5. TAKE HER OUT!

Ragnar

The silence inside my private study was shattered by the sharp clatter of my crystal tumbler hitting the mahogany desk. Bourbon spilled over the edge, dark and amber against the polished wood.

"Say that again," I growled, staring down Dr. Vance.

The head of the royal medical wing flinched, his eyes darting frantically around the room as if searching for an escape. "Alpha King Ragnar... I... I tried to execute your order," he stammered, pulling at his stiff collar. "We went to pack her belongings and escort ex-Luna Camilla off the premises immediately after you left. But...Lord Eric arrived."

"My grandfather," I spat, my voice dropping into a lethal register.

"Yes, Alpha," Vance swallowed hard, trembling. "He used his ancient Alpha command, as he forced the guards to their knees, threatened to strip us of our ranks, and personally carried her to his vehicle. She is currently at his private estate."

A vein throbbed violently in my temple. I gripped the edge of my desk, the heavy wood groaning beneath the raw, unbridled force of my grip.

‘Camilla.’

Even after everything—after driving off a cliff in a fit of desperate, psychotic jealousy, after nearly taking Pamela’s life—she was still playing her pathetic, manipulative games.

She knew I was untouchable. She knew I held the ultimate power in this pack. So, what did she do the second my back was turned?

She crawled straight to the one man whose authority predated my own. She used her weak, helpless act to turn my own grandfather against me.

"Ragnar, darling?" A soft, delicate voice broke through the storm brewing in my mind.

The door to the study swung open, and Pamela stepped inside. She looked small, fragile, wrapped in a soft ivory cardigan, her pale face still bearing the emotional trauma of the horrific crash she had miraculously survived.

"I heard shouting," Pamela murmured, her blue eyes brimming with unshed tears as she walked over and rested her hands on my chest. "Is everything alright? Is... is Camilla okay?"

Looking at Pamela’s sweet, innocent face, the rage in my chest roared into an inferno. Pamela could have died today. The gentle, pure woman I had loved for years had almost been ripped away from me because my bitter, scheming ex-wife couldn't handle being second best.

"She’s at my grandfather's estate," I said, wrapping my arm firmly around Pamela’s waist, pulling her flush against my side. "She ran to the old man to protect her."

Pamela gasped softly, her hand pressing against her mouth. "Oh, Ragnar... she's going to turn Lord Eric against us. She's going to use him to stop the divorce, isn't she?"

"She won't stop anything," I snapped, my jaw set like iron. "I am the Alpha King. No one—not even my grandfather—will force that snake back into my life."

I didn't wait. I lifted Pamela into my arms, carrying her out of the estate and into the royal transport.

I wanted Camilla to see us. I wanted her to look at the woman I actually loved, to see how utterly powerless her little schemes were.

*****

The drive to Grandfather’s estate was suffocating. By the time my heavy black SUV screeched to a halt on the cobblestone driveway of the ancient fortress, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting blood-red shadows over the stone pillars.

I didn't knock. I shoved the massive double doors open, the heavy wood slamming against the interior walls with a sound like thunder.

"Camilla!" my voice echoed through the vast, vaulted hall, laced with enough Alpha authority to make the chandeliers rattle. "Get out here!"

Two estate guards stepped forward to block my path, but I flashed my crimson Alpha eyes, and they froze, torn between loyalty to the former King and the current one.

"Ragnar, please, be gentle," Pamela whimpered softly beside me, clinging to my arm, burying her face into my shoulder as if terrified of the very air in this house.

Before I could roar for my ex-wife again, a quiet shadow emerged from the grand parlor at the end of the hall.

Camilla stepped into the light.

She looked pale, her skin practically translucent against the dark wool blanket wrapped tightly around her small frame. The purple bruise on her cheek—where my hand had struck her hours ago—was dark and swollen. But as her eyes met mine, I felt a strange, cold coil tighten in my gut.

There were no tears, no trembling lips and no frantic begging.

She just stood there, holding the blanket closed over her chest, staring at me with a silence so absolute it felt heavier than a physical blow.

"You really are pathetic, aren't you?" I sneered, taking a commanding step forward, dragging Pamela along with me. "I sign the papers, throw you out, and within an hour, you run straight to my grandfather like a beaten dog? Did you really think hiding behind an old man was going to change anything?"

Camilla didn't answer. She didn't even blink. She just kept her dark eyes fixed on mine, her face a completely blank mask.

Her silence infuriated me far more than her crying ever had.

"Say something!" I demanded, my aura flaring, filling the room with suffocating pressure. "Do you think this makes you clever, Camilla? Playing the fragile, innocent victim so Lord Eric will pity you and force me to annul the divorce? It won't work! Look at her!" I pulled Pamela tighter against my side, gesturing aggressively toward my trembling betrothed. "Look at the woman you tried to kill out of your disgusting, bitter jealousy! Pamela is the only woman who will ever wear my crown. You are nothing.” I paused. “You are a snake who forced her way into my life, and no amount of running to my family will ever make me take you back!"

I waited for her to snap. I waited for her to scream, to cry, to deny it, to plead for her place at my side.

Instead, Camilla simply stood there—cold, unmoving and silent. It was as if I were shouting at a stone statue. The utter lack of reaction made my blood boil, a strange, toxic prickle of unease dancing down my spine.

"Ragnar, that is enough."

The deep, gravelly voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

Grandfather descended slowly, his heavy wooden cane tapping rhythmically against the marble steps. His aged face was carved out of pure granite, his golden eyes burning with a terrifying, ancient fury that made even my Alpha instincts instinctually brace.

He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Camilla.

Instead, his piercing, lethal gaze locked directly onto Pamela, who was still clinging to my arm, letting out small, shivering gasps.

Grandfather reached the bottom of the stairs, planted his cane firmly on the floor, and raised a single, weathered finger, pointing it directly at Pamela’s face. His voice boomed through the hall, absolute and devoid of mercy.

"Take that wretched, conniving creature and get her out of my sight," Eric commanded, his eyes flashing with dangerous golden light. "I don't want that woman anywhere near my house.”