Chapter 6 - THE SHATTERED HOUSE
While the royal gardens buzzed with the quiet promise of a new era, the Whitmore estate stood like a tomb in the heart of the lower district.
Inside the once-lavish parlor, the air was thick with despair and unwashed tension. The expensive silk draperies were drawn shut, blocking out the morning light. The silver vases and crystal decanters lay smashed on the floor where Evelyn had swept them in a fit of hysterical rage three days prior.
Evelyn paced back and forth across the Persian rug, her hair disheveled, her silk dress stained and wrinkled.
"It's all ruined!" Evelyn shrieked, slamming her palm against a mahogany table. "Years of careful planning! Years of social climbing! Promising our daughter to the highest noble houses, securing our legacy—all destroyed because that useless, wolf-less wretch couldn't just stay in the dirt where she belonged!"
Preston sat slumped in a high-backed leather armchair, staring blankly into the cold, unlit fireplace. He looked ten years older than he had at the tribunal. The gold embroidery on his Alpha tunic felt heavy, like lead chains wrapped around his chest.
"We did this, Evelyn," Preston said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual booming authority. "We built this disaster. Every lie we told, every time we looked away while she was beaten down... we forged the blade that cut us."
"Don't you dare blame me!" Evelyn snarled, pointing a shaking finger at her husband. "You were the Alpha! You were the one who lacked the spine to stand up to the council when they demanded her isolation! You let her sleep in the cellar because it was easier than fighting the elders!"
"And you encouraged it!" Preston shouted, finally exploding out of his chair, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "You treated her like an animal! And now? Now the Moon Goddess herself has knelt before her while our family name is dragged through every gutter in the North!"
The heavy oak doors of the parlor suddenly swung open with a loud, echoing bang.
Evelyn and Preston froze.
Standing in the doorway was a squad of royal guards in polished silver armor, their broadswords resting casually at their sides. At the head of the formation stood Captain Ethan Mercer, his expression cold and unforgiving.
"Alpha Preston Whitmore. Evelyn Whitmore," Ethan announced, his voice ringing through the silent room. "By decree of the Crown and the direct authority of the First Luna, your estate is hereby seized. Your titles are revoked, and your assets are forfeited to the crown treasury to establish the Omega Relief Fund."
Evelyn staggered backward, her face turning chalk-white. "No... you can't do this! We are noble blood! We are founding families of Frostmir!"
"You are traitors to your own blood and liars before the gods," Ethan replied coldly. He gestured to the guards. "Escort them out. Their transport to the borderlands leaves within the hour."
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As the guards moved in, grabbing Evelyn by the arms as she screamed and thrashed, Preston offered no resistance. He let his head hang low in utter defeat.
As they were dragged past the shattered mirror in the hallway—the very mirror where Evelyn used to groom Belle for perfection—Preston caught his own reflection. There was nothing left of the proud Alpha he once thought he was. Only a coward, stripped of everything by the daughter he had tried to erase.
