The clatter of spoons, forks, and knives should have been the only sound at the table, but Alexander's heart pounded so loudly it seemed to fill the tense silence.
Her fingers clenched around her spoon. If the fat of her palm hadn't hidden them, the veins would have stood out. She sat stiff-backed, sweat gathering along her face and spine, head bowed—every inch of her giving away how terrified she was.
This was the first time she'd eaten at the same table with her father and Jezebel. The last time, she'd been barely four, ordered to stand aside and watch instead of join them.
The tension gnawed at her, tightening with every second.
Then the silence shattered. A plate scraped harshly, and Jezebel turned on Gideon with ferocious eyes, teeth clenched. "Gideon," she snarled, "what do you mean by this?"
Gideon frowned at his wife, still unable to understand why she refused to let her hatred of Alexander die. Alexander was already mated to Alpha Damon—if Damon ever chose to make her Luna, she could use that power to ruin him, and his dream of becoming head of the council would vanish in an instant. Jezebel was too blinded by rage to see the danger.
"Alexander is still my daughter," Gideon said coldly. "If there's nothing else to discuss, we will eat. Servants—"
Jezebel shot to her feet. Her palm struck the table so hard the wood cracked and collapsed beneath it. Her eyes flashed blue as her omega surged forward, and a furious howl tore from her throat.
She glared at Gideon. "I will never accept her as my daughter after she killed mine."
With a sharp sweep of her dress, she stormed out. Gideon didn't stop her. He didn't even answer.
The servants moved at once, clearing the broken furniture and replacing the ruined dishes with practiced speed. It happened so fast Alexander's eyes couldn't follow; she turned her head trying to keep up until the ache in her neck grew, and still she couldn't catch every movement.
When it was done, Gideon looked at her and offered a small, controlled smile. "Let's eat."
Alexander's grip on the spoon finally loosened. The sweat on her skin cooled. She exhaled a long breath of relief—and began to eat.
Gideon went to his room after dinner. When he opened the door, he found Jezebel on the bed, drinking and wailing, her voice thick with grief.
"My daughter… Tracy… I'll make the ones who killed you suffer a fate worse than—"
He crossed the room in a few strides, yanked her up, and pinned her against the wall with one hand. Jezebel thrashed and clawed, even the change in her eyes doing nothing to help her. She couldn't make him budge an inch.
Gideon's voice was ice. "This is the last warning you'll get. Say those things again and I'll send you to join your daughter—wherever she is. I won't let you sabotage my dream of becoming Head Elder. If killing you gets me there, I won't hesitate."
He released her.
Jezebel crumpled to the floor, staring up at him, breathless and shaking. Fear tightened her throat as she met his eyes—and understood he meant every word. She had forgotten what Gideon truly was: the man who drove his fated mate, the mother of his child, to suicide; the man who could watch his own daughter tortured and humiliated without blinking.
In that moment, Jezebel saw her husband clearly.
He cared for nothing but power, and he would burn the world to claim it.
She swallowed hard, silent, as Gideon turned his back and walked out.
That night, for the first time, Jezebel didn't send her maids to drag Alexander into punishment. She didn't order her to scrub the sitting room, trim the garden in the dark, wash every toilet in the house, or sing to the parrots and feed the dogs.
That night passed in total silence, and Alexander slept more peacefully than she had in years. When she woke, the light flooding her room was so bright it left her dazed. Startled and afraid, she forced herself out of bed—and froze when she saw breakfast already laid out on the table, with a chair set neatly in the corner.
She looked as though she'd seen a ghost. She couldn't remember ever being treated with such care. In fact, she'd expected to be scolded and whipped by her stepmother, Jezebel, for waking late. Instead, she'd been rewarded with breakfast.
After she ate and washed up, she decided to read some of the books her father had brought her. She had barely begun when a sharp knock fell on the door. Before she could answer, several maids hurried in at once, moving as if they were running out of time.
"Miss, please step away from the bed," the head maid said. "We need to dress you. Your husband is here to take you home."
Alexander was both flattered and shocked. The maids had never spoken to her with respect before. They used to lift their chins at her, talk down to her—and sometimes even hit her. Now they treated her like royalty, bustling around her, fixing her hair and clothes, determined to make her look gorgeous.
Downstairs, Alpha Damon sat rigidly. He'd always treated the place like a second home because he visited every day for Tracy. Now he was here for Alexander—Tracy's half-sister. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked.
He had a dream. In it, he'd met the pack's seer, who claimed that if he took Alexander home and tortured her, Tracy would return. Damon had threatened, bargained, and pressed her for more, but the seer refused to say anything beyond that.
"My Alpha."
Alpha Damon lifted his gaze.