Questions surged up his throat like rising heat, but he forced them down. He had sworn to behave—sworn to obey.
So he lowered his head even further, swallowing his curiosity like poison, and quietly backed out of her room.
That resolve held—until he stepped outside and found Alfie waiting for him, white as paper, fingers twitching like they were trying to hide inside his sleeves. The sight alone made Mervyn stop short.
"What's wrong with you?" he demanded.
"N-nothing, Sir," Alfie stammered, forcing a thin, shaky smile. "I'm just… worried. I hope Madam Beckett has forgiven you."
Mervyn let out a long exhale, shoulders loosening as his confidence slid back into place. His old, self-assured grin returned.
"She has. And I won't give her another reason to be displeased. Morgan needs a smooth path if he's going to inherit the Alpha empire."
"R-right," Alfie said weakly as they headed toward the elevator. His steps sounded uneven, like his nerves were arguing with his feet.
