Page 65 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

"You just waltz in here and announce that?" she snapped, her business education failing to provide protocol for this particular situation.

Darius finally looked up, his gray eyes glacial but controlled. He closed the folder in front of him with deliberate precision.

"I assume you disabled my security system to accomplish this," Darius said, his voice dropping an octave lower—a subtle warning that anyone familiar with the Castellano heir would recognize.

Ronan sprawled into the leather chair across from them, spreading his legs wide, taking up space in that distinctly Alpha way that made Serenity want to stab him with the letter opener she was still clutching.

"Your security's good," Ronan said with a wolfish grin. "But mine's better. You should hire my people."

Darius's nostrils flared slightly, the only outward sign of his irritation. Serenity watched him carefully. She'd seen what happened when Darius lost control, and it wasn't pretty.

"I prefer your intrusions to Lucian's," Darius admitted coolly, surprising Serenity. "Though next time, perhaps announce yourself before setting up surveillance in my office."

Ronan barked out a laugh.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Serenity studied Darius's composed demeanor with fascination. The Prime Alpha was calculating, as always. She could practically see him weighing the benefits of maintaining an alliance with Ronan against the insult of his privacy being violated.

"I should have you thrown out," Darius said, but there was no real threat behind the words. He steepled his fingers, regarding Ronan with a measured gaze. "But I suspect you're here for a reason beyond voyeurism."

Serenity shifted in her seat, still processing the violation.

"You can't just record people without their consent," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. The Vale empire might be hers by blood, but she was still learning the unwritten rules of their world.

"Can't I?" Ronan challenged, his green eyes locking with hers. "I just did."

Darius stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with a fluidity that spoke of years of wealth and privilege. He moved to the bar in the corner of his office, pouring three fingers of whiskey into crystal tumblers.

"This doesn't mean I approve," Darius clarified, handing a glass to Serenity first—a subtle acknowledgment of her importance—before offering one to Ronan. "It means I recognize that in our particular situation, having you as an ally is preferable to having you as an enemy."

Ronan accepted the drink with a mock toast.

"Smart man. Though I'm a bit hurt you don't want to see my cinematography skills. I captured some very...flattering angles."

Serenity nearly choked on her whiskey.Goddamn Alphas and their territorial bullshit, she thought, though a treacherous part of her wondered exactly what Ronan had seen. What he thought of it.

"Delete them," Darius commanded, though his tone lacked the absolute authority it usually carried when he gave orders.

Serenity recognized that tone. It was Darius making a request disguised as a demand—a rare concession from the Castellano heir.

"I'll consider it," Ronan replied, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "When I'm done enjoying them."

The air in the room thickened with tension. Serenity wondered if this was how it always would be now—caught between these two powerful men, each with their own agenda.The newly discovered heir to the Vale fortune, perpetually trapped in a power struggle she never asked for.

Darius returned to his seat, his movements measured and controlled despite the provocation. He was allowing this intrusion, Serenity realized.

The question was: why?

Serenity set her glass down with deliberate precision, golden eyes narrowing as she studied Ronan. The red flecks in her irises seemed to intensify as she leaned forward.

"And what exactly do you plan to do with this footage, Ronan?" she asked, her voice maintaining a carefully calibrated balance between professional inquiry and underlying threat. "I'm curious about your...intentions."

She crossed her legs, a gesture both casual and calculated. The MBA-trained businesswoman in her was already assessing risks, plotting contingencies. The daughter of Marcus Vale was contemplating how many ways this could blow back on her newly discovered empire.

Ronan's lips curled into a slow, predatory smile that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. He took a long sip of his whiskey, clearly savoring both the burn of the alcohol and the tension he'd created.

"What do you think I'm going to do with it, princess?" He leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch, all casual dominance and unrestrained Alpha energy. "I'm going to watch it. Probably more than once."

---