and glistening. "From my hand, a token of respect."

Noah stared at the drink for a full beat, expression unreadable.

Then he tilted his head, offering a slow, mocking smile.

"From your hand," he repeated, "and yet the scent reeks of someone else's command."

The omega's smile faltered.

He didn't take the drink.

Instead, he handed it off to a passing server without breaking eye contact.

The old alpha behind her gave a thin smile, but didn't speak. His eyes followed Noah—measured, calculating. He didn't dare approach. He knew exactly what Noah was—and that it was a death sentence to lay a hand on him.But when Noah turned away to rejoin the others, the old alpha leaned down and whispered to the omega, "Give it to the Vincent boy instead. The quiet one. He won't notice. And if we can't have him... the mate will do."

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