The air was tense in the dimly lit family home. Aveline's boots sounded sharp while walking on the wooden floor as she walked back and forth in the living room. Her father, Beta Marcus, sat comfortably in his armchair, his hands holding on the edges as if he was awaiting a storm. The storm was already here—Aveline's anger burned hot and dangerous, barely hidden under her shaking looks.
"How could you?" she asked, her voice filled with emotion. "How could you let me believe he was dead? For years, you stood by and watched me grieve! Did you ever feel guilty? Or was it all just another part of your plan?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. He'd always been a composed man, a Beta who bore the weight of responsibility without complaint. But tonight, his usual composure wavered under his daughter's disturbing looks.
"Aveline," he began, his voice filled with regret, "please, let me explain."