Chapter 6 — The Price of Mercy

~ Celine POV ~

The leather of my executive chair was smooth and cold beneath my fingers, a steady anchor while the air in the room turned thick. Across the glass desk, Damien froze. His focus locked onto my face, his chest rising and falling as he tried to process what he was seeing.

"How are you alive?" Damien asked again, his voice lower this time. "How is this possible?"

He took a step toward me, his hands reaching out slightly as if he wanted to touch my shoulder to prove I wasn't a shadow.

Rowan moved immediately. He didn't draw a weapon, but his posture widened, blocking the line between us. His aura flared, filling the penthouse with a quiet threat that made the ambient light seem to dim.

"I warned you, Alpha," Rowan said, his deep voice slicing through the quiet. "Stay behind the desk."

Damien's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing golden for a fraction of a second as his wolf surged against his skin. "Rowan Cole. The mercenary from the southern border. What is a rogue like you doing in my city?"

"I go where I'm paid," Rowan replied smoothly, folding his arms. "And right now, I'm paid to make sure nobody gets too close to Miss Brooks."

Julian chuckled behind me, his hand still resting comfortably against my hip. He leaned in slightly, his warm breath brushing the side of my neck. "You really ought to listen to him, Damien. Rowan isn't known for his patience."

Damien's gaze snapped from Rowan to Julian's hand on my suit jacket. The muscle in his jaw twitched so hard I could hear the faint grind of his teeth. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Take your hand off her," Damien snarled, his voice vibrating with a dark, territorial growl that echoed off the walls.

Julian didn't flinch. Instead, he let his hand linger for another second before slowly lifting it, running his fingers through his dark hair with practiced elegance. "Always so dramatic. Celine, darling, do you want me to clear the floor so you can conduct your business?"

"I'm fine, Julian," I said, keeping my tone even. I looked up at the Lycan King and offered a brief smile. "Thank you. Give us a few minutes."

Julian nodded, casting one last dismissive glance at Damien before strolling toward the side lounge. "I'll be reading in the library. Call if you need anything, my love."

The word hung in the air. Damien watched Julian walk away, his chest heaving.

I ignored the display. Sitting back, I picked up the folder resting on the desk blotter and slid it across the table toward Damien.

"What is this?" Damien asked, his voice strained.

"Your reality," I answered. "That folder contains the transfer agreements for every defaulted loan, unpaid invoice, and property mortgage previously held by the central banks. Brooks Global purchased them all. Shadow Ridge no longer owes money to financial institutions. You owe me."

Damien stared at the dark cover of the file, refusing to touch it. "How did you do this, Celine? How does a disgraced outcast build an empire capable of buying out an entire territory's debt in seven years?"

"That is none of your business," I said coldly. "How I survived the snow you threw me into doesn't concern you. What concerns you is the two hundred and forty million credits listed on page four."

"I don't care how many credits are written on those pages," Damien said, leaning forward and planting his palms flat on the desk. He glared down at me, his eyes dark with a mixture of anger and desperation. "I am not letting an exiled criminal own my pack. I won't sign our sovereignty over to you."

Rowan took a silent half-step forward, but I raised two fingers to hold him back.

I looked up into Damien's eyes. The faint, phantom ache of our severed mate bond throbbed somewhere deep in my chest—a ghost of a sensation from a life I had buried. My pulse raced, a natural reaction to his proximity, but I didn't let a single flicker of emotion reach my face. I weaponized the silence, letting him look at me—at the expensive clothes, the diamond cuffs, the authority I carried until the reality of his position settled into his bones.

"You don't have a choice, Alpha," I said quietly. "If you refuse to sign, I open the second folder on my desk. The one that transfers the purchase deed of your eastern borders to Bloodcrest. By nightfall, their warriors will occupy the land where Garrett died. By next week, I will foreclose on your ancestral house and auction the timber rights to the highest bidder."

Damien flinched as if I had struck him. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," I replied. "I am not the soft girl who cried in your Great Hall while your Council lied about me. I don't care about your pride. I don't care about your ancestors. I only care about my investment."

"Five hundred people live on that land, Celine!" Damien shouted, slamming his hand against the table. The sound cracked through the room. "Families! Children who don't even know who you are! Will you throw them into the cold the way you claim I threw you?"

"Don't speak to me about mercy," I snapped, my voice dropping an octave. "You showed no mercy when you stripped my name, broke our bond, and had your guards drag me to the border in a blizzard because it was politically convenient for your seat. You chose your pack over me. Now, you can save them by surrendering to me."

Damien stared at me, his breathing ragged. The silence between us stretched tight, filled only with the faint hum of the building's air systems.

He looked down at his hands resting on the table. That was when I saw it.

On his right hand, a silver caught the light. It was a simple, thin signet ring, engraved with a small crescent moon and an oak leaf.

My breath caught in my throat for a fraction of a second before I forced myself to look away. It was the ring I had carved for him in secret seven years ago, using scrap silver from the archives, weeks before everything fell apart. I had given it to him in the dark, telling him it was a token of my devotion.

He was still wearing it.

Through seven years of war, poverty, and political ruin, he had kept that piece of silver on his finger.

A sudden grief threatened to surface in my chest, but I shoved it down immediately, burying it beneath cold calculation. Wearing a ring changed nothing. It didn't undo the frostbite. It didn't undo the blood I had shed to survive.

"You have two minutes, Damien," I said, reaching for my pen and placing it beside the folder. "Sign the restructuring, or I sign the Bloodcrest deal."

Damien looked at the pen, then up at me. His eyes were filled with an agonizing mix of defeat and hurt. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he picked up the pen.

"What are the terms?" he asked softly, his voice cracking.

"Shadow Ridge will not be liquidated," I stated clearly. "However, fifty-one percent of all commercial assets, land rights, and business operations will be transferred to Brooks Global immediately. You remain Alpha in name to keep your wolves calm, but every major decision, every trade contract, and every treasury expenditure must be approved by my firm. You answer to me."

Damien closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a slow, shaky breath. When he opened them, the defiance was gone, replaced by the crushing weight of a leader who had run out of moves.

He opened the folder to the final page, pressed the tip of the pen to the paper, and signed his name..

He finished the signature, set the pen down, and pushed the folder back across the glass. "It's done. You own us."

"I own the assets," I corrected, pulling the folder back and verifying the signature. "There is a difference."

Damien stood up straight, brushing his jacket off as he tried to regain some shred of his dignity. "I'll inform the pack elders that the debt has been extended. I assume you'll want weekly financial reports sent to your office?"

"We'll get to the reports tomorrow," I said, closing the file and sliding it into my desk drawer. "Right now, you have an immediate assignment."

Damien frowned. "An assignment?"

"Tonight is the Aetheria Society Gala at the Grand Horizon," I said, looking him up and down. "Every major investor, noble family, and pack leader on the continent will be there. Brooks Global is making its formal public appearance."

"I don't attend society parties, Celine," Damien said flatly.

"You do tonight," I replied. "You are now a subordinate executive representing my interest in Shadow Ridge. You will attend the gala. You will wear my company's colors—navy and silver and you will stand where I tell you to stand."

Damien's jaw tightened again. "You want to parade me around like a servant?"

"I want my investment protected," I said smoothly. "If the other packs see the Alpha of Shadow Ridge standing behind my shoulder, no one will question who holds the power in this territory."

Damien stared at me, his chest rising as he fought down his remaining pride. Finally, he gave a stiff, single nod. "Fine. What time?"

"Eight o'clock," I said.

Damien turned toward the private elevator, his shoulders rigid. He took three steps before I spoke again, my voice echoing lightly through the quiet penthouse.

"Oh, Damien?"

He stopped, turning his head slightly to look back over his shoulder. "What?"

I rested my chin on my folded hands, offering him a faint, cold smile.

"King Julian will be escorting me to the gala tonight," I said casually. "Make sure you hold the door for us when we arrive."

Damien didn't answer. He stared at me for a second, his knuckles white against his sides, before turning on his heel and walking into the waiting elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off his view of me, leaving only the quiet humming of the tower behind.