How could he be so cruel??

Clara's POV

I ran.

Past the bodies—men bleeding into the rug, broken by the Alpha’s rage. I ran without dignity, feet bare, dress torn, my hands forever stained by the picture of violence he left in my mind. I could still hear Park’s scream, could still smell the gunpowder and blood.

I reached my chamber and slammed the door behind me. My knees buckled. With shaking hands, I turned the lock.

Inside the silence, the world collapsed. The walls felt too close. The air thick, heavy with dread and the taste of his mouth. I slumped to the floor, arms wrapped tight around my knees, sobbing, salt and fury trembling with every breath.

How could he be so cruel?

How could anyone kill so casually—over a careless word, an ugly laugh, a look?

Was this the world I must rule in—share in—while the pack watched and judged and waited for me to fail?

I pressed my face into my folded arms and wept—harder now, wild and unrestrained. Every tear cut my skin, and every breath hurt worse than the last.

I thought of Lisa—gentle, radiant Lisa—dead because cruelty ruled this pack.

I thought of Taehyung, his hands bloodied, his eyes empty, his words daggers.

I wanted escape.

Wanted the Moon to reach down and pull me from this hell.

But the only answer was silence.

And the memories would not fade.

My sobs slowed. Became shallow hiccups, then ragged silence. My pulse hammered in my ears. Cold seeped into my bones.

I might have stayed like that forever, shattered and alone, but the handle rattled, and the door creaked open—my lock useless against him.

He entered, his shadow engulfing the golden light of the room. No one would stop him. Not the guards, not the elders, not the ghosts. Taehyung was king here, and every inch of this house bent to his will.

I scraped myself upright, back pressed to the wall, eyes wide and swollen. He didn’t speak; he stood there, filling the room with cold, with power, with danger.

He closed the door behind him.

The lock clicked—final, absolute.

I could barely look at him.

But I did.

He crouched down across from me, arms folded, face unreadable. Whiskey and blood clung to his skin, mixing with the scent of wolf.

Silence sat heavily between us.

Finally, he spoke—voice low and venom-smooth. “Finished crying?”

A fresh tear slipped free, hot and angry. I held his gaze, defiant. “How can you speak like that? After what you did?”

No answer. He only watched me.

A shudder raked my body—a chill deeper than winter. “You killed them. Your own pack. Over words. Like they were nothing.”

He cocked his head, examining me the way a butcher looks at meat. “They spoke of you. In my house. No one does that without consequence.”

“My life isn’t worth more than theirs!” I spat, voice quaking. “You can’t just—”

He cut me off with a glare that froze me solid. “I decide what’s worth more. You are my Luna. You are my property. If they touch—if they speak—they die by my hand. That is the law here.”

The word property stung worse than any blow.

“You’re just a monster,” I whispered, voice hollow. “No heart, no soul. You love nothing.”

He leaned closer, breath warm, eyes black. “Monsters survive, Clara. In this world, anything less is meat for the dogs.”

I could never reach him—not through anger, not through pleading. Still, something inside me refused to bow.

“Why do you do it?” My voice was softer, trembling. “Do you enjoy hurting people? Does it make you feel strong?”

He didn’t answer immediately; his silence was a challenge.

Finally: “Pain is power. Fear is loyalty. Mercy is weakness. I didn’t build this pack by being gentle.”

My sob turned to a bitter little laugh. “You think brutality will keep you safe? Eventually, it will only make you alone.”

He flinched—a quick, nearly invisible break in the mask.

“Freedom isn’t given here,” he said, voice hard as steel. “It’s taken.”

He moved closer, knees brushing mine. I shuddered at the proximity, forcing myself not to hide, not to beg.

“My pack…” he paused, jaw clenched, “…my pack follows order. You are ordered now, whether you deserve it or not.”

His fingertips grazed my jaw—gentle, incongruous with the violence of before. I jerked away.

“Don’t touch me,” I said quickly, rage burning away the grief.

He smiled—a cold, tired thing. “I could crush you, Clara. I could break every bone you have and no one would lift a finger.”

"But you won't," I whispered, "because you already proved your point. I'm not here to fear you—I'm here because no one has courage enough to stand against you. But I do."

He blinked, a flicker of surprise. Maybe he hadn’t expected defiance in this room made for weeping.

"You think you’re brave?" he murmured. "I think you’re foolish. But I like it."

"That’s why you killed them?" I asked, voice nearly gone. "To show me what happens to anyone who gets close? Is that your lesson?"

He didn’t answer, but his eyes darted away—a hesitation, raw and rare.

I pressed on, reckless now. "You want me afraid. You want me silent. You want me ruined so you can call it order. But it’s not order, Alpha. It’s slavery."

His anger flashed—a storm barely contained. "If you hate it, leave. Run. See how far you get. You think the world out there will protect you? Wolves, men, monsters—they’ll tear you apart. I am the worst thing you’ll ever know. But I am also the only one who can keep you alive."

I stared, trembling, confronting the beast.

"I’d rather die standing up than live crawling at your feet," I managed, tears streaking my cheeks.

Something cracked in him—something wounded, something ancient and furious. He paced the room, fist clenched, then turned, voice raw.

"You think I asked for this?" he hissed. "You think I wanted to be this thing? To see fear in the eyes of every man I rule, every woman I take, every friend I bury?"

His voice broke. For the first time, an echo of pain colored his fire.

"You lost Lisa," I whispered. "But you lost yourself first."

He fell silent, haunted.

For a long time, we just breathed—two animals caught in war, wrapped in the blood and sorrow of the pack.

He crouched again, softer this time, and let his forehead rest against my knees, breath shaky.

"You can hate me," he murmured. "I deserve it."

"But I will not stop until the world learns to fear what I am. Your courage changes nothing. But it makes you dangerous, Clara. And I like that too much to kill it."

I stared down. My hands trembled, but his words stuck deep. I couldn't forgive him. Not yet. Maybe never.

But I wouldn’t break.

Not now.

Not ever.

He rose, gaze meeting mine, searching for a wound he could claim.

I wiped my face and stared right back, chin high.

"You don’t own me," I breathed, daring him.

He grinned—wolfish, dark, a king who had met a queen in the gutter.

"Not yet, Clara. But you will beg for it."

He unlocked the door, stepping out, leaving me in the light, in the ruin of what I’d witnessed. A trembling Luna in a world built on violence, crying for lost innocence.

But still—unbroken.