Confrontation

POV Thorne Ashford

The Moonlight Hotel's valet took my keys without a word. I strode through the revolving doors, my mind still tangled in the afternoon's events—Sage's defiant stance against her parasitic relatives, the way her pulse had jumped beneath my fingertips during that kiss in the plaza.

The elevator ride to the third floor felt interminable. When the doors finally opened, I followed the corridor to the Emerald Room, its jade-paneled walls gleaming under crystal chandeliers.

I could hear voices inside—one familiar and authoritative, sharp with anger, the other pleading with manufactured desperation.

I pushed open the ornate doors without knocking.

Grandfather stood by the fireplace, his posture rigid with fury, his cane planted firmly on the marble floor like a weapon. The firelight cast harsh shadows across his weathered face, making him look like an ancient war god passing judgment.

On the carpet before him knelt Damien Ashford—my cousin, my father's bastard son, and a perpetual thorn in my side. But unlike the pitiful performance I'd expected, there was something calculated in the way he held himself, even in supplication.

"I'm asking you to reconsider, Grandfather," Damien said, his voice trembling but his eyes sharp. "Yes, Celeste made mistakes. But those mistakes make her vulnerable—and vulnerability can be useful. A marriage to her would secure the Silverpine Pack assets through the Winters connection, consolidate our position in the northern territories—"

"Enough!" Grandfather's voice cracked like thunder. "Do you take me for a fool, boy? I was there at the Winters estate. I saw that girl's true nature with my own eyes—jealous, vicious, without honor or shame. She tried to humiliate Sage in front of the entire family, and when that failed, she stood there like a common whore while her infidelity was exposed to everyone."

I felt a grim satisfaction as I stepped fully inside, letting the door swing shut. So Damien was trying a different angle—framing this as a political move rather than a love match. Clever, but not clever enough.

The Alpha aura rolled off me in waves as I moved into the room. "Still pushing for this disaster of a union, cousin?"

Damien's head snapped toward me, and for a split second, I saw cold calculation flash across his features before his mask of earnest appeal slid back into place. "Thorne. I was just explaining to Grandfather that personal feelings aside, there are strategic advantages—"

"Strategic advantages?" I moved between them, my presence forcing Damien to shift back. "The only strategy I see is you grasping at any opportunity to elevate your position, even if it means dragging the Ashford name through the mud."

Grandfather's cane struck the floor once, sharp and final. "The boy seems to have forgotten that I already rendered my judgment on this matter. The answer was no at the Winters estate, and it remains no. That girl will never be an Ashford. Not through Damien, not through any member of this Pack."

"But Grandfather—" Damien's voice rose with what might have been genuine frustration now, his careful composure cracking. "You approved Thorne's marriage to Sage within hours of meeting her! How is that any different? At least I'm being honest about my motivations—"

"How dare you," Grandfather's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "compare Sage to that disgraceful creature. Sage conducted herself with dignity and courage when faced with betrayal. She showed mercy when she could have destroyed her enemies, strength when others would have crumbled. That girl you're defending? She spread her legs for her cousin's boyfriend and plotted to steal an inheritance. There is no comparison."

I pulled out my phone, swiped to the gallery, and held it up. "Since you seem to have such a selective memory about Celeste's character, perhaps you need a reminder of exactly what kind of woman you're defending."

Damien's eyes widened slightly as he recognized what I was holding. "Thorne, that's not necessary—"

"Show me," Grandfather commanded, his voice hard as iron.

I handed him the phone. "Sage took these last night. I thought you should see exactly how 'reformed' your potential granddaughter-in-law is."

What Grandfather saw on the screen made his already severe expression twist into something far darker. The images were explicit, undeniable—Celeste and a young man tangled together in the back of a car, their naked bodies caught in unmistakable intimacy, her face clearly visible in the throes of pleasure.

But this time, there was no shock in Grandfather's reaction. Only a deepening disgust, a revulsion so profound it seemed to age him ten years in an instant.

"This..." His voice shook, not with surprise, but with barely controlled rage. "This filth. This is what you want to bind to our bloodline? You kneel before me and suggest I should welcome this whore into our family for 'strategic advantages'?"

His hand trembled as he swiped through more images, his breathing growing harsher with each one. "I have led this Pack for thirty years. I have made difficult decisions, formed alliances with enemies, swallowed my pride for the greater good. But I will be damned before I allow our name to be soiled by a female who has less honor than a rogue omega."

"Grandfather, please—" Damien started, but the old Alpha wasn't finished.

"Get out of my sight," Grandfather hissed. "And if you ever bring this up again, if you ever dare suggest that I compromise the integrity of this family for political gain, I will strip you of the Ashford name entirely. You may be Drake's bastard, but you are still an Ashford, and I expect you to act like one. This discussion is over."

But even as he spoke, I saw the color draining from Grandfather's face, saw his free hand suddenly clutch at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor.

The fury, the stress, the decades of holding this Pack together in Winterhold—it was all catching up with him at once.

"Grandfather!" I moved instantly, but Damien was already lunging forward as the old Alpha's breathing turned sharp and labored, each inhalation a ragged wheeze.

"Breathe," Damien gasped, his earlier calculation gone, replaced by genuine panic. His hands moved frantically, trying to help regulate Grandfather's breathing. "Just breathe slowly—"

But the wheezing only worsened, Grandfather's lips taking on a bluish tinge as his airway constricted.

At that moment, the doorbell chimed.

Damien's head snapped toward the sound. Without hesitation, he bolted across the room and wrenched the door open.

The Winters family stood in the hallway—Ronan in a tailored suit, Lydia dripping with jewelry, and Celeste in an elegant emerald gown that matched the room's jade paneling perfectly.

Ronan's expression shifted from composed charm to shock. Lydia's eyes went calculating.

But Damien's desperation overrode everything else. His hand shot out, grabbing Celeste's wrist, yanking her inside.

"Celeste!" His voice cracked. "You're a medical student—Grandfather is having an attack! You have to help him! Please!"