We stepped into my father's office, the air thick with authority and unspoken tensions that seemed to settle like a weight on my shoulders. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the polished floor.
My father, Allen, stood by the window with his back to us, his imposing silhouette framed by the fading light. Even in stillness, his presence commanded attention.
"Here comes our bride," he said, his voice a low rumble, steady and unyielding. He didn't bother to turn around, but the words cut through the room like a blade.
"Good evening, Alpha," Nora replied, her tone warm and composed, though I caught the faintest edge of unease in her voice.
