The Alpha's Prickly Porcupine
"I need to collect my things. My mother's journals. The few heirlooms that survived the fire. You cannot just erase my life like it’s a ledger entry."
He narrows his eyes, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing his handsome, chiseled face. He steps into my space, his sheer proximity forcing me to tilt my head back just to meet his piercing, unreadable gaze. He smells of scorched pine and something metallic, like a coming storm. "There is nothing left, Aichonne. The fire took it all. The wood, the silk, the history. Your sentimentality is a luxury, and in this war, it is a liability we cannot afford."