CHAPTER 51: ACCEPTANCE OR DEATH.

Michael’s POV

Louis came out of the room, finally dropping the mask he’d been wearing.

Honestly it seemed like he’d changed overnight—but I knew better. This wasn’t sudden. This was the part of him he’d kept chained behind polite smiles and soft gestures.

Honestly, the only surprising thing was how long he’d managed to suppress it.

I mean... we’re talking about a man who slept best to the moans and dying whimpers of his victims.

A man who always told himself this isn’t me, while his actions screamed otherwise. He’d built this fantasy of being "good," of being normal—of being someone Charles or Alistair could safely love.

But this?

This coldness in his eyes, this sharpness in his aura, the way the air itself bent under him...

This was Louis.

The real Louis.

The Louis who was heir to a family built on blood, betrayal, and power.

The Louis whose instincts were older and darker than any Alpha’s training.

And honestly?

It suited him.

As he walked past me, I saw it—the faint tremor of bloodlust still fading from his fingers, the satisfaction he tried to hide behind calm breathing. He didn’t have to say a word; I could feel the storm settling inside him.

Finally... finally he wasn’t pretending anymore.

And the terrifying thing?

He looked peaceful.

Like slipping back into his true skin had quieted something that had been screaming in him for years.

"Michael, if Charles doesn’t like what I am, I’ll kill him."

Louis said it so casually—as if he were talking about weather, not murder.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "I don’t need dead weight at this point. And let’s continue with our plans... eradicating the useless members of the Alvara household."

He said eradicating the same way others say cleaning the house.

I didn’t flinch. I’d heard worse from him, and honestly, this was the honest version of Louis—no guilt, no trembling morality, no second-guessing. Just clarity.

"Charles isn’t dead weight," I said, keeping my tone flat. Testing him, just a little. "You want him. That alone means he has value."

Louis tilted his head, smile sharpening.

"That depends on whether he wants me... the real me. If he hesitates, Michael—just once—he’ll die. I don’t have space for liabilities."

There it was: the truth, brutal and bare.

"And the Alvaras?" I asked.

Louis’ eyes glowed faintly, that ancient, dangerous light that ran through their bloodline. "They’ve pretended for too long. They’ve used me, disrespected Father’s legacy, threatened what is mine."

He inhaled slowly, like someone savoring the thought of a future victory.

"I’ll wipe them out piece by piece. Betrayers, thieves, cowards... every last one. We start tonight."

His voice dropped lower.

"And Michael... I want you with me. No more hiding my intentions."

He leaned closer, almost whispering. "No more pretending I’m something soft."

I nodded once.

Because this was Louis—

the heir,

the monster,

the one the Alvara line should’ve never underestimated.

I held his gaze for a moment longer, studying him.

His pupils were still just a little dilated.

His breathing too slow.

His aura too still.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t even excited.

He was calm—and that was the worst version of him.

Louis in a rage was predictable.

Louis in pain was reckless.

But Louis in perfect, icy calm?

That was when bodies disappeared without ever touching the ground.

I exhaled softly.

"You want me with you tonight," I repeated, more a statement than a question.

Louis nodded once. "I need someone who won’t disappoint me."

I almost laughed.

Not at the threat—at the irony.

"You’re asking the wrong person if you want disappointment avoided," I said lightly.

He didn’t smile, not really, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"You never disappoint me," he said.

The words were warm.

The tone was deadly cold.

That was Louis: affection wrapped in knives.

I stepped beside him, matching his pace as we moved down the hall.

"So," I said casually, "who dies first?"

His answer was immediate.

"Alvara René."

Ah.

Of course.

The one who ran his mouth the most.

The one who called Louis a defective heir behind his back.

The one who thought political connections made him untouchable.

Louis’s smile sharpened.

"He insulted my mate," he murmured. "And he touched what isn’t his."

"Touched?" I raised a brow.

Louis’ jaw twitched.

Just barely.

"His shoulder," he said quietly. "He grabbed Charles’ shoulder."

The way he said it...

like René had tried to snatch the moon out of the sky.

I huffed. "That’s it?"

"That’s enough."

We stepped out into the cold night air.

Louis lifted his chin, inhaling as if the darkness itself welcomed him home.

"Tonight," he said softly, "the Alvaras learn who they betrayed."

He turned to me, eyes glowing like something ancient.

"And Michael... don’t hold back."

The wind shifted.

The sky felt too small.

And I realized—

The Alvaras had no idea what was coming.

---

Charles’ POV

I woke slowly—too slowly.

Like my mind was climbing out of deep water.

My body felt heavy, my heartbeat sluggish but steady. Someone had... suppressed me.

And there was only one person capable of doing that without breaking a sweat.

Louis.

The memory snapped back like a rubber band:

His eyes glowing faintly.

His voice whispering it’ll be okay.

Then nothing.

I sat up too fast. The room spun, the air thick with his lingering scent—sharp, metallic, cold.

Something inside me twisted.

He didn’t just knock me out.

He calmed me, like I was panicking prey.

I pushed to my feet, anger and fear mixing like acid in my stomach.

The door opened.

Louis walked in.

Not rushed.

Not guilty.

Not even trying to act harmless.

He stepped inside like a man walking back into his own domain.

His aura didn’t slam into the room—it settled into it, like it missed the space.

His eyes found mine instantly.

"Charles."

Just my name—soft, steady, too controlled.

"What did you do?" I asked.

No greeting.

No hesitation.

Louis stopped a few steps away.

His coat was still unbuttoned, a faint scent of night air clinging to him—but underneath it, something darker.

Metallic.

Like blood he hadn’t touched directly, but had watched spill.

He lifted his chin just slightly.

"Michael and I handled... business."

My stomach tightened.

"Whose business?"

"Mine," he said simply.

I took a slow breath. "Louis... look at me."

He did.

Immediately.

I stepped closer until we were only a breath apart.

"You knocked me out," I said quietly. "Then you left me. And now you walk back like nothing happened."

His jaw tensed—barely.

"I didn’t want you hurt."

"That’s not an excuse—"

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

His voice wasn’t raised—but it was final.

A warning wrapped in silk.

I swallowed hard. "Louis... what are you doing?"

He didn’t look away.

He didn’t blink.

"Showing you who I am."

My chest tightened.

"And if I don’t like who you are?"

His expression didn’t change.

Not even a flicker.

"If you can’t accept me," he said softly, "I’ll kill you before I break."

"And if you’re wondering, you’re just in another room in our home. Our everyday home," he said. "You’re not trapped. Just don’t go anywhere without telling me."

The casual possessiveness in his voice made something tighten in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Something heavier.

I frowned and pushed myself fully to my feet, the last of the fog clearing from my head. I walked toward him slowly, deliberately, refusing to let him tower over me like I was some fragile thing.

"Louis," I said, stopping just a breath from him, "I’m an Alpha."

His eyes didn’t flicker. Not even once.

"And so?" he replied, voice low and almost bored. "I like that fact."

The way he said it—

Like my dominance wasn’t a threat.

Like my strength wasn’t equal to his—just... something he found interesting.

Like being an Alpha made me easier to want, not harder to control.

I grit my teeth. "You can’t just—"

"I can," he interrupted smoothly. "And I did."

His gaze dipped, tracing the tension in my shoulders, the stiffness in my jaw, the way I stood like I was ready to challenge him.

A slow smirk touched the edge of his mouth.

"Charles," he said softly, "your being an Alpha doesn’t make you less mine. It just makes you harder to break. And I like that even more."

My pulse jumped—annoyingly, involuntarily.

I hated how calm he was. I hated how sure he sounded. I hated how the room seemed to bend around him like he owned the air.

He stepped closer, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek.

"You’re an Alpha," he repeated, "but you’re my Alpha. That’s all that matters here."

His fingers brushed my wrist—light, but firm enough that I knew it wasn’t an invitation.

It was a reminder.

"And if that bothers you," Louis murmured, "say it plainly. Don’t glare. Don’t posture. Don’t pretend."

His eyes met mine, unblinking.

"Tell me you don’t want me," he said quietly. "Tell me you want to walk away. Tell me you’re not staying because you feel exactly what I feel."

My throat tightened.

He leaned in, voice dropping to something dangerously soft.

"Go on, Charles. Use your Alpha voice and lie to me."

"I’m not lying. I don’t want you, don’t need you, don’t love you."

The words scraped out of my throat, sharp at first... then cracking at the end.

Louis watched me, eyes steady, unshaken.

"I hate you," I added, barely above a whisper, because the moment I said it, my chest tightened like something inside me was tearing.

There was a long silence.

Too long.

Then Louis stepped closer—not rushing, not angry—just inevitable. He lifted his hand and patted my head, gentle in a way that felt crueler than any threat.

"I know," he said softly, almost fond.

His fingers brushed through my hair, slow, familiar.

"I love you too."

My breath caught.

When was the last time he said that to me?

Months? Years? Before he started layering himself in masks and pretty lies? Before he tried to be someone he wasn’t—someone safer, someone softer?

My throat burned.

"You don’t get to say that," I muttered, but it came out weak, trembling, pathetic.

Louis tilted his head slightly, studying me like he could hear my heartbeat stuttering.

"I didn’t stop loving you," he said calmly. "I stopped pretending it looked normal."

His thumb brushed the tear I didn’t realize had slipped free.

"And you," he murmured, "are very bad at lying, Charles."

I shook my head, stepping back, but his hand slid to the back of my neck—warm, firm, grounding in a way that made the floor tilt under me.

"Let me go," I whispered.

"No."

His tone wasn’t harsh.

It wasn’t possessive.

It was simply a fact.

"You hate me?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on mine.

I nodded once.

He smiled—slow, knowing, devastating.

"Then why are you shaking?"

My breath hitched.

Why was I?

Why did hearing I love you too gut me open like a blade to the ribs?

Why did my body lean into him even as my words pushed him away?

Louis lowered his forehead to mine, voice a bare whisper.

"Hate me all you want, Charles. But don’t ever tell me you don’t love me."

His fingers tightened just slightly at my neck.

"Your voice might lie," he breathed, "but your body never has."