Riley's voice dripped through the air like poisoned pack venom, each word carefully aimed to fracture something inside me. He spoke of the Presgrave Alpha lineage as if it were a force above law, above death itself—claiming that Old Madam Presgrave had once bent an entire human authority chain with a single command. According to him, my mother had been nothing more than a sacrificed subordinate wolf sent into chaos to preserve the heir's survival.
He didn't even try to hide the contempt in his tone.
"The rich always survive," he said coldly. "And the rest of the pack just… disappears."
My instincts screamed for silence, for escape, for anything that would stop his voice from carving deeper into my mind. But Riley wasn't done. He leaned closer, feeding off my visible distress like it empowered him.
"If I were your mother," he added, voice sharp with cruelty, "I would have regretted giving birth to a daughter who betrayed everything she died for."
My breath caught violently.
