DAMONS' POV
Around us, the Ironclad courtyard simmered with tension, murmurs crackling like dry leaves beneath boots. Reporters clicked and flashed like paparazzi at a royal scandal. Alphas whispered to their Betas. Matrons clutched pearls. Even the summer breeze seemed to pause, too afraid to rustle the moonlilies lining the ivory archway that had once stood as the crown jewel of Sienna's perfect wedding.
But it was no longer her day.
Lilith's hand remained steady in mine, cold but calm, like a blade just drawn. She hadn't flinched when Sienna had lunged. She hadn't looked away when the crowd swallowed her whole with their stares. She just stood — regal, unreadable, dangerous.
Just as I remembered her.
And exactly why I had come back for her.
Before the whispers could turn to roars, my father took a single step forward. His voice, when it came, was low — but it cut through the noise like a bell at midnight.
"She is his wife."
A stunned hush spread across the crowd.
