Hudson’s POV

"Hey, you! Stop right there!"

I turned around to see Antoine Marchand stomping down the courthouse steps, his face flushed with rage. His expensive suit strained against his bulky frame as he approached.

Now I understood where Pierre got his entitled attitude from. The apple really didn’t fall far from the tree. Like father, like son—both insufferable.

Lycaon growled inside my mind. "This bastard dares to speak to us this way?"

"If this were High Tower City, he’d already be six feet under, " I replied to my wolf.

An hour ago, Antoine had burst into the courtroom with an army of lawyers—complete overkill for a simple assault case. Thanks to their legal gymnastics and what Lea had whispered was "financial persuasion" to the right officials, Pierre had walked away with barely a warning.

But Antoine wasn’t satisfied. He wanted me behind bars for aggravated assault, property damage, resisting arrest, and whatever other charges his legal team could invent.

When the prosecutor let me off with just a warning and a fine, Antoine lost his mind. He seemed angrier than his son, who was the one I’d actually punched.

"Don’t you think you owe my son an apology at the very least?" Antoine demanded, panting as he stopped in front of me.

Despite his tailored suit, his protruding belly was obvious. The man was clearly out of shape and struggling to catch his breath.

I shrugged. "No."

Lea tugged my elbow gently.

I understood her silent message, but I wasn’t about to bow down to this arrogant, middle-aged jerk just to stop him from trashing my name in the papers. Submission never worked with people like him. As an Alpha, I knew that better than anyone.

Antoine’s scowl deepened, his fleshy face contorting unpleasantly. "You assaulted my son," he spat.

"He provoked me."

"He was only trying to talk to his wife." His gaze shifted to Lea with undisguised contempt. "Are you defending her because you’re sleeping with her?"

Lea’s cheeks flushed pink.

I frowned. "Now I see where Pierre learned his crude vocabulary."

"Please ignore him. He’s just a grumpy old man with a sailor’s vocabulary," Françoise Marchand interjected, offering a smile that somehow eased the tension. "Crude language aside, he does have a point. Alpha Hudson, would you mind clarifying exactly what your relationship with Lea is?"

"She’s my friend," I stated simply.

"I see." Françoise nodded before turning to Lea. "Darling, drinking with another man in a bar late at night creates certain... impressions. Pierre’s reaction is somewhat understandable. He is technically still your husband."

"Not once he finally signs those divorce papers," Lea fired back. "He’s deliberately stalling."

"I’ll speak with him. He’ll eventually come around and realize you two aren’t compatible. Ending the marriage will ultimately benefit you both."

Antoine snorted loudly. "I never should have allowed that marriage in the first place. What a colossal mistake."

"Antoine," Françoise said sharply before redirecting her attention to me. "I apologize that we’ve pulled you into what should be a private family matter, but you brought this on yourself when you targeted our Arlo SoHo hotels."

"I didn’t target them," I corrected. "The fire department did. Your properties had serious safety violations."

Françoise remained composed. "I’ve already terminated the manager and launched a comprehensive investigation. I’d like to resolve this situation so that when our hotels reopen, there won’t be any surprise inspections, and our suppliers won’t suddenly find themselves bound by exclusive contracts elsewhere." Her steady gaze held mine.

"The solution is simple," I replied. "Once Lea is free from Pierre’s harassment, your hotels will stop experiencing those surprise inspections and unexpected tax audits."

"How dare you threaten me!" Antoine growled, his face reddening further. "You have no idea what I’m capable of. One phone call and I’ll have your dirty laundry splashed across every newspaper."

I met his stare without blinking. Lycaon stirred restlessly within me, wanting to assert our dominance.

Françoise squeezed her husband’s arm firmly. "Antoine, control yourself. We came to make peace, not create more enemies." Her business smile returned effortlessly. "Pierre will need time to accept our perspective, but I’m confident I can convince him. For now, let’s separate business from personal matters, shall we?"

Typically, I’d agree with that principle, but for Lea, I was willing to make an exception.

I remained silent.

Françoise checked her watch. "Why don’t I invite you to dinner? Lea, you’re welcome too. We can have a proper meal and discuss things calmly. I’m certain we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Will Pierre actually honor it?" Lea asked skeptically.

"I’ll ensure he does," Françoise assured her.

"Fine," I conceded. "Just tell me when and where."

"Perfect. I’ll text you the details once I’ve made the reservation." Still gripping her husband’s thick wrist, she guided him toward their waiting limousine.

"Do you really think dining with them is a good idea?" Lea asked after they’d left.

"Worth trying. Françoise seems rational. If she convinces me she can control Pierre, I might ease the pressure on their businesses."

I climbed into my waiting car with Lea following behind.

"Where to now, Alpha?" the driver asked.

I almost said Christina’s hotel but caught myself. "Hotel Saint-Rivière," I decided instead.

The car pulled away smoothly.

I booked a suite adjacent to Lea’s. We reviewed our dinner strategy and her non-negotiable conditions. Reclaiming Pierre’s shares in Titanova topped her list.

"I never should have let him buy those shares," she sighed regretfully. "Without that complication, I could have walked away cleanly."

"Françoise will sell them," I assured her. "Those shares mean nothing to her, and she won’t risk me targeting her Highrise City businesses."

"I hope you’re right."

I checked my phone and found work emails and updates from Dominic but nothing from Christina. A low battery warning flashed on screen.

"Hand it over and I’ll charge it," Lea offered.

I gave her the phone and went for a shower.

When I returned, I asked, "Any calls?"

"No. Just Françoise texting the restaurant details."

I checked the phone myself. The battery was fully charged, and the call log showed nothing new.

I slipped the phone into my pocket. "Let’s go."