Elois POV:

Just as the silence in the dining room stretched to a breaking point, a deep, resonant cough echoed from the doorway.

Elder Alistair Zimmerman stood there, leaning on a dark, intricately carved wooden cane. His silver hair was impeccably styled, and his eyes, a paler, wiser version of Blaise's blue, swept across the table, missing nothing.

Instantly, the venomous expressions on Eleanora and Thea's faces vanished, replaced by masks of respectful deference.

"Father," Eleanora said, rising slightly from her seat.

"Grandfather," Thea chirped.

Blaise stood as well, his posture stiff. "Grandfather."

Alistair's sharp gaze passed over them all before landing on me. He took in my ashen face, the sweat on my brow, the way I trembled in my chair. His brow furrowed into a deep, concerned frown.

He ignored everyone else and walked directly to my side. He motioned to a nearby servant. "Bring a more comfortable chair. Place it here, next to the Alpha."

"Come, child, sit here," he said to me, his voice firm but gentle. It was the first kindness I had been shown all night.

I looked up at him, surprised and overwhelmed by the unexpected wave of compassion.

Blaise's expression darkened, but he said nothing against his grandfather's command.

A servant quickly replaced my rigid dining chair with a plush, high-backed armchair. With Alistair's steadying hand on my shoulder, I moved into it.

The Elder settled himself at the table, his cane thudding decisively on the marble floor. "I'm not so old that I can't tell when someone is genuinely unwell."

His words hung in the air, a clear rebuke. I saw Eleanora and Thea exchange panicked glances, their faces flushing with color.

Alistair then turned his stern gaze on his grandson. "Blaise. Your mate is clearly in distress. Is this how you care for her?"

Blaise's jaw was a hard, unforgiving line. "It was an oversight," he ground out, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

The Elder paid him no mind. He signaled a servant, who quickly brought a bowl of warm, clear vegetable broth. Alistair took it himself and placed it gently in front of me. "Drink this. It will be good for you."

I met the old man's eyes, my own welling with unshed tears. I gave him a small, grateful nod and shakily picked up the spoon.

Under Alistair's watchful eye, the rest of the dinner passed in a thick, awkward silence. No one dared to utter another cruel word in my direction. I managed to finish half the broth, the warm liquid soothing my churning stomach and giving me a sliver of strength.

Finally, the ordeal was over. Citing his need for rest, Alistair was the first to leave, but not before pointedly instructing Blaise to "see your mate back to her room to rest properly."

The moment the Elder was out of sight, the fragile peace shattered.

Blaise's hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist like a manacle of steel. The force of his grip sent a jolt of pain up my arm.

"Come with me," he snarled, his voice a low growl.

He hauled me from my chair and dragged me out of the dining room, his long strides forcing me to practically run to keep up. He pulled me down a long, deserted corridor to a small, stone balcony at the far end of the pack house.

He shoved me away from him, hard.

I stumbled backward, my hip slamming into the cold, unforgiving stone railing. The impact sent a fresh, sickening wave of pain through my abdomen, and I gasped, doubling over.

Blaise advanced on me, his large frame blocking out the moonlight, casting me in his shadow. The sheer pressure of his presence was suffocating.

"You're proud of yourself, aren't you?" He grabbed my chin, his fingers digging into my skin, forcing my head up. "Putting on a pathetic little show for my grandfather."

"I didn't..." I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Didn't you?" he sneered, his face inches from mine. He gestured back toward the house. "That steak. I cut it for you myself. You didn't take a single bite. Is that your idea of respect?"

I stared at him, incredulous. Of all the things he could be angry about, it was the steak.

"I couldn't eat..."

"You wouldn't eat!" he roared, his control finally snapping. "You did it to defy me! To show everyone, to show my grandfather, that I can't even control my own mate!"

The accusation was so absurd, so twisted, that a hysterical laugh almost bubbled up from my chest. I was shaking, from pain, from rage, from the utter hopelessness of it all.

His eyes burned with a furious fire. In his mind, I was nothing but a conniving, manipulative schemer.

He released me abruptly, and I slid down the railing to the cold stone floor, the pain in my belly making black spots dance in my vision.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small balcony like a caged wolf. He tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it were choking him.

Just then, his phone buzzed. The sound was unnaturally loud in the tense silence of the night.