Chapter 94 Worthy

Chapter 94 Worthy
NATE

"A pack should have one Alpha, Nathaniel," Ernest said, placing his crystal tumbler onto the side table with a dull, heavy clink. "Divided authority breeds dissent. Multiple Alphas disrupt the natural hierarchy, that’s just how things work."

He leaned in slightly, his eyes boring into mine with unnerving intensity.

"Cole has proven himself emotionally volatile and fundamentally untrustworthy," Ernest continued, the words coming out cold and final. "And Damon... I still have my doubts regarding him. He exhibits too much emotion toward Iris, even if it manifests as spite. That lingering attachment could be a fatal liability."

I held my glass with white-knuckled restraint, keeping my breath even. "And me?"

"You are the only one who has never faltered," Ernest said, a rare warmth touching his hardened features. "You have always been the dutiful son. You honor the chain of command, and you shoulder your responsibilities without complaint. I will admit, I expected significant resistance when I brokered your arrangement with the Harlow girl. But you didn't flinch. You proved your obedience and your loyalty to our house and the Crawford name."

He reached out, resting a broad, heavy hand on my shoulder. The weight of his palm felt like lead, scorching straight through the fabric of my shirt.

"True leadership is defined by the law of the strongest, Nathaniel," he rumbled, leaning closer. "It demands order above all else. And power... Power requires sacrifices. Brutal, personal sacrifices that would break weaker men. Among your brothers, you are the only one who seems to truly understand that."

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. "We're triplets, Dad. We were raised to lead together."

Ernest offered a faint, condescending smile, shaking his head.

"When you three were born, the elders cooed about the blessing of a triad and things like that. I indulged it during your childhood because you were united, but my intention was always to choose one true successor. A pack needs a single sovereign. Time and maturity have simply proven that I was right all along... And you are the only one who has proven himself worthy of the mantle."

The words drifted through the dim air between us, hitting my ears like a siren song.

For nearly two decades, those exact words were the only thing I had ever craved. I had spent my entire life starving for his approval. I had studied until my eyes bled, drilled until my muscles tore in the training ring, and swallowed every shred of personal desire—all just to hear Ernest Crawford look at me and say I was worthy. I had idolized this man. I had modeled my posture, my voice, and my discipline after his shadow.

I was his shadow. Perfectly made into his image and resemblance.

Now, he was handing me the kingdom keys on a silver platter. He was offering me absolute power, validation, and everything I ever prayed for.

And it meant nothing.

Every word of praise out of his mouth felt hollow, meaningless.

Am I proving myself worthy now for not opposing him fucking his teenage stepdaughter? I had to remind myself that this was the real reason I was hearing all that. I had to remind myself that the man giving me all that praise was a monster who had murdered my mother, tortured my brother, and abused the girl we were meant to protect.

How convenient it was that he chose this moment to recognize my value?

I looked up, meeting his slate-gray eyes. I let a slow, steady smile touch my lips, letting pride and humble reverence wash over my expression.

"Thank you, Father," I said, my voice steady, respectful. "I won't let you down."



One week later, the private dining room was set for a quiet celebratory dinner.

Like my own arrangement with Jessica, the betrothal between Iris and Christian Harlow was kept behind closed doors. Officially, engaged girls were prohibited from participating in the Debutante Gala; the entire spectacle was designed as a formal presentation of eligible maidens to high-society bachelors, making a public engagement an obvious contradiction.

Yet, as Jessica’s mother cheerfully shared over the second course, early engagements were an open secret among the ruling class. Eleanor had been privately engaged months before her own debut just like her daughter. And, now, just like Iris.

Ernest casually joined the nostalgia, swirling his vintage wine as he mentioned that he had proposed to our mother nearly half a year before her presentation ball. However, Charlotte’s family had chosen to withdraw her from the season entirely and announce the engagement immediately.

Sitting across from my father, I could only feel more and more hate towards him.

I had always thought these debutante rituals were absurd, but hearing Ernest speak so lightly of our mother made my stomach heave with fresh revulsion. He hadn’t just played a part in her death—he had also robbed her of her entire youth. He had stripped her of her coming-of-age, locked her into a loveless marriage while he pined after his ex-girlfriend, and got her pregnant with triplets before she had even had the chance to live.

At the far end of the long mahogany table, Iris looked breathtaking. She wore one of Ava’s vintage silk gowns, a pale pink one this time, tailored to perfection, with her dark hair cascading down her bare shoulders… The marks Ernest left on her either healed very fast or were perfectly concealed, they were absolutely impossible to spot. She smiled on cue, laughing softly at Eleanor Harlow’s jokes, playing the radiant, graceful bride-to-be like a seasoned pageant contestant. But her eyes were completely vacant, floating somewhere miles above the room.

Beside me, Cole was barely holding together.

Ernest had instructed Doctor Randall to put him on a heavier sedative cocktail to guarantee his compliance for the evening. Cole’s reflexes were sluggish and his gaze was glassy, but every single time Christian Harlow leaned in close or brushed his fingers against Iris’s knuckles, the primal instinct broke through the chemical haze. Damon and I spent the entire meal taking turns clamping iron grips onto Cole’s knee under the table, forcing him down before his claws ripped through the white linen.

And on top of the suffocating theater, there was Jessica.

The moment the dessert plates were cleared and the parents drifted toward the parlor, Jessica dragged me by my forearm into the shadowed alcove near the terrace doors.

"I cannot believe my parents actually agreed to this madness!" she hissed, her face flushed with indignation, her nails digging into my suit jacket. "You have to do something, Nate!"

I stared down at her, entirely devoid of emotion. "What the hell was I supposed to do, Jessica?"

"I don't know! Talk to your father!" she demanded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I refuse to have that girl as my actual sister-in-law, and I absolutely will not tolerate her becoming the future Luna of my pack!"

A dry, caustic scoff escaped my throat. "Well, it won't be your pack for much longer, will it? Once we are married, you belong to Bloodmoon."

Jessica blinked, taken aback by the coldness in my tone, before letting out a defensive huff. "Yeah, sure, but still... it's the principle! She's a nobody, she doesn’t deserve my brother!"

"You know what?" I unbuttoned my collar, stepping past her toward the glass doors. "I’m going outside to smoke. And let me make one thing clear: if I hear that you said anything remotely cruel to Iris tonight, or if you even think about making her uncomfortable, we are going to have a serious problem."

Jessica gasped, looking at me with wide, wounded eyes. "Why are you acting like this? Why are you being so mean to me?"

I paused at the threshold, looking back over my shoulder.

"I'm not acting."