Chapter 3

Ixora’s POV

The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the stone wall with a deafening crash. The sound rang through the room—sharp, jarring, metal on rock—and it was so loud, so sudden, it felt like the air got punched out of the space. The room stopped. Everyone froze. It was like the world held its breath all at once.

I didn’t move. My hand was still midair, fingers wrapped tight around Flora’s wrist while hers were tangled in my hair. Time hung suspended. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward the door. No one said a word. No one even breathed. The tension buzzed under our skin like electricity just before the storm breaks.

He stood there.

In the doorway.

Still.

His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, like he’d walked miles through something heavier than air. Rain, maybe. Or something worse. His black hoodie clung to him, soaked through and dripping onto the stone floor. Water pooled at his boots. His dark hair was a wild mess, damp strands stuck to his forehead, but it only fell over one eye.

And that was enough.

Because that one visible eye swept over the room and turned everything to stone.

Ronan.

The psycho brother. The family ghost. The name you didn’t say out loud unless you wanted the room to go cold. The one people whispered about behind closed doors but never explained. The one who got locked up, sent away, disappeared. Rumors said he’d snapped. Said he was dangerous. Said he’d been put somewhere none of us dared name.

And now, without warning—he was here.

Back.

Everyone went rigid.

Flora’s hand slipped from my hair, trembling as she pulled it back. I let go of her wrist and took a small step back, my pulse thudding hard in my throat like it was trying to warn me. Ronan stepped into the room, unhurried but with a presence that pulled every eye, every ounce of focus. Each footfall echoed with purpose. He moved like he had all the time in the world, but nothing about him was casual.

His gaze cut across the room like a blade, sharp and measuring. He didn’t just look—he assessed. A predator scanning the room full of prey.

Christopher—who usually couldn’t keep quiet even if someone paid him—was dead silent.

Then Ronan moved.

Fast. No warning.

He took one long stride forward and stopped in front of Flora. Before anyone could react, his hand shot out. He didn’t just grab her—he snatched her hand midair, twisting hard and sharp.

"Ah!" Flora cried out, her scream ripping through the silence as she collapsed to the floor. She clutched her hand, now bent in a way no hand should bend.

The crack echoed through the air.

He looked down at her like she was a piece of trash someone had left lying around. His voice was calm. Cold. "Touch her again, and next time I’ll take your hand off completely."

Flora whimpered, curling in on herself. Her fingers looked broken—twisted and already swelling. Still, no one moved to help. No one dared.

Ronan turned to face me.

Just that one eye again.

But the weight of it hit like a punch to the chest. Paralyzing. I stood still, staring back, throat dry.

Then his gaze shifted again. Slowly. To Christopher.

And then he smiled.

It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was a slow, curling grin that didn’t reach his eyes. A smile that promised destruction.

"Miss me, brother?" he asked, voice light, like he was making a joke.

Christopher swallowed hard. His jaw clenched, but he held his ground. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Ronan tilted his head slightly, that twisted smile still in place. "Thought I’d come see how life turned out for you. Still pretending to be Alpha material, I see."

He took a single step forward. Christopher’s posture shifted instantly—more rigid, more alert.

"You regret it yet?" Ronan asked, his voice quieter now, more personal. "What you did? Sending me away?"

"You were dangerous," Christopher shot back. "You still are."

Ronan laughed. A single, sharp sound that didn’t sound amused. "You’re right. I am. And now I’m taking everything back. Starting with her."

His chin jerked toward me.

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like I might collapse.

Christopher moved without thinking. Stepped directly between us, shielding me.

"Stay away from her," he warned.

Ronan leaned in close. He whispered something into Christopher’s ear, low and fast. I couldn’t hear it, but whatever he said made Christopher flinch, his expression cracking.

Ronan pulled back and turned to walk away, like that was the end of it.

But Christopher couldn’t let it go.

"Still the same freak since childhood," he spit after him. "No wonder she left you for me."

Ronan froze.

Mid-step.

The air snapped tight again. That awful stillness. The kind that only comes before something violent.

Ronan turned back around, slow and deliberate. His expression didn’t change. He walked back up to his brother and stood toe to toe with him.

Then—his fist flew.

There was no warning. Just a sickening crack as his fist collided with Christopher’s jaw. Christopher hit the ground hard.

Blood sprayed.

Gasps exploded around the room.

Christopher tried to push himself up, dazed, but Ronan wasn’t finished. He dropped onto him, knees pressing into his chest. His fists came down again and again—relentless, brutal. Every punch landed with a thud, the sound of flesh meeting bone, over and over.

"You think you're strong?" Ronan snarled, voice ragged. "You think you're better than me?"

"Stop it!" I yelled. "Ronan, stop!"

But he didn’t hear me.

Or he didn’t care.

Christopher’s face was a bloody mess. His limbs stopped fighting. His eyes rolled. His body sagged.

Then—for just a moment—Ronan stopped.

He lifted his head.

He looked at me.

Both eyes this time.

His knuckles were slick with blood. His chest heaved. He looked… different. Not furious. Not triumphant. Just—

Uncertain.

Like he hadn’t expected me to be there at all.

His mouth parted. Like he might say something. But before he could—

The doors slammed open again.

"Enough!" Luna’s voice cracked through the room like thunder.

Alpha Maximus followed right behind her. He stormed forward and yanked Ronan up by the hoodie like he was nothing more than a ragdoll. Luna dropped to her knees beside Christopher, hands fluttering around his face, her eyes wide with panic.

Ronan didn’t fight back. He didn’t resist at all. He let the Alpha pull him away. But his eyes—his eyes never left mine.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Alpha Maximus roared. His fury filled the room, shaking the walls. "I’m sick of this. Of both of you."

Ronan said nothing. Christopher couldn’t. He was barely conscious, still wheezing.

Alpha Maximus turned sharply, pacing once like a storm gathering strength.

"Fine," he snapped. "You want to fight? Then fight for something that matters."

Luna stood. Her voice trembled. "What are you saying?"

Alpha faced them both. His eyes were cold. Final. "Let them settle it. One challenge. No interference. No holding back. Winner takes the title. The loser walks away. For good."

Christopher’s face twisted in disbelief. His voice cracked. "You’re not serious."

But Ronan—beaten, bloody, and still grinning—nodded.

"Oh, he’s serious," he said.

"One week," Alpha Maximus declared. "You train. You prepare. Then you fight. Winner becomes Alpha."

"And if I lose?" Christopher asked, eyes flicking toward me.

Alpha didn’t even flinch. "Then you’re not fit to lead."

The words hit the floor like a dead weight.

Silence.

I looked at Ronan.

Whatever flicker of vulnerability I’d seen in him—whatever had softened his face just moments ago—was gone now.

In its place was something darker.

Hunger.

Determination.

Fire.

He wasn’t just back. He was here to take everything.

And I had no idea what that meant for any of us.