Chapter eleven

"Please don't kill him!" I whisper, my voice barely escaping my lips, the last remnants of air clinging to my lungs.

I want to believe him, to trust the promise he made me, but the way his eyes bore into mine tells me otherwise. There's no reassurance in them, only a battle between restraint and fury.

"Kill me. That's the only way you can keep me away from her." My brother's voice is sharp, laced with defiance. His muscles tense, and before I can react, he throws a punch.

I scream, but his fist never meets its intended target. Instead, it slams into the floor with a force that shakes the stage. The crowd misreads the movement. To them, it looks like my brother took the hit, and they erupt into cheers, clapping and rising to their feet.

"We have a winner! Of course, it's Alpha Riven!" The announcer strides onto the stage, gripping Riven's wrist and raising it high in the air.

I barely register my brother's inaudible murmur. A wave of relief washes over me, but it doesn't last. My gaze shifts to Riven, and I can see it—the struggle, the war he fought within himself not to kill. And I appreciate it more than he could ever know.

As he steps down from the stage, my feet move before I can think. I rush to him, breathless. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice trembling.

Before he can respond, the announcer snatches my arm, dragging me back up. I stumble, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Alpha, tell us now, what are you going to do with her?" His voice booms through the speakers.

Riven's expression remains unreadable. "She will come with me. And then… I will see."

A wave of unsettling shouts ripples through the crowd. Their words are sickening, dripping with malice, but I refuse to listen. I focus on my brother instead. When I reach him, I try to help him up, but the moment he stands, he shoves me away.

"Enjoy your time with him. You deserve him," he spits, blood trailing from his lip.

Is that supposed to be an insult? I stare at him, my chest tightening.

He turns, staggering away, and I chase after him. "Wait," I plead. "I should call a car for you. You can't drive in this state."

"This is none of your business! You're with him now." His words slice through me, but I press a hand to his shoulder, trying to steady him.

"Stay away," he snaps. "I don't want you near me. This is all your fault. I'll make you regret this."

I flinch as he jerks free, nearly collapsing. He barely manages to grab the doorframe of the changing room.

"I'll call a cab," I whisper, my voice small.

He exhales sharply, nodding. "Please take care," I say softly.

"Good luck, Belle. You'll need it." His words linger in the air, heavy and bitter. I watch him leave, wondering if he feels anything—any remorse about me leaving, about what just happened.

No one in my adoptive family ever spoke kind words to me. No one ever told me they loved me. No one ever said they cared.

A part of me should be relieved—ecstatic, even—that Riven freed me from them. But another part trembles in fear. What if I just walked into something worse?

I don't know Riven well enough to trust him.

He approaches, and I let out a slow breath. "You alright?" he asks, his voice softer than before. His large hand brushes against my back in a way that's almost comforting.

"Yes," I murmur.

"I need to see the doctor, then I'll change. After that, I'll take you to my place. Is that okay?"

"Okay." I nod, unsure if I'm convincing him or myself.

Twenty minutes later, he emerges, fresh and clean. His wounds are covered in bandages, but otherwise, he seems fine. We step into his car, his driver weaving through the streets until we reach an inner-city district. The car stops in front of a massive villa, its pristine white exterior illuminated by warm lights.

"Here we are." Riven steps out first, opening the door for me and offering his hand.

The house is breathtaking. The front yard boasts a carefully curated garden, vibrant flowers interwoven with neatly arranged vegetable beds. The scent of fresh earth and blooming petals lingers in the air. I never expected something so meticulously kept from someone as brutal as Riven.

Inside, the villa is immaculate. The floors gleam under the soft lighting, reflecting the elegant yet understated decor. Every piece of furniture is carefully placed, not a speck of dust in sight. It's the kind of home that feels like it belongs to someone in complete control of their world.

"You can have your own room," Riven says. "There are two guest rooms upstairs. But if you prefer your own space, I can rent an apartment for you."

I hesitate, taking in the grandeur around me. It's beautiful—more than anything I ever dreamed of calling home.

"This is fine," I finally say.

"I also hired two guards. They'll be stationed outside the house daily in case your family tries to come. Not that I need them—I can protect you myself. But I hired them for my sake too."

He pauses, his expression darkening. "When I'm furious, I can be hard to control. My wolf is very protective and… vindictive."

I swallow hard. "I noticed," I mutter under my breath, but he pretends not to hear.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll make something. I'm starving."

"No, I'm fine. Just a glass of water."

"Cold or room temperature?"

"Room temperature, thanks."

He nods, pouring me a glass. When he hands it to me, our fingers brush. A spark shoots up my arm, and my heart skips a beat. A shiver runs down my spine, and I have to swallow hard against the sudden rush of nerves.

His hands are so big.

I'm standing in the same house as the most feared and brutal Alpha in the country, and yet—I've never felt safer.

Riven prepares his own meal—three full plates of meat, cooked to perfection.

"Wow," I say, raising an eyebrow. "That's… a lot of meat."

He smirks, then shrugs. "This is my fuel. I need protein to stay strong and powerful."

"That's a week's worth of meat," I remark, watching as he cuts into a thick slice, eating it in a single bite.

"Suit yourself if you get hungry or need anything. This is your home now," he says.

I sigh, my fingers tightening around my glass. "Why?"

His brows knit together. "Why what?"

"Why did you help me?"

His jaw tenses. "Because I don't want them to hurt you."

I hesitate, then ask the question weighing on my chest. "And what are you going to do with me? Since I'm your prize."

He leans forward, his gaze locking onto mine. "Belle, from this moment on—you're mine. No one will ever dare to touch you."

I inhale sharply. "I-I'm… yours?"

"Yes." His voice is firm, unwavering. "I claimed you."