Page 103 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

Ronan's expression shifted—the calculated fighter vanishing, replaced by something darker. He headbutted Alexander with savage force, the crack of their skulls colliding audible even above the crowd's frenzy.

Alexander stumbled back, disoriented. Ronan followed, no longer measuring his attacks but unleashing a barrage of strikes that drove Alexander to his knees.

"Your father," Ronan said, voice eerily calm as he landed another devastating blow, "knew better than to cross me."

Serenity clutched the railing of the pit, her knuckles white. Every instinct screamed at her to look away, but she couldn'ttear her eyes from the spectacle unfolding before her. This was a side of Ronan she hadn't witnessed—primal, unleashed, magnificent in his ferocity.

"Finish him!" someone screamed from the crowd.

Her stomach twisted in conflict. The MBA graduate in her, the woman who negotiated boardroom deals with clinical precision, was repulsed by such barbarism. Yet something deeper, more instinctual—the part of her that recognized the golden flecks in her eyes when she looked in the mirror—understood this display for what it was.

"He's fighting for me," she whispered, the realization washing over her like ice water.

Alexander attempted to rise, blood streaming from his nose, one eye already swelling shut. He lunged clumsily, desperation replacing technique.

Ronan sidestepped with predatory ease, catching Alexander's extended arm and using his momentum against him. In one fluid motion, he swept Alexander's legs and drove him face-first into the concrete floor of the pit.

The impact was sickening. The crowd fell silent for one breathless moment before erupting into deafening cheers.

"Get up," Ronan commanded, standing over his fallen opponent. "Or yield."

Alexander rolled onto his back, chest heaving. "Just... fucking end it."

Serenity found herself moving closer to the edge, drawn by some magnetic pull. The coppery scent of blood mixed with the musk of competing Alphas made her dizzy, awakening something she'd kept carefully suppressed for years.

Ronan glanced up, his green eyes finding hers across the pit. Something passed between them—understanding, possession, promise.

He looked back down at Alexander. "Not worth it," he said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "You're not worth the trouble your death would bring."

"Mercy?" Alexander spat blood. "From Ronan Drake?"

"Strategy," Ronan corrected coldly. He turned to address the onlookers, his voice carrying across the suddenly hushed arena. "The Beaumonts have their uses. Dead men pay no debts."

The crowd's reaction was mixed—some booing at being denied the bloody finale they craved, others nodding in appreciation of Ronan's pragmatism.

"He let him live," Serenity murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Not out of weakness, but..."

"Power," finished a voice beside her. The step-brother, whose name she hadn't caught. "Real power isn't about who you kill. It's about who you allow to live."

He tipped his head respectfully to her before moving to help Alexander from the pit.

Serenity watched Ronan as he climbed out, his knuckles raw, a thin cut along his cheekbone weeping blood. The crowd parted for him—not just out of respect, but something that bordered on reverence.

"You didn't have to do that," she said when he reached her, conscious of the eyes watching them.

"Yes," he replied simply, his gaze intense, "I did."

He placed a possessive hand at the small of her back, the heat of him enveloping her. Serenity felt something shift inside her—a door opening to a world she'd pretended didn't exist. A world of primal instincts and ancient hierarchies that no amount of education or modern sensibilities could fully erase.

What terrified her most wasn't that she'd glimpsed this world.

It was that part of her wanted to belong in it.

The journey through the underground passages felt like walking through the aftermath of a storm. The crowd's energy still vibrated in the air as they made their way toward the exit, adrenaline humming like electricity between them. Ronan's hand remained steady at Serenity's back, his touch both territorial and protective.

When they reached his sleek black Aston Martin in the private garage, Serenity's legs felt suddenly weak. She gripped the car door as Ronan opened it for her.

"You're shaking," he observed, voice low.

---