Michael's POV
Louis came out of the room, finally dropping the mask he'd been wearing.
Honestly it seemed like he'd changed overnight—but I knew better. This wasn't sudden. This was the part of him he'd kept chained behind polite smiles and soft gestures.
Honestly, the only surprising thing was how long he'd managed to suppress it.
I mean… we're talking about a man who slept best to the moans and dying whimpers of his victims.
A man who always told himself this isn't me, while his actions screamed otherwise. He'd built this fantasy of being "good," of being normal—of being someone Charles or Alistair could safely love.
But this?
This coldness in his eyes, this sharpness in his aura, the way the air itself bent under him…
This was Louis.
The real Louis.
The Louis who was heir to a family built on blood, betrayal, and power.
The Louis whose instincts were older and darker than any Alpha's training.
And honestly?
It suited him.
