Chapter 30
Ranier
The sitting room has always felt like an exhibit of someone else's nostalgia—a place where the idea of family is more important than the actual family. The sofas are firm, the rugs too thick. The portraits along the wall all composed by an artist who was paid by the hour, not the emotion.
I stand at the window, watching the garden flood with morning light, waiting for the inevitable.
It’s not a surprise when he walks in without knocking.
My father hasn’t believed in privacy since the first time I disappointed him.
He’s wearing an expensive suit but his hair is undone, like he’s been raking his hands through it all night.
He takes in the room, then me, with the precision of a man looking for cracks.
“Ranier.” My father’s tone could sandblast the paint off a battleship. “Do you want to tell me what the hell happened?”
I don’t move. “You read the viral posts.”
My father laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“Posts? You mean the front page of every news site in the country? You mean the trending tags about how the Everhart pack is a joke, a failed dynasty, and—my personal favorite—a cautionary tale for why Council rules should be enforced with actual teeth?”
He’s warming up, a conductor leading his own anger. I wait for the rest.
My father strides to the bar and pours himself a drink. It’s too early for most people, but not for him. He throws it back and then slams the glass down hard enough to make me flinch.
“I did not risk my standing and my reputation for you to become a punchline, Ranier. I did not lose half a decade to the Council’s endless demands, just so you could hand over the last of our credibility to a commoner omega. A commoner. Do you know what they’re saying about us?”
I turn from the window, slow and controlled. “That we were desperate. That we took in an outsider, and she ruined us.”
He points a finger at me, his hand trembling. “Exactly. Do you know what you’re supposed to do with an omega that doesn’t fit? You send her back. You cut her out before the infection spreads. You don’t coddle it. You don’t give it air. What the fuck were you thinking?”
He expects me to snap back, to explain myself, to justify every single decision from the moment I let Emery Grey into this house. But I don’t say anything. Because for the first time in my life, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. But I do. I do know.
Everything has been leading to this precipice. I should’ve tumbled off it far sooner.
My father crosses the room and looms over me, breath sharp with expensive gin.
“You are the last Everhart worth a damn, and you’ve been acting like a second-rate beta.
You let her in. You let your own pack get soft.
Now look at us.” His hand makes a vague gesture at the air, encompassing not just the house but the entire legacy he thinks he built.
I think of the last time I saw Emery. Her hair wild, paint on her arms, eyes bright with the kind of hope you’re not supposed to find in this city.
I think of Bastion, fist clenched, holding back the urge to hit something because he knew it would make things worse.
I think of Wyatt, hunched and apologetic, the look on his face when he realized he’d betrayed her.
I look at my father, at the lines cut deep in his face. At the way he holds anger like a sword. And I realize, all at once, that he is afraid. Terrified that everything he’s ever worked for is about to evaporate because I couldn’t play my part. As if he has no other children.
The last Everhart worth a damn.
My shoulders tense, jaw clenches, stomach acid rises hot in my throat.
I taste copper where I've bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it. Helena, Richard, and Dorothea. They matter more than I do because they’re all better than me in almost every way.
And while I may be my father’s first-born son, my position as their other brother matters far more.
My position in Everhart Pack matters most.
It just took me this fucking long to see it. I don’t want his legacy. I want to protect something real.
“You want me to fix this.” I don’t expect him to answer. But he does.
“I want you to be a fucking alpha,” he spits. “You fix it. You get her out of the headlines. You get her out of your life. And you do not, under any circumstances, bring that omega back into this house. Do you understand me?”
I nod. “I understand perfectly.”
He looks at me for a long time, waiting for the argument, the rebellion. When it doesn’t come, he leaves. The sound of his shoes on the marble echoes long after he’s gone.
I stand there, staring at the garden, until I can’t see the difference between the glass and the morning.
I think of Emery’s hands, the way she held her coffee mug with both palms like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.
I think of her laughter, the way it made even Bastion smile.
I think of how proud Wyatt would make Christopher in every way, even with this Royals Anonymous bullshit.
I reach for my phone and dial Bastion. He doesn’t answer. So instead, I message Emery. It’s time to save my pack and our future.
Home is wherever you are. Please come back.
I don’t know if she’ll answer. I don’t know if we deserve it.
But I do know this: I am not my father’s son. I am my own man, and I have a pack worth fighting for.