Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 29

Bryan's pov

I knew something was off the second I was summoned to my father's office.

The tone the guard used had that unsettling stiffness—polite but rigid, like they'd been told not to tick me off. Which only meant one thing: this wasn't a casual meeting. This was my father in "alpha mode," the same mode that usually ended with someone—often me—being chewed out or cornered into some new power move I didn't ask for.

I adjusted the collar of my dark shirt, dragging my feet more than I should've as I made my way down the long corridor. I had barely caught any sleep the night before. Not that it was a new thing. Ever since the mess with Lisa—no, I wasn't going to think about that—I'd found my nights either haunted by guilt or frustration. Sometimes both.

When I reached the office, the guards flanking the doors stood taller, their expressions unreadable.

"Alpha Baron is expecting you," one of them said with a curt nod.

Of course he was.

I stepped inside.

The scent of tobacco and old leather instantly hit me. It always felt like the kind of place where serious things were said and decisions that ruined people's lives were made. And today didn't disappoint.

My father sat behind his desk, flipping through a stack of documents like they weren't heavy with consequences. He didn't even look up as I entered.

"Took you long enough," he said dryly.

I bit back a sigh and walked toward the seat in front of his desk, taking it without being asked. "You called for me."

"Clearly," he muttered, setting the papers down and finally looking me in the eye. "We've got a meeting this afternoon. Important one."

I leaned back slightly, arms folded. "With?"

"Silas Morven."

My brows rose. "The Alpha of the Greystone Pack?"

"The same," he confirmed, steepling his fingers under his chin. "He's expanding his territory east. That border touches ours. If we don't move with strategy, we'll lose ground."

"And let me guess," I said, already annoyed. "You want to propose an alliance."

His eyes narrowed. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

I shrugged. "No, just saying it like it's expected. You've been forging alliances left and right lately. Feels like a desperate attempt to regain something."

The moment I said it, I regretted it.

My father stood slowly. No outburst. No rage. Just that sharp, calm quiet that always made me more nervous than yelling ever could.

"Desperate," he repeated.

I held his gaze, not backing down, though every instinct in me screamed to shut up.

He rounded the desk and stood in front of me. "You think I'm building alliances out of desperation?"

"I think you're trying to tighten your grip," I said, my voice a notch lower now, less defiant, more controlled. "Because things are slipping, and you know it."

He chuckled. "You know what I think, Bryan? I think you're too busy brooding over a girl to understand how the world works."

There it was. The backhanded swing. Always.

"She's gone," he added coldly. "She's not coming back. And if she ever does, it won't be here."

I didn't respond.

"Irene," he continued, his voice sharper now, "is the Luna we're grooming. You'll sit beside her. You'll represent our pack. And you'll learn to focus on what matters, not whatever emotion is festering inside that soft head of yours."

I blinked slowly. "So what exactly do you need me to do at this meeting?"

He turned back to his desk and opened a folder, sliding it across the table toward me. "Listen. Observe. Speak only when I nod."

"Wow," I muttered, "sounds like a fun afternoon."

His glare cut through the room. "Silas is not someone you mock. He has connections far older and deeper than ours. If we want to maintain influence on the council, this alliance is key."

I flipped open the folder. Notes, maps, expansion plans, figures that made my head ache. But I scanned through it anyway, letting some of it stick.

"And what does he get out of this?" I asked, closing the folder.

"Protection. Proximity. And a trading route."

"Why now?"

My father looked up. "Because tensions are rising. The rogue packs are multiplying, moving more boldly. I suspect someone's backing them, though I can't prove it yet."

That made me pause.

"You think someone's funding the rogues?"

"I know someone is. The question is who."

I stood, gripping the folder in one hand. "And you want me to just nod and play politics while you figure that out?"

"I want you to do what I say," he snapped. "Without twisting every command into a moral dilemma."

There it was again—that reminder that I wasn't allowed to feel things. That leadership meant swallowing emotions, burying them beneath calculated moves and cold decisions.

I headed for the door.

"Bryan," he called before I reached it.

I turned slightly.

"Wear something sharp. You represent this family whether you like it or not."

I didn't answer. I just walked out, folder in hand, my mind a mess of silent curses and questions I didn't dare ask aloud.

The meeting was set for 3pm. That gave me a couple of hours to prepare. I spent the first thirty minutes trying to pick something formal enough to not draw my father's ire but casual enough not to look like I was groveling.

Eventually, I settled on a fitted navy suit, black shirt underneath, no tie. The kind of look that said, "I'm rich enough not to try too hard."

When I entered the private conference room, Silas was already there.

Tall, with thick grey streaks in his hair and a scar that ran down the side of his jaw like a history lesson. His beta, some guy named Varek, stood beside him, arms folded, posture too rigid to be casual.

My father greeted them like they were old drinking buddies. I offered a polite nod and shook hands, careful to keep my grip firm but not competitive.

The small talk lasted too long.

I sat through most of it biting the inside of my cheek, smiling when necessary, nodding when required, and keeping my gaze sharp but neutral. The whole performance was exhausting.

They talked about border security. Resources. Territory swaps. Future plans.

At one point, Silas turned to me.

"And what about you, Bryan?" he asked. "You ready to take the reins soon?"

I held his gaze. "Only when the reins are handed over. Until then, I learn."

He chuckled, nodding slowly. "Good answer."

My father didn't look impressed. Of course not.

The meeting dragged on another forty minutes. By the end of it, I had a headache forming behind my left eye and the urge to break something just to feel alive again.

Once they finally left, I lingered in the room, alone.

Staring at the untouched water on the table, I thought about how everything in my life felt like that lately—present but untouched. There, but hollow. A performance I was obligated to endure.

And somewhere in the back of my mind...

That damn image of Lisa kept surfacing. The way she looked at me before she was taken. The pain. The defiance. The betrayal I caused.

I had no idea where she was now, but a small part of me hoped... she was better off.

Because in this world?

Being loved by someone like me was no gift.

It was a curse.