The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hummed with a low, irritating buzz.
Ren stood near the elevator, her back leaning against the cold wall. She had just finished visiting her grandmother and giving some money to her aunt. Now, she felt the familiar itch in her blood—the sign that her Alpha instincts were becoming unstable again after the stress of the family gathering.
She reached into the pocket of her oversized hoodie and pulled out a small, unlabeled white medicine bottle.
These were not vitamins. They were experimental high-grade suppressants sent by her contact in the International Medical Association. They were the only things that could keep her volatile blood—and her violent temper—in check.
She shook out a pill. Before she could swallow it, a hand snatched her wrist.
Vera stood in front of her. Her face was still pale from the humiliation at the banquet, and seeing Ren take pills seemed to snap her last nerve.
"What are you taking?" Vera's voice was sharp, echoing in the quiet hallway. Her eyes widened as she recognized the unmarked bottle. "Is this... is this for the madness?"
Ren yanked her hand away, her expression indifferent. "It's for a headache."
"Don't lie to me!" Vera screamed, her composure cracking completely. She grabbed Ren's arm again, her nails digging into the fabric of the hoodie. "Your grandfather died because he took experimental drugs like a maniac! He went crazy in the lab! Did you inherit his sickness? Are you a **psycho** too?"
The word hung in the air: *Psycho.*
Ren's eyes turned cold. The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop ten degrees. She looked at the hysterical woman in front of her—the woman who cared more about her reputation in the Lin Pack than her daughter's life.
"Vera," Ren stepped closer, her height giving her a natural advantage. She loomed over her mother. "Am I familiar with you?"
Vera froze. "What?"
"I asked, are we close?" Ren tilted her head, her dark eyes full of mockery. "You haven't raised me for twelve years. So, whether I'm dead or alive, a psycho or a saint... it has nothing to do with you. Don't touch me."
She swallowed the pill dry, pulled up her hood to cover her face, and turned away. She walked past her mother without another word, disappearing into the stairwell.
Vera stood there for a moment, trembling with rage. She smoothed her expensive silk dress, checked her makeup in her compact mirror, and turned to head for the elevators.
It was 9:00 PM. The hospital should have been quiet, but not *this* quiet.
As she walked down the long, white hallway, she realized that the sounds of the hospital had vanished. The nurses chatting at the station were gone. The footsteps of visitors had faded. Even the hum of the vending machine seemed to have stopped.
The silence was heavy, oppressive. It pressed against her eardrums.
Vera felt a chill run down her spine. The hairs on her arms stood up. It felt like she had walked into a predator's den.
She heard a sound. *Click. Click.*
It was the sound of metal hitting metal.
Vera spun around.
At the end of the corridor, in the shadows where the lights flickered, stood two men.
One was Dr. Luke, wearing a flashy floral shirt that clashed violently with the sterile environment. He was leaning against the wall, a wicked grin on his face. In his hand, he was flipping a surgical scalpel. The silver blade spun like a deadly coin, reflecting the cold light.
*Click. Click.*
The other man was taller. He wore a black shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of pale skin. He stood with a lazy slouch, head bowed as he cupped his hands to light a cigarette.
*Flick.*
The blue flame of the lighter illuminated his face. It was a face of breathtaking beauty, sculpted like a dark god. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and eyelashes that cast long shadows.
But his eyes... his eyes were abyssal pools of indifference and cruelty.
Alpha Juan.
Vera's heart seized. She didn't know his name, but her survival instincts screamed *RUN*. The pressure radiating from the man in black was suffocating—a **Supreme Alpha aura** that made her knees weak and her breath catch in her throat.
"Who... who are you?" Vera stammered, clutching her designer bag to her chest as if it could protect her. "What do you want?"
Luke grinned, a sharp, wolfish smile. He pushed off the wall and walked toward her. The spinning scalpel stopped abruptly, the tip pointing straight at Vera's nose.
"Master," Luke called out over his shoulder, his voice mocking. "This auntie wants to know what we're doing here."
***
Juan took a slow drag from his cigarette. The ember glowed bright red in the dim light.
He exhaled a long plume of grey smoke, watching it curl up toward the ceiling. Then, he straightened up and walked slowly toward Vera. His movements were fluid and silent, like a jaguar stalking a wounded deer.
He stopped two steps away from her. He towered over her, his shadow engulfing her completely. The scent of winter cedar, snow, and iron bloodlust washed over Vera, terrifying her.
Juan's dark eyes swept over Vera.
He looked at the diamond-encrusted Cartier bracelet on her wrist. He looked at her limited-edition silk dress. He looked at the expensive bag that cost more than a car.
Then, he thought of the girl he had just seen outside—Ren, standing in the wind at the bus stop, wearing a washed-out hoodie and cheap jeans, swallowing pills alone.
A flash of genuine disgust crossed Juan's face.
"You asked what I want?" Juan's voice was low, raspy, and textured like velvet dragged over gravel. It vibrated in Vera's chest, making it hard to breathe. "I'm just curious."
He took another step forward. Vera backed up until she hit the cold wall. There was nowhere to run.
"I want to know," Juan whispered, tilting his head to the side, "**Who did you call a psycho just now?**"
Vera gasped, her eyes bulging. "I... I..."
"You wear millions on your wrist," Juan continued, his voice devoid of emotion, "yet you let your daughter dress in rags. You scream at her in public. You call her crazy."
He flicked the ash from his cigarette. The burning embers fell dangerously close to Vera's expensive shoes.
"You have the nerve to call yourself a mother?"
Vera was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. "I... I was disciplining her... she is my daughter..."
"Is she?" Juan narrowed his eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, she looks like a queen, and you look like... garbage."
*Ding.*
The elevator doors opened at the far end of the hall.
The Hospital Director and a group of senior doctors rushed out, looking anxious. They had heard that the VIP floor had been locked down.
"What is going on here?" The Director shouted. But then, he saw the man in the black shirt.
The Director's face drained of all color. He immediately stopped running and bowed—a deep, ninety-degree bow of absolute submission.
"**Master Juan!**" The Director's voice trembled with fear. "I didn't know you were here! I apologize for the intrusion! The conference room upstairs is ready for you..."
Vera's mind went blank.
*Master Juan?* Even the Director of the City Hospital—a powerful Beta with connections to the Council—bowed to him like a servant?
Who on earth had she offended?
Juan ignored the Director completely. He kept his eyes on Vera for one last, terrifying second.
"Remember this," Juan said softly. "Apologize to her."
Vera nodded frantically, tears of fear streaming down her face. "Yes... yes, I will."
"And if I hear that word—'psycho'—come out of your mouth again regarding her," Juan leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that only she could hear, "I will make sure you lose everything. Your money, your status, your Pack. Everything."
He dropped the cigarette on the floor and crushed it with his boot.
"Let's go, Luke."
Juan turned and walked into the elevator. Luke sheathed his scalpel, winked at the terrified Vera, and followed.
"Bye bye, Auntie."
The doors closed.
Vera slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor. Her legs gave out completely. She sat there in her expensive dress, realizing she had just stared death in the face.
**[Chapter 11 End]**