The boardroom smelled faintly of cold metal and coffee. Kael sat at the far end of the long glass table, posture perfectly still, hands folded. The metallic restraint around his mouth caught the sterile light every time he moved his head. It wasn’t heavy — he’d long since stopped feeling the weight — but the humiliation clung like oil on skin.
Around him, voices droned, laughter slipped through teeth like poison. One man whispered something about “obedient pets,” another chuckled, pretending to hide it behind his papers. Kael didn’t flinch. He’d learned that silence unnerved them more than anger ever could.
Still, his fox ears twitched — a betrayal of irritation — and that only made their smirks widen.
The door opened.
Every head turned as she entered.
Seraphine Vale.
Her presence was always quiet yet absolute. The air shifted with her — as though the room recognized who held the power here. She wore black today, a tailored silk blouse fastened with gold clasps, each movement precise, deliberate. Her hair — pale as winter sun — spilled in waves past her shoulders, catching the golden light from the wall lamps. Eyes like cold blue glass swept over the room once, assessing, weighing.
Then she saw him.
Her gaze froze. The soft poise in her posture turned sharp, the kind of stillness that came before something broke. For a heartbeat, no one dared to speak. Then she stepped closer, the click of her heels steady and measured against the floor.
“Take it off.”
Her voice was calm — too calm — and yet the command in it made everyone straighten. Kael’s amber eyes flicked up to her, uncertain.
He rose slightly from his chair, the faint sound of the restraint’s straps tightening as he moved. “Seraphine…” his voice came muffled through the metal, low and careful. “It’s the new regulation. I’m not allowed to—”
“I said, take it off.”
No one breathed.
He hesitated. His hand moved halfway to the clasp before stopping again. “They’ll fine you,” he said, voice quiet, almost pleading. “Or worse. They’ve started detaining hybrids who—”
“Kael.” Her tone shifted — not louder, but cutting through the air like glass. “Take it off.”
The words carried a weight that made even the mocking executives shrink into their seats. Kael looked at her for a long moment — the kind of look that held years of loyalty, frustration, and unspoken trust — then unclipped the restraint.
The metal came away with a soft click.
He placed it on the table, the sound echoing louder than it should have.
Silence.
Her eyes softened, but her voice didn’t. “You will never wear that again in my presence,” she said, turning toward the others, her expression smooth and deadly calm. “And if anyone here has a problem with that—” she paused, letting her gaze sweep the table, “—I will consider it a personal insult to me and to this company. Do I make myself clear?”
No one answered. They didn’t have to. The tension was suffocating enough.
Kael’s jaw flexed — unused to being bare in such a setting. The room felt colder, heavier. Yet for the first time since the law had passed, he felt something close to dignity. His eyes flicked to her, quiet gratitude buried behind the usual calm.
Seraphine didn’t look back, only straightened her cuffs, her gold bracelet catching the light as she sat down at the head of the table.
“Now,” she said, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s discuss the quarterly results. Kael, you’ll brief me on the security review afterward.”
He nodded once, voice smooth and low again. “Of course.”
And as the meeting resumed, the others avoided looking at him. Not because of his ears, or his species, or the metal muzzle lying cold on the glass.
But because they’d just been reminded — very clearly — who truly held power in that room.