ALBERT POV
Dinner smelled like a trap.
Steak. Potatoes. Garlic. Too civilized for what it really was — a declaration of war disguised as family bonding.
Arthur Marrey sat at the head of the table like a king on trial, posture stiff, knife in hand, eyes locked on me the second Livvy and I walked in. The air was so heavy with tension I could taste the salt of it on my tongue.
He didn’t say anything. Just watched.
“Alpha,” I greeted evenly, forcing my voice into something polite.
“Albert,” he returned, tone clipped enough to slice through steel.
If looks could kill, I’d be a corpse by the breadbasket.
Livvy sat beside me, giving me that silent warning look that said, *Don’t you dare start anything.*
Her hand brushed my thigh under the table — not a caress, but a leash. I smiled anywa
