Vander
We walked into the hotel, and as always, it was crawling with beautiful women from Goldenpeak. Too beautiful, too polished—not a hair out of place. And all I could think about was Alaric.
There was a good chance some of them were his. I wouldn't put it past him. That bastard had no limits. He’d pimp out women like currency—even his own wife. The same woman he claimed to love. The same one he burned with jealousy over. That kind of sickness doesn’t come from passion; it comes from rot.
When I saw his broadcast, I knew he’d snapped. He hadn’t expected Martha to leave him—let alone stand against him. He thought fear would keep her loyal. But how do you expect love from someone you’ve made terrified of breathing wrong in your presence?
He wanted her back, in his twisted way. But he
