The air between Alpha Beron and the Ford family grew so thick with hostility that the nearby string quartet's melody seemed to warp and fade into the background. Beron stood dressed in his immaculate white suit, his chest rising with a smug, toxic confidence. He looked down at Malcolm with a gaze that stripped away all high-society pretense, his eyes locked onto the exact point of the King's high collar where the mate mark pulsed in secret captivity.
Beron's lips curved into a triumphant sneer. He took half a step forward, his chest expanding as he prepared to project his voice across the crowded circle. He was going to ask Malcolm—loudly, explicitly, and right in front of the formidable Geney Ford—about the permanent brand hidden beneath his silk tie. He was going to expose the King's desperate, "pretty boy" endeavors on the Northwood bridge, tearing down the ruthless straight persona Malcolm had maintained for decades and laying bare his subjugation to the Enigma.
