"You came." Relief colors his voice.
I don't respond. Just stand there, rigid, while everyone watches.
He reaches for my arm—gently, always so carefully—to guide me toward where they're sitting. And something in me just snaps.
I jerk away from his touch. Hard. Violent enough that several people nearby notice. The whispers grow louder.
Rakk's hand falls to his side. "Serah?—"
"Don't touch me."
The plaza goes silent. Thorne's expression darkens. Kaelen shifts uncomfortably. I can feel dozens of eyes on us, weighing, judging, speculating about the human who dares refuse the Chieftain's son publicly.
Rakk's amber eyes meet mine. Something passes between us in that moment—a question, maybe. Or a warning. His jaw clenches.
Then his hand shoots out and catches my upper arm. The grip is firm. Harsh. Nothing like the gentle way he usually touches me.
"Enough." His voice carries across the plaza, hard and commanding. "You will not disrespect me in front of the clan."
He drags me away from the crowd. Not toward our dwelling but toward one of the storage structures at the plaza's edge. His fingers dig into my arm—not painfully, but with clear intent. Making a statement for everyone watching.
The humiliation burns through me. Being handled like this, manhandled in front of the entire settlement, treated like property that needs correcting.
This is what I am now. What I've always been. Just another possession for males to control.
He pulls me inside the dim storage building and releases my arm. Spins to face me with an expression I can't read. Anger? Panic? Something else entirely?
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm so sorry, but you can't?—"
"Don't apologize." My voice shakes. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? A mate who submits? Who behaves?"
"No. Gods, no. But they're watching and I can't—" He rakes his hand through his hair. "If I don't establish some authority,they'll expect worse. From me or from Dad. This is damage control."
"Damage control." I laugh, but it sounds broken. "Is that what you call humiliating me?"
"I call it keeping you safe." His voice drops lower. "Please, Serah. I know you hate me. I know I destroyed everything between us. But you have to let me do this. Let me protect you the only way I know how right now."
Something in his tone makes me pause. Not the words themselves but the desperation underneath them. The exhaustion and barely concealed panic.
He steps closer. His hand rises toward my face, then stops midair like he's forcing himself not to complete the gesture. "I need you to trust me. Just for this. Just for the performance."
"I don't trust you." The words taste like ash.
"I know." Pain flickers across his features. "But trust me anyway."
Before I can respond, he grabs my wrist and pulls me back out into the plaza. His grip is firm but somehow still careful. He's making a show of dominance—demonstrating control to the watching clan—but there's something calculated about it. Measured.
We return to where Thorne is sitting. Rakk guides me down onto the bench beside him with a hand on my shoulder that looks forceful but doesn't actually hurt. His body positions itself between me and everyone else. Claiming. Possessive.
"She's adjusting," he says to his father, voice carrying enough that nearby orcs can hear. "It will take time."
Thorne grunts. Evaluates me with cold eyes. "See that she learns her place quickly."
Rakk's hand tightens on my shoulder. "She will."
The meal continues. People stop staring quite so obviously. Conversation resumes. But I can still feel the weight of attention,the judgment, the satisfaction from those who expected exactly this outcome.
The human thought she could refuse an orc male. Look where that got her.
