The bedroom smelled wrong.

Not just of blood — though that was thick enough to cling to the back of your throat — but of something broken beyond repair. Iron and copper layered over expensive perfume, over alpha musk gone sour. The air felt heavy, as if the room itself were holding its breath in shock.

Della Kamryn lay in pieces.

The bed was ruined. Silk sheets soaked through, dark and stiffening. The walls bore quiet splatter, careless arcs that spoke not of frenzy, but efficiency.

You had been summoned without explanation. You never were given explanations.

Dominic stood at the foot of the bed, barefoot, immaculate despite the carnage. His white nightdress clung to him, stained a deep, arterial red at the hem and sleeves, like a corrupted wedding garment. Blood had kissed his skin, his wrists, his throat. It only made him look more unreal — some fallen saint rendered obscene. A divine executioner.

He did not smile.

That unsettled you more than the corpse.

The plush bunny lay nearby. White. Soft. Its stitched eyes blank. A smile ever present on its face. A gift from Della — one of many, given when she still believed her husband meant no harm. Dominic picked it up carefully, assessing its size like one might assess luggage.

“We’ll need to hollow it out more,” he said mildly. “Alphas are larger than they think.”

You swallowed.

You were one of the few alphas permitted within the Lysandre inner household. A servant, yes — but trusted. Useful. Loyal. You had known what he was long before tonight. Still, knowledge was different from seeing.

You knelt beside the bed and began to work when instructed. Clean cuts. Separate pieces. Wrap. The stench worsened as you went, blood pooling, soaking into your gloves. Dominic moved with you, unbothered, humming faintly as he handled what had once ruled continents.

You flinched when he severed bone with casual precision.

He noticed.

“What?” he asked, glancing at you sideways. Then he smirked, sharp and humorless. “Another alpha can’t handle a bit of real violence?”

A soft laugh followed — not sweet, not kind.

“We’ll say she was attacked,” he continued, as if discussing weather. “Kidnapped. A desperate man with a grudge. We already have someone eager to confess, should it come to that.”

You knew. Of course you knew.

No traces would be found. Kamryn security would tear itself apart searching for answers that had already been buried. Dominic would weep in public. He would wear black. He would be the perfect omega widower.

When the last of the body was secured inside the plush rabbit — distorted now, repugnant in its purpose — Dominic wiped his hands and finally looked at you fully.

His eyes were cold. Blue as winter glass.

“This world is changing,” he said quietly. “And you will help me shape it.”

Then, almost fondly. “Right, dear? You’ll always stick by me, as a good pet you are, will you not?” And an eerie in its hollowness smile followed.