Chapter 67: Chapter 67
"Get your fucking hands off of my woman!"
Raphael’s voice thundered through the foyer, vibrating with a raw, tremulous rage that shook his entire frame.
Christian’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits as he locked gaze with the movie star.
"What did you just say?" he gritted out, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. "Your woman?!"
A dark, intimidating scowl warped his features. "She is mine," the alpha king declared, stepping forward like a predator marking its territory. "Fucking dare to call her yours again."
Before the threat could even settle in the air, Raphael lunged forward. He caught Fleur by the wrist, pulling her protectively behind his shoulder.
"Don’t fucking touch her!" Christian roared. He lunged in turn, his massive hand clamping around Fleur’s upper arm, violently wrenching her back toward him, away from Raphael’s grasp.
"Leave this house immediately," Raphael warned, his voice dropping to a venomous, dark whisper. "Or you will regret it."
"You dare threaten me in her presence?" Christian thundered.
The suffocating tension bled out into the hallway. Near the kitchen, the household staff had gathered in a terrified cluster, whispering anxiously as they watched two of the world’s most powerful men lay claim to the same woman like wolves over prey.
Lea rushed into the foyer, alerted by the shouting, her face pale. But before she could utter a word of intervention, Fleur reached her breaking point. With a sharp, violent twist, she snatched her arms out of both men’s grips.
"Stop it! Both of you!" she screamed.
The sheer fury in her voice acted like a bucket of ice water. Both men instantly froze, their aggressive postures softening into stunned silence as they looked at her.
Fleur’s chest heaved. Her eyes darted from the entertainment industry’s golden boy to the ruthless alpha king, her face contorting in pure disdain.
"I don’t belong to anyone!" she announced, her nostrils flaring as a bitter wave of frustration washed over her.
The absolute arrogance of them. These foolish, ego-driven men actually believed she was a prize to be won, a piece of property to be claimed.
She didn’t need a man to define her. She was more than enough for herself, and she was enough for her children. She had no room in her life for arrogant alpha males whose only instinct was to assert dominance and treat women like trophies.
"I do not belong to you, Mr. Dumas. And I damn well do not belong to you, Mr. Wayne," she glowered, her voice trembling with an anger so profound it burned.
"So get the hell out of my house. Now!"
Christian blinked, genuinely bewildered by the fierce rejection. "Fleur, amore, what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice softening as he reached a hand out to soothe her.
Fleur snapped her hand up, palms out. "No! Mr. Wayne, stop."
"But, mia vita..." Christian tried again, taking a step forward.
Fleur shook her head, her expression hardening into stone. "I need you to leave. Right now."
The absolute coldness in her tone struck Christian like a physical blow.
For a split second, a dangerous spark of alpha-bred rage flared within him. No one—absolutely no one—had ever dared to speak to him with such blatant disrespect, let alone throw him out of a room.
But as he looked at her, the anger gave way to a begrudging, captivated awe. This was his Fleur. She possessed a strange, terrifying power over the alpha king, holding a monopoly on the right to do what anyone else would be executed for even thinking.
Recognizing her genuine distress, he forced his voice to drop to a coaxing, placating murmur. "Alright. You’re angry, I understand. Let’s just sit down and talk."
He reached out, his fingers brushing her shoulder.
Fleur slapped his hand away with a resounding crack. Planting both palms firmly against his broad chest, she used every ounce of her weight to shove him toward the open front door.
"That’s right, Fleur. Throw him out," Raphael encouraged from behind her, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he followed them toward the threshold. "He deserves it."
Though Fleur was no match for Christian’s sheer physical strength, the don didn’t fight her. He allowed himself to be pushed backward across the threshold, stepping out onto the porch solely because he couldn’t bear to distress her further.
But hearing the cunning movie star poke at his pride made Christian’s blood boil. He wanted nothing more than to drag Raphael into the yard and teach him a permanent lesson in humility.
Then, the script flipped, and Christian’s anger morphed into a dark, amused satisfaction.
Having successfully shoved Christian outside, Fleur spun around on her heel. Raphael was standing right behind her, his handsome face practically glowing with victory.
Without a word, Fleur huffed and planted her hands squarely on Raphael’s chest, shoving him backward with the exact same fury. Caught completely off guard, the actor stumbled over his own feet.
He flailed, nearly taking a hard spill down the porch steps before his hand shot out, desperately gripping the door frame to steady himself.
Fleur’s breath hitched. Seeing him almost fall triggered a brief flash of maternal instinct; she reflexively reached out and caught his hand to balance him.
Raphael’s smirk returned in full force. "Aww, you do care about me, Fleur," he purred, leaning in. "You can’t throw me out."
Fleur’s eyes narrowed into slits. The concern vanished, replaced by irritation as she realized he was just playing a part to gain her sympathy.
With a low growl, she gave him one final, brutal shove that sent him stumbling out onto the porch beside Christian. She conspicuously wiped her palms against her clothes, as if brushing off dirt.
"Get the fuck out of my house, both of you," she commanded, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
Before either man could utter a sound, she grabbed the heavy oak door and slammed it shut in their faces, the deadbolt clicking into place with finality.
Out on the porch, a heavy silence fell.
"What the hell just happened?!" Raphael muttered under his breath, staring blankly at the painted wood of the closed door.
From a few feet away, a low, rumbling sound broke the quiet. "You just got thrown out by Fleur Swann," Christian chuckled, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit.
"Ha! Look who’s talking!" Raphael snapped, turning a venomous glare toward the alpha king.
Christian’s laughter evaporated. He stepped closer, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height.
Raphael straightened his spine, matching the posture, but he was still a half-foot shorter than the towering werewolf. They stood chest-to-chest, the air between them thick with a lethal, suffocating tension.
"I don’t believe in beating around the bush, so listen to me very carefully, Raphael Dumas," Christian delivered the words like a judge passing a death sentence. "Stay the fuck away from her. If I catch your shadow anywhere near her again, it won’t just be your acting career that suffers. Do you understand me?"
Raphael actually laughed. It wasn’t the first time a powerful man had threatened him. But Raphael wasn’t just a face on a billboard; his wealth, global fame, and political connections gave him a shield few could penetrate.
"Christian Wayne," Raphael said, his expression smoothing into a charming, dangerous mask. "If you value your life and your little empire, you’re the one who needs to walk away. Fleur Swann is mine. Anyone who looks at her with an appetite won’t live to see the next sunrise."
Christian’s lips curled into a slow, chilling smirk.
It was almost tragic, really.
Clearly, Raphael Dumas had absolutely no idea who he was dealing with. Otherwise, the actor wouldn’t have possessed the suicidal audacity to utter those words.
Standing there on the porch, Christian looked at the movie star and saw a dead man walking—a fool who had just looked Death in the eyes and dared it to strike.
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