chapter 6

SCARLET

Their voices bounced off the hall, thundering like a violent storm. I dragged my gaze through James, who was staring at me in sheer disbelief, and focused on the pair of soft blue eyes that hadn't left me.

Mother.

She stared at me like I was someone completely different—like I was a monster.

I blinked, my heart clenching painfully in my chest.

And maybe I was.

The Scarlett who never lost control, who hated the sight of blood, had just dug her claws into someone's neck.

I stepped back as a strong hand pressed against my back, heat seeping from his fingers where he touched, traveling down to my gut.

I swallowed hard and looked up at him.

“You did so well, Scarlett.” I nodded, then refocused my gaze on the crowd, trying and partially succeeding to keep up the angry scowl.

My wolf had snapped the moment she saw James, when he hurled his useless accusations at me.

Maybe she knew how deeply hurt I was—how his words broke every single part of me that believed in love, in fairy tales, and in forever after.

All that was bullshit. To James, I was merely a political tool, and maybe I was the exact same thing to Father.

My gaze met his, carrying an unreadable look I couldn't quite decrypt. Our eyes held each other, locked in a silent standoff, until Creighton pulled me away.

I turned without so much as a glance back and headed toward the former Alpha.

I bowed politely. “Greetings, Alpha.”

“Uncle,” he corrected gently, his voice low and edged with a familiar warmth. Then, his gaze darkened as he glared at Creighton, and in that split second, I saw it:

Anger.

Frustration.

It was like he knew this whole thing was Creighton's idea.

“Call me Uncle, like you always did.”

I let a soft, melancholy smile creep onto my lips.

That was how it was before—before my eighteenth birthday, before I became a disgrace to all of them. He never said it out loud, but the shift was undeniable in the way he started treating me. Like I was made of fragile glass, or how he would send maids to brighten up my mood.

He cared for me, just like Father once did, but his methods were vastly different. When I stepped away from the pack, he didn't stop me; he offered me help.

When I refused, he didn't judge. He simply said he trusted my judgment—words that made my heart tug, something my own father never bothered to say.

All Father ever did was jab his finger in my face and tell me how I was going to ruin my life. How the pack would eat me alive without him, without me being under his roof, subject to his watchful gaze.

I turned and walked away that night, broken, lost, and entirely alone.

“Almost two decades, and you return with such a grand entrance,” Uncle observed.

Creighton's grip dropped down to my waist, pulling me possessively against his side. “I came with my wife. That isn't just an entrance—it's a statement.”

“You...” Uncle spoke, trailing his gaze to the figure that had subtly approached behind us. We turned, my gaze instantly meeting Father's.

“Greetings, Alpha,” Father said stiffly, then turned his focus to me. “May I have a word with you?”

I stared at him for a second, then another, letting the heavy silence stretch between us. “No.”

His eyes widened in shock before he forced himself back to his usual calm, composed composure.

He had so many questions—mostly asking when I got my wolf back and why I didn't tell him. But I didn't want to answer. I wasn't strong enough to stand in front of him without breaking down, without screaming out loud about the deep wounds he had inflicted on me. The raw fury I felt whenever he looked at me like everyone else did:

With disgust.

“It will be quick. I am still your father.”

“I got my wolf back recently. I didn't tell you because you didn't need to know,” I answered his unasked questions, my voice icy and detached. “And next time you pay someone to date me, make sure he is actually worth the money.”

He went dead still.