-"You seem nervous?”- I pause, meeting the piercing gaze of Squall through my mind. ‘I am, but I know what I must do. The press conference is not just about refusing the engagement; it is about making a stand for my right to choose my own path.’ Squall nods in understanding. -”A powerful declaration indeed. But be wary, Braxton. The world can be unforgiving. Your actions may spark anger and fear.”- ‘I am aware of the risks,’ I reply, my eyes flaring with determination. ‘But I cannot allow our pack's destiny to be decided solely by the customs of old. Love and freedom should guide our choices, not duty and politics.’ -”Your father's shadow looms large over this decision. But remember, you are not him. You must lead with your own heart."- I exhale slowly, acknowledging the weight of dad’s legacy. ‘I respect my dad, but I cannot blindly follow his desire. He may have chosen this engagement for the greater good, but I’ll stay true to myself.’ -”Well, goodluck. Even if we alwa
"Braxton," dad’s voice is low and menacing, "I have given you every opportunity to marry well, to secure our pack’s legacy, and yet you insist on this... this dalliance with that human." I stand firm, my jaw clenches, though fear ripples beneath my façade of defiance since Eloise and Maddox may now face the wrath of dad’s cruelty. Dad’s eyes narrow more into slits, and he stands up to mirror my firm stance. Then he steps forward, closing the distance between us with an imposing gait. He reaches for a nearby cane, running his fingers along its polished surface as a menacing grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Very well, then," he sneers, "If you're so enamored with that wretched girl, perhaps you need a reminder of what's at stake." My heart pounds in my chest, the gravity of dad’s threat sinking in like an anchor in stormy waters. I glance towards the portrait of my beloved mother, hoping for strength from her memory, but all I see is disappointment in her painted eyes. "I wil
When the moonlight starts to bathe my office’s space, my gaze is drawn to the figure that emerges from the shadows of my mind – Squall, its fur a silvery-gray that mirrors the moon's glow. His gold eyes bear an intelligence, a connection that transcends the boundaries of human speech. "Squall," my voice is a quiet rumble that resonates in the stillness. "Tonight, I’ll stand at a firm belief, a choice that will surely ripple through the threads of our pack's destiny." -"I’m so proud of you for choosing to stand against the tide of convenience.”- He declares, his voice firm like the air billowing around me. He then steps forward, his powerful frame radiating a sense of purpose. In the moonlight, his eyes flicker with an ancient wisdom, a sentinel of instincts and loyalty. Now is the time of reckoning, the time when I’ll address the press and, by extension, the country. I’ve spent the past hours locked in negotiations with myself and Squall, grappling with decisions that will shape
TRAYTON’S POV: Outside, the sky gets darker, the mansion's lights casting elongate shadows across the manicured lawns. And inside its walls, emotions simmer, poised to erupt like a dormant volcano. I pace impatiently across the gilded floor of my study. My face, usually adorned with an icy composure, is now twisted into a mask of anger. My finely tailored suit seems to tighten around me, unable to contain the storm brewing within. At the center of this tempest is Braxton, my son, my only heir. Young and intelligent, with a countenance that reflects both his privileged upbringing and his own sense of independence. His defiance has reached a pinnacle earlier today, when he stood before the assembled press and declared his rejection of the carefully arranged marriage proposal I had orchestrated. A crystal decanter of aged whiskey rests atop my desk, and I pour myself a generous measure. The liquid gleams amber in the soft light, mirroring the fire that burns within my heart. I then br
ELOISE’S POV: The rain falls in a melancholic rhythm, its soft pitter-patters against the penthouse’s glass windows, a haunting backdrop to the emotions raging within me. I sit alone in my dimly lit bedroom, the glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. My eyes are fixed on the newspaper spread out before me laid on the vanity mirror. Its headline screams in bold letters, "CEO's Startling Confession: A Love and a Child Kept in Shadows." My trembling fingers reach out to trace the contours of the image printed beneath the headline. There we are, frozen in a candid moment of stolen tenderness - me, a chuckling woman with sparkling eyes, and my Maddox with spaghetti sauce painting his lips and cheeks. Our faces are captured by the lens of an unyielding camera during our first breakfast with Braxton as a family in a cafe a few days back. Braxton refused to name us during his press conference for our security. Still, these media outlets manage to find out our identiti
Amidst the soft glow of chandeliers’ lights that lined the bustling grand lobby, Braxton and I move with a quiet grace, our steps in sync as we navigate the maze of onlookers and flashing cameras. The air is alive with whispers and excited murmurs, as if the very universe holds its breath in anticipation of our next move. My dark hair cascades down my shoulders, a protective curtain veiling my delicate features from the invasive lenses. My hand entwines with Braxton’s arm, his warmth a reassurance that oscillates deep within me. Braxton, with his chiseled jawline and piercing gaze, projects an air of quiet determination. His broad figure is shielding me and our Maddox from the intrusive world around us. His whispered words of comfort are like a gentle breeze, a soothing melody in the midst of chaos. The reporters clamor and jostle, their insistent shouts creating a discordant chorus that reverberates through the ambiance. Flashbulbs burst like fireworks, illuminating the scene in
My Maddox’s eyes showcase the innocence of his youth and his smile that melts even the hardest of hearts. His tousled hair dances with his every movement, reflecting the golden light that surrounds him. His gaze is fixed on a figure near our table, a man of advanced age whose stern countenance seems carved from stone - his grandfather. His presence commands respect, yet also evokes a certain unease. My Maddox wiggles his body down from his chair, then wanders toward his grandfather. The soft pitter-patter of his small footsteps gets lost from the melodic strains of the quartet. When he finally stands before his grandfather, he looks up with wide, hopeful eyes that have a universe of curiosity and innocence. "Lolo," he begins, his voice a delicate whisper amidst the hum of the crowd, "D’you love me?" The question dangles in the air, a fragile moment suspended in time. Braxton and I exchange knowing glances, our curiosity piques by this unexpected action from our son. My heart sk
Rain suddenly pounds against the windshield, an urgency that matches the frantic rhythm of my heart. The ambulance surges forward, its siren wailing like a mournful cry in the night. Inside, the dim overhead lights cast a pale glow over the scene: my face is etched with worry and my fingers clenched around Braxton’s hand. Our Maddox lays on the stretcher, his small form is wrapped in blankets. The paramedics move with swift precision, their practiced movements proves their dedication. My eyelids flutter as I moan softly, my fevered forehead glistening with sweat, and my eyes never leave my son, his chest tightening with every hitch in his breath. Braxton’s grip on my hand tightens. His normally vibrant eyes are clouded with concern, his usually cheerful smile replaced by a mask of anxiety. We share a silent exchange, a communication that transcends words, a promise to fight for our Maddox’s well-being. As the ambulance races through the slick streets, the city lights smear into a b