[POV: Atlas]
I don't know how I kept my hands still. Not when Dominic sat across from me, spinning lies with a smile so sweet it made my stomach twist into knots.
He dabbed his mouth delicately with a napkin, like this was just another pleasant dinner—like he wasn't painting me as a delusional child with every soft, measured word, with every carefully constructed sentence designed to destroy my credibility.
"Oh, Atlas was always a little… sensitive," he said with a light laugh, tilting his head toward Draven with practiced sympathy. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. But he used to cry for the smallest things—attention, mostly. You know how it is with older siblings. He always wanted to be the center of everything, always seeking validation."
I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, fighting the urge to speak. "I remember," he went on, glancing at Evan with that same sickening smile, the one that had fooled so many people for so long, "how he'd make up stories. About me.”
“About our parents.” he gestures towards them, and Mother’s the perfect picture of regret. “About how he wasn't treated fairly. He just didn't understand structure, or discipline. Our family only ever tried to help him, to guide him toward being better."
Help me? I felt my hands shaking beneath the table, trembling with barely controlled rage. My nails dug into my thighs through the fabric of my tunic, trying to ground myself, trying not to leap across the room and silence him with the truth, with violence if necessary.
The real truth. How he'd held my head underwater until I stopped thrashing, until my lungs burned and I thought I would die. How he'd burned my favorite journal and laughed while I cried, mocking my tears. How he'd pushed me down stairs and told our parents I'd fallen on my own.
How he whispered to Evan when we were young, feeding him poison while I watched, helpless, wondering why I was never enough, why no one ever chose me.
But I didn't speak. Because I didn't need to. Draven's voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.
"Atlas has told me his side," he said coldly, leaning back in his chair with an air of absolute authority. "And considering the physical and emotional condition he was in when he arrived at my borders—starved, exhausted, and one inch from a panic attack—I find it easy to believe him. More than easy."
Dominic's smile wavered for just a moment, a crack in the perfect mask. Father's brow twitched, irritation flashing across his features. Mother sipped her wine, trying to hide the tight purse of her lips, the anger simmering beneath her composed exterior.
I stared at Draven, something tight in my chest unraveling with every word he spoke, every defense he mounted on my behalf.
No one had ever stood up for me like this. No one had ever believed me, chosen my side.
"He didn't arrive here asking for pity," Draven went on, his voice gaining strength. "He earned his place. Earned his title. No one handed anything to him. He fought for it, bled for it, proved himself again and again."
His eyes moved back to Dominic, hard as obsidian, unyielding as stone. "So if you're here to spin old stories and rewrite his life to make yourselves feel better, don't bother. I won't be swayed. Your words mean nothing compared to what I've witnessed with my own eyes."
I swallowed hard, my throat thick with emotion I couldn't name. For a moment, the world went quiet. Just the sound of firewood cracking in the hearth and the cold hum of tension in the air, thick enough to choke on. And then—Draven turned to me.
"In the eyes of Crimson Fang," he said, voice steady and unwavering, each word a declaration, "you are one of us. Fully. Completely. This is your pack now, Atlas. And you've earned that, too. Every bit of it."
My breath caught in my throat, eyes stinging with unshed tears I refused to let fall. Even through the storm of nerves and Dominic's lies, through the poison he'd been dripping into the air all evening, something in those words lit a fragile warmth inside me, a spark of belonging I'd never felt before.
I didn't just belong here. I wasn't just tolerated, accepted reluctantly. I was wanted. I was valued. I was home.
Across the table, I saw Dominic's eyes flash with barely contained fury. His jaw tightened, his mask starting to slip, just slightly, revealing the hatred beneath. He picked up his wineglass again, fingers trembling before he caught himself, forcing his hand steady.
Hellfire danced behind his pupils, rage and jealousy burning bright, and I knew it killed him to hear that, to witness my acceptance when he'd spent years trying to break me.
Draven stood, his chair scraping against stone. "Well," he said with a trace of sarcasm curling in his voice, dangerous and mocking, "thank you for your… overwhelming concern for Atlas's well-being. It's clear how deeply and sincerely you all care about him. Truly touching."
Mother's mouth opened, indignation flashing across her face, but he didn't give her time to respond.
"As per the agreement in correspondence with Alpha Julius," he added, his tone sharpening again, all business now, "we will address formal matters between our packs tomorrow in private council. You are free to remain as guests until your departure—but I expect all of you to conduct yourselves with the respect this pack deserves."
He looked directly at Father, holding his gaze without flinching. "And I trust you understand what will happen if you don't."
A flicker of something passed behind Father's eyes. Not fear, exactly. But respect, maybe. Or recognition. Understanding that Draven wasn't a man who bluffed, who made empty threats. "We understand," Father said with a tight nod, jaw clenched.
"Good." With that, Draven turned and extended a hand toward me, palm up, an offering.
I hesitated. Just a heartbeat. Uncertainty flickering through me, old fears trying to surface. But then I stood and took it, my fingers sliding into his, finding warmth and safety there.
His fingers were warm around mine, steady and grounding, anchoring me to this moment, to this place, to this pack that had become mine. And as we left the room, I didn't look back at my family, at the people who'd tormented me for years, who'd tried to break me and nearly succeeded.
I didn't need to. I was done looking back. Let Dominic stew in the ashes of his performance, in the ruins of his manipulation. Let him choke on the lies he'd tried to force down my throat for years, on the poison he'd spread, on the hatred he'd cultivated.
Because this time, I wasn't the one shrinking beneath his shadow, cowering in fear of his next move.
This time, I was walking away with my head held high, hand in hand with someone who believed me, who chose me, who saw me as worthy of protection and care.
And that made all the difference in the world. For the first time in my life, I wasn't alone in the fight. I had someone standing beside me. And I wasn't going to let that go.