The room shifts. Even the human reporters sense the change—the way the temperature drops, the way every wolf goes still.
“She’s not your property,” I say, and my voice drops to something lethal. Something that makes the weaker wolves in the room cower. “She was never yours, Gale. Just like you were never really hers since you spent your marriage f*****g other people while she played the dutiful wife.”
The room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop on the marble floor.
I lean into the microphone, making sure every camera catches this.
“So here’s how this works. If you ever refer to Ember as something you own again, if you so much as think of her as your property, I will personally rip your throat out. And that’s not a threat, Crawford. That’s a promise.”
And Gale snaps.
He break
