Ronan was back in his tower, but the thirty-eighth floor felt less like an altar to his dominance and more like a cage. His ribs ached where Malek had struck him, a physical reminder of his vulnerability, but the real pain was the realization that Lyra had effortlessly solved the crisis that had paralyzed his Pack for half a decade.
He had retrieved the Heart of Shadowclaw from Lyra's vault that morning—not by force, but by signing a legal document granting Aura Dynamics permanent oversight of his Pack's defense infrastructure. The humiliation was total.
Ronan stood by the panoramic window, his gaze fixed on the lights of the city. He wasn't Alpha Kaelen, the ruthless CEO; he was Ronan, the rejected fool who had destroyed the most precious things in his life.
Damon entered, carrying a crisp, custom-designed invitation.
"Alpha, you need to see this. Lyra is hosting a celebration gala tomorrow night. 'The Grand Opening of Aura Dynamics' North American Headquarters.' It's the highest-profile event of the season." Damon paused, his voice low. "It's a declaration of war, Ronan. She's seizing your corporate territory."
Ronan took the invitation, his eyes scanning the elegant script. "She's giving me an opportunity," he corrected, a new, desperate resolve hardening his voice. "This is the perfect venue for the public grovel."
"Sir? A grovel in front of hundreds of rival packs and human elites? It could damage your authority irreparably."
"My authority is already damaged, Damon. She made me fetch her coffee and saved my life after I failed to save my Pack. Authority means nothing if I lose my son's bloodline and the woman who carries it." Ronan looked at the gold writing. "Set up a press conference—a brief, unscheduled address right before the gala starts. I need every major news outlet there. And order the biggest, most ostentatious bouquet of white roses you can find."
The Next Night. Lyra's Gala.
The Aura Dynamics headquarters was a glittering monument to Lyra's success. The ballroom was packed with the city's elite—human billionaires, lesser pack Alphas, and influential supernatural brokers. Ronan watched from a discreet distance as Lyra, stunning in a flowing crimson gown, worked the room.
She wasn't smiling; she was commanding.
Then, a low murmur rippled through the crowd as a man approached Lyra, his presence radiating quiet, confident power.
Liam Devereux.
Liam was a renowned human tech mogul, a man whose legitimate business empire was so vast, he could look any Alpha in the eye without fear. He was dangerously handsome, impeccably dressed, and there was an easy, natural warmth in his smile as he spoke to Lyra—a warmth Ronan had never been able to give her.
Liam took Lyra's hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes holding hers with obvious adoration.
"The Other Suitor," Damon whispered, confirming Ronan's immediate, searing jealousy. "He's been courting her for six months. He doesn't know about wolves, but he knows about wealth, respect, and loyalty—everything you failed to provide."
Lyra laughed at something Liam said—a genuine, unguarded sound that Ronan hadn't heard since before their contract marriage. The sight of her happiness, directed at another man, nearly broke his control.
He doesn't have the mark, but he gives her freedom.
Ronan realized he was running out of time. He took a deep, steadying breath. "It's time. Clear a path to the stage."
The main lights dimmed. Ronan, Damon, and two other trusted wolves strode onto the massive stage, bypassing Lyra's astonished security. Lyra's face, when she saw him commandeer her spotlight, was a mask of cold fury.
Ronan ignored her reaction and walked straight to the microphone.
"I called this unscheduled address because tonight is not about corporate expansion," Ronan announced, his voice ringing with Alpha projection, demanding the attention of every soul in the room. "Tonight is about repentance."
He looked directly at Lyra, who stood motionless, Liam Devereux's hand resting protectively on her arm. Ronan's heart twisted at the gesture.
"Five years ago," Ronan continued, his voice cracking slightly, "I made the gravest mistake of my life. I allowed pride, fear, and political ambition to blind me to the truth. I betrayed my mate, Lyra Thorne, and our son, Leo. I accused her of theft when she was the only honest person in my life. I rejected the Ancient Crimson Bloodline, believing it to be a curse, when in fact, it is the only thing that saved our Pack from ruin."
He swallowed hard, the taste of ashes back in his mouth.
"Lyra Thorne is not an Omega; she is the most powerful force in the city. She saved the Shadowclaw Pack tonight when I could not. I stand before you, Lyra, as your mate, your Alpha, and the father of your son, to admit my failure."
Ronan ripped off his own Shadowclaw Alpha pin, the golden crest of his family, and dropped it onto the floor.
Then, for the second time in two days, he went to his knees.
His expensive suit crinkled as he knelt, lowering his massive frame until his forehead was nearly touching the stage, a full, utterly public sign of submission. His eyes, burning red with pain and absolute regret, were fixed solely on Lyra.
"Lyra," he begged, the word a raw rasp caught in the microphone. "I don't ask for your forgiveness. I ask for the chance to earn it. I offer you my title, my fortune, and my life. Please, come home. Let me grovel until the day I die. I need you. I need our son. Come back to us."
The room was utterly silent. Every eye was on the crumpled, kneeling Alpha and the woman in crimson who had just been offered the kingdom.
Lyra walked toward him, the silence amplifying the sound of her heels. She stood directly over him, the apex of the Shadowclaw world literally bowed at her feet.
She looked down at the crest on the floor, then at the groveling Alpha. She raised her hand, not to touch him, but to signal her security detail.
"Liam," Lyra said, her voice clear and carrying perfectly across the ballroom, refusing to even address Ronan. "I believe the Alpha of Shadowclaw just made a substantial public donation to Aura Dynamics' Legal Defense Fund."
She looked straight ahead, her golden eyes ice.
"Alpha Kaelen," she stated, using his formal title as a weapon. "The old Lyra is gone. The woman you seek does not exist. Your contract of subordination is still in effect. I accept your public admission of guilt, but your marriage proposal is officially rejected."
Lyra stepped around his kneeling form, took Liam's arm, and looked back at the stunned crowd.
"The party continues," she announced, her smile cold and predatory. "And Mr. Kaelen will kindly remove himself from the stage. He is currently interrupting the hors d'oeuvres."
Ronan remained kneeling as the lights came up, his pride utterly annihilated. He had groveled, and she had rejected him publicly, leaving him in ruins at her feet. His real work had just begun.