Chapter 9—THE ALPHA'S AUTHORITY.

ALEXANDER'S POV

I was already halfway down the hospital corridor when the sound came from behind me.

Smack!

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the hallway so loudly that several people turned at once.

I stopped.

For a moment, I simply stood there with my hand still inside my coat pocket, wondering what kind of disturbance could possibly be happening in a hospital at this hour. Then another voice rang through the corridor, shrill with anger and pain.

“How could you?”

I turned around.

The woman standing several feet behind me was trembling with rage. Her hair was disheveled, her face wet with tears, and one hand was raised as though she hadn't yet decided whether she was going to slap the man again.

I recognized him immediately.

He was the father of the boy who had been rushed into the hospital earlier.

The man stood in front of her with his hands raised defensively, looking exhausted and helpless.

“Please, calm down,” he pleaded. “This isn't the place for this. Just calm down and let me explain.”

“Explain?” she screamed, her voice cracking beneath the weight of her tears. “What exactly are you going to explain to me? How you managed to bring our son to the hospital without telling me? How you allowed me to sit at home completely unaware that my child had been injured?”

“I was going to call you.”

“You were going to call me?”

She laughed bitterly, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“If I hadn't called you myself, you wouldn't have told me anything! Do you understand what that means? I could have been working late. I could have been somewhere I couldn't reach you. I could have come home hours later and found out that our son had been lying in a hospital fighting for his life while I knew absolutely nothing!”

“I'm sorry,” the man said desperately. “I panicked. Everything happened so quickly, and I didn't know what to do.”

“You didn't know what to do?”

She slapped him again.

He stumbled slightly but didn't retaliate.

“You should have called me!”

“I know.”

“You should have told me!”

“I know.”

“You should have let me know that our son was hurt!”

“I know!” he shouted back, his voice breaking. “I know, and I'm sorry!”

The woman burst into tears.

Her hands went to her face, but the tears only seemed to fuel her anger.

“You should just kill me,” she sobbed. “Because if something happens to that boy, I don't know how I'm supposed to live with myself.”

The man's expression crumbled.

“Please don't say that. Our son is alive. The doctor said the surgery went well. He's going to be okay.”

“You don't know that!”

“He's stable.”

“You don't know that!”

She shoved him in the chest.

“You don't know what could happen next. You don't know whether he'll wake up. You don't know whether he'll have complications. You don't know anything!”

People had begun gathering around them.

Nurses came rushing from nearby stations. A few patients and visitors stood along the walls, watching the argument with uncomfortable curiosity. Two nurses tried to approach the woman, attempting to persuade her to calm down, but she brushed them away.

“Ma'am, please,” one of them said gently. “You're in a hospital. You need to lower your voice.”

“Don't tell me to lower my voice!” the woman snapped. “My son is lying there because of him!”

The man's shoulders sagged.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered again.

She struck his chest with both hands, crying harder.

“I trusted you! You were supposed to protect him! You were supposed to protect our child!”

"He was playing with the maid. I wasn't there!"

I watched the scene for several seconds.

My jaw tightened.

I understood fear.

I understood what it meant to be terrified for someone you loved.

But there was a difference between fear and losing control, and this woman had crossed that line.

The hospital was not a place where people could scream until the walls shook simply because their emotions had gotten the better of them.

I clicked my tongue.

That sound alone made one of the nurses glance toward me.

I stepped forward.

“Enough.”

My voice wasn't loud, because it didn't need to be.

The word carried through the corridor with enough authority that several conversations stopped immediately.

The woman turned toward me.

I looked directly at her.

“Stop displaying your madness in the middle of my hospital.”

Her eyes widened.

Then anger replaced the surprise.

“And who the hell are you to tell me to stop displaying my madness?”

She turned away from me and faced the boy's father again as though I had ceased to exist.

“Listen to me,” I said, my voice colder this time. “I don't care what happened between you and your husband, and I have no interest in getting involved in your marriage. But you will not turn this hospital into a battlefield because you cannot control your emotions.”

She ignored me and grabbed the man's shirt again.

“You should have told me!”

I took another step forward.

“If you don't calm down right now, I'll ask security to escort you out.”

She released the man's shirt and spun around.

“I dare you to call them.”

A murmur moved through the crowd.

I stared at her.

There was something about the way she challenged me that made the entire corridor feel suddenly colder.

“You dare me?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Call them. Throw me out. Do whatever you want. My son is in there fighting for his life, and you expect me to stand quietly because you're uncomfortable with my crying?”

I slowly walked toward her.

“You seem to have misunderstood something.”

My voice dropped lower.

“This isn't about my comfort.”

I stopped directly in front of her.

“There are patients in this hospital who are recovering from serious injuries. There are people lying in rooms trying to sleep. There are children who need rest, elderly patients whose bodies are already struggling, and doctors who need to concentrate on keeping people alive. Your screaming is disturbing all of them.”

She opened her mouth to respond.

I didn't give her the chance.

“And your son needs peace and quiet too,” I added. “Unless you want him to lose his life because his mother is too busy creating chaos outside his room.”

The woman's face changed instantly.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“You said my son could lose his life?”

“I said that his condition requires peace and proper care. If you continue making this much noise, you are not helping him.”

She marched toward me, tears still streaming down her face.

“Who the hell are you to say that my son is going to die?”

Her hand suddenly lifted.

She was about to slap me.

I caught her wrist before her palm could come anywhere near my face.

The entire corridor went silent.

I tightened my grip just enough to stop her without hurting her, staring down at her with a coldness that made her anger falter.

“You should be very careful,” I said quietly.

She tried to pull her hand away.

I didn't let go.

“You asked who I am?”

I leaned slightly closer.

“My name is Alexander Knox.”

Her face slowly drained of color.

“I am the Alpha of Silver Moon Pack, the Head Surgeon of this hospital, and the man who just spent hours in an operating theatre saving your son's life.”

Her lips parted.

For the first time since the argument began, she had nothing to say.

I released her wrist.

She immediately lowered her hand.

The woman looked at me, then toward the corridor where her son was being cared for, and whatever fight had been burning inside her seemed to collapse beneath the weight of what I had just told her.

But she didn't apologize.

Instead, the boy's father stepped between us.

“Please,” he said softly, taking his wife's arm and moving her away from me. “I'm sorry, Doctor. She's just frightened.”

I looked at him.

“I understand that she's frightened.”

My expression hardened.

“But fear does not give anyone the right to endanger other patients or disrupt this hospital.”

“Yes, Doctor. I understand.”

I turned toward the nearest nurse.

“Call security.”

The nurse immediately nodded and began reaching for the phone.

The woman's face changed.

“No.”

The nurse continued.

“Wait.”

She looked at the man beside her, then at me.

The moment she realized security was actually being called, the anger disappeared from her face completely.

She dropped to her knees.

“Please, Doctor.”

The corridor fell silent again.

She clasped her hands together, tears pouring freely down her face.

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. I shouldn't have tried to hit you. I was just worried about my son. I was terrified, and I wasn't thinking properly. Please don't throw me out. I just want to stay here until he wakes up.”

I stared down at her.

For a second, I considered telling her that I understood.

Then I remembered the way she had threatened to slap me, the way she had screamed through a corridor filled with sick and recovering patients, and the way she had challenged my authority without the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Sorry for yourself,” I said coldly.

Her face crumpled.

I didn't wait for another word.

I turned around and walked away, leaving the nurses, the frightened woman, and the boy's father behind me.