Marco's POV
The ballroom lights still flickered behind me, soft music spilling through the open doors, but the moment I stepped away from the reception, the world shifted into a silence so sharp it felt like a warning. My instincts were roaring beneath my skin, the kind of instinct that had saved my life more times than I could count. Something was terribly wrong.
I dismissed the guests with a deft smile, telling them there was a misunderstanding at home, that my wife could not join the reception. I bowed to elders, shook hands, kept my voice steady. The perfect picture of a composed Alpha and CEO.
But underneath my suit, my pulse was thunder. My lungs tight. A cold fury was spreading through my veins like wildfire. By the time my father pulled me into the corridor, my control was hanging by a thread.
"What is going on, Marco? Where the hell is your wife and my grandson?" he demanded. His voice was low and dangerous, and for once, it matched exactly what I felt.
