Chapter 6
360words
His pheromones crashed down like a physical weight, nearly crushing her bones. Her lungs seized, each breath tasting of iron and rust.
Yet she stood tall, meeting Damian's rage-filled eyes without flinching.
Her defiance infuriated the Alpha who'd never faced contradiction in his life. Damian stepped forward, his towering figure casting a menacing shadow. He leaned down and, in a venomous whisper meant only for her ears, delivered his cruelest blow.
"What," he sneered, lips curling in contempt, "didn't those hyena-men in the Forsaken Lands teach you how to submit to an Alpha?"
The Forsaken Lands.
Those words struck like a rusty, barbed key, jabbing into the deepest part of her soul, twisting violently in wounds she'd thought long healed.
Time froze.
The crushing pheromones suddenly felt irrelevant. All pretense, all endurance, all professional restraint—everything burned to ash in that instant.
Genevieve smiled. A beautiful, terrifying smile—like a blood-red rose blooming on a glacier.
The next second.
CRACK!
The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the deathly silent hall.
Everyone froze in shock.
Genevieve had slapped Damian Blackwood across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed.
An Omega had publicly struck an Alpha.
Damian's head snapped sideways, five crimson fingerprints blooming on his cheek. He stood stunned, eyes wide with disbelief.
Genevieve shook her stinging hand. Then, deliberately, she raised her right hand and formed the ancient three-fingered gesture of blood enemies—the werewolf symbol for eternal vendetta.
"Damian Blackwood," she announced with chilling calm, "we are done here."
Without another glance, she turned, straightened her spine, and walked away with her head high. Her heels struck the floor like hammer blows against the stunned silence.
Only after sliding into her hover car—which had been waiting outside—did Genevieve finally exhale. She checked her account balance, noting the massive final payment Matriarch Ilara's assistant had transferred as a "confidentiality fee and final settlement." A wave of pure, refreshing satisfaction washed over her.
To hell with clients. To hell with agreements.
She was free. And now, she was rich enough to buy her own damn country.
