Chapter 275: The Broken Heir

Henry had Brian killed. Public execution style.

He brought the man out in front of the entire pack, dragging him like a sacrifice meant to appease the gods of his own paranoia. Then, with his usual flair for theatrics and that commanding voice that made people forget how twisted he was, Henry made his speech.

"If I hadn’t been fast enough, I would have lost both my son and wife," he said, tone righteous, like he was the victim here. "I still don’t know Brian’s true intentions, but I suspect he planned to hand them over to my enemies.

"I know not many of you like how I rule. I don’t care. I don’t need your approval. My intention has always been to make the West House great again. And to do that, some thorns need to be pulled from the garden."

Then he ended with the words that made Violet’s stomach churn.

"I am your Alpha. I know what’s best for my people. And I will make the West House thrive."

Of course, some fools clapped. Some even cheered. But not everyone. Others stood frozen, confused, even shocked, while Brian’s family sobbed quietly in the corner. It had to be set up, the sympathetic ones thought. Brian was kind. Loyal. A good man. And he would never have done something like that.

And yet he confessed his crimes right before Henry decapitated his head in front of everyone. And just like that, he was gone.

Some suspected foul play, but there was no proof, just their whispers, and a crowd too scared to voice them.

But the truth was this :

The same way Henry had Asher compel his mother, he also had him compel Brain too. He set him up for death.

It had never been about justice for Henry.

Only control.

The scene shifted again, and this time, Violet’s eyes widened with horror as she spotted Asher with his arms suspended above his head, chained to the ceiling. He was completely bare, save for the black shorts he wore.

And right there, standing before Asher was his own father, Henry Nightshade, with a wicked-looking whip in hand, and a gleam of twisted anticipation lighting up his eyes.

The sight alone made Violet’s skin crawl. No, no, he wasn’t actually going to hurt him.

But of course, he was.

"Have I not taught you that women are merely a means to an end? And yet..." He shot Asher a look full of disdain, "you tried to run away with your mother?"

The first crack of the whip lashed across Asher’s back, and though his body jerked slightly, he didn’t utter a word. There was no scream. No cry. Just a quiet endurance that made Violet’s chest feel like it was being crushed under a mountain of stone.

Violet couldn’t look away from the punishment, even though her brains urged her to. She needed this moment burned into her memory as fuel for the fire of hatred she had for this monster that was Asher’s father.

She watched the red mark bloom across Asher’s skin, followed by the second and third lash. This time, they broke the skin. Blood ran in thin rivers, yet only then did Henry pause to give the boy some reprieve.

Henry moved in closer, grabbed Asher by the chin, and forced him to meet his eyes. Those slitted eyes were glassy from pain, yet still held on.

"You are my heir, Asher Nightshade," Henry said, voice like poison laced with honey. "This pack, this legacy, it’ll all be yours one day..." Then his voice suddenly dropped, eyes narrowing. "And yet you were willing to throw that all away? For what?! A little moment of pleasure?!"

He backhanded Asher, splitting his lip. The boy staggered but didn’t fall. Didn’t even whimper. Violet couldn’t tell whether Henry was more impressed or enraged.

"My sweet little soldier," he cooed coldly. "Pain is just a note away from pleasure. And you must learn to take it well."

Then, Henry lost himself, whipping the boy over and over again until Asher’s body sagged, blood soaking his shorts and trailing down his legs. Until Henry’s arms were tired, and his breathing came in short, ragged bursts.

Only then did he toss the whip aside and unshackle his son.

As soon as Asher was free, he stumbled slightly, but caught himself. And then, little Asher looked up and stared Henry dead in the eyes. That quiet defiance sent a shiver down Violet’s spine.

But Henry was not scared. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his son’s with eerie affection. "Always remember, you’re my heir. And this is for your good."

Then he stepped back.

"Go to your mother," he ordered. "I’m sure she’d like to clean you up."

Asher nodded without a word and left.

The scene changed swiftly again.

Violet now stood in front of a half-opened door, cold dread seeping in before she even touched it. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She stepped inside.

Inside, Asher stood motionless at the foot of the bed. So still he could be mistaken for a statue.

Violet stepped forward, her heart pounding, and gasped before she even reached the bed.

Maria.

Asher’s mother lay on the bed, her eyes open, staring at nothing. Her wrists were slit. The blade was beside her, the sheets stained with blood that had already dried.

Beside her pillow was a note. Violet staggered toward it, her breath caught in her chest. She picked up the note with trembling hands, expecting answers, but it only read :

"Sing loud now, my little Nightingale."

The words punched a hole through her soul, her vision blurring with tears.

Her gaze flicked back to Asher. He hadn’t moved and worse, was still bloodied from his father’s beating yet he stood there, staring at his mother’s corpse as if unable to process it.

"Oh, Asher..." Violet whispered, stepping toward him. She reached out instinctively to pull him into a hug, and froze.

This time, she didn’t pass through him. Her arms wrapped around something solid. Real.

Violet pulled back slowly, staring at him. And for the first time, Asher was staring back at her.

What the...?

Before she could ask a thing, Asher’s face twisted into rage, venom dripping from his voice.

"How the fuck did you get into my head?!"

Violet opened her mouth, but before she could explain—hell, before she could even understand what was happening—a powerful force slammed into her.

The next thing Violet knew, she was being yanked out of the memory and straight into reality.

Except her nightmare had only just begun.

Because a certain West House Alpha was hovering over her, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat and choking the life out of her.