THE SIX FATED ALPHAS ARE IN LOVE ME

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The chandelier swayed.

One second it was a staged noble dinner. The next, it was a battlefield.

Alexander hit Henry like a thunderclap. No warning, no words—just raw alpha force slamming into Henry’s chest and driving him back through the mahogany table. The wood splintered with a crack that echoed through the hall. Plates exploded, wine arced across the floor in dark, blood-like splashes, and the smell of roasted game mixed with ozone and rage.

Henry didn’t stay down. He roared, claws tearing free, and drove his shoulder into Alexander’s gut. They crashed into a pillar, stone cracking under the impact.

Fists flew. Not the clean, controlled blows of training—this was brutal, personal. Alexander’s knuckles split against Henry’s jaw. Henry drove his knee into Alexander’s ribs, then raked claws down his arm, drawing blood. Each hit was a statement: *She’s mine. She was mine first.*

The room shook. Chairs shattered. Glass turned to rain on the floor. Servants who’d been hiding in the doorway scattered, screaming.

And through it all, Laura was pressed against the wall, hand to her throat where Henry’s fingers had been. She couldn’t look away.

The doors slammed open with a crack that cut through the sound of shattering glass.

Lord wife and Tuna stormed in, faces twisted with fury. but they didn’t pause to catch their breath. They’d come straight from wherever they’d heard the news.

“What is this?” Lord wife voice boomed, echoing off the broken chandelier. “Two alphas, tearing each other apart over a common maid?”

Tuna’s eyes swept the room,over the splintered table, the blood on Alexander’s knuckles, Henry’s torn collar, and finally landed on Laura pressed against the wall. Her expression hardened into disgust.

“So this is it,” Lord's wife Tuna said, stepping forward. Her voice was cold, sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve let a nobody turn our houses into a spectacle. Alexander, Henry,have you both lost your minds?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“Take her,” Lord wife ordered his guards, pointing straight at Laura. “If she’s the cause of this, she doesn’t stay in either house. We’ll deal with her ourselves.”

Two guards moved fast, grabbing Laura by the arms.

“Get off me!” Laura struggled, but noble guards didn’t loosen their grip for a maid.

Alexander stepped in front of her instantly, blood still dripping from his brow. “Touch her, and you’ll regret it.”

Henry wiped his mouth. "since when do you care so much about a maid".

Alexander jaw tightened " since she's the only one in this who isn't a monster"

Tuna laughing . “See? This is what I’m talking about. She’s nothing, and you’re both acting like she’s the heir to the throne.”

Lords wife gaze flicked between them, then settled on Laura with something like pity mixed with malice.

“No,” she said quietly. “She’s not nothing. She’s dangerous. And that’s worse.”

The guards tightened their hold. Laura’s eyes met Alexander’s for half a second—fear, defiance, and a question he couldn’t answer yet.

The Tunas weren’t here to stop the fight.

They were here to take the weapon.

Alexander held Laura's hands has he dragged out.

The room was silent except for the faint crackle of incense burning in the corner. Thick, sweet smoke curled through the air, clinging to the silk curtains and heavy drapes. It smelled wrong—too sweet, cloying, like it was meant to dull the mind.

Lord Dodge lay on the bed, eyes half-closed, breathing uneven. He hadn’t eaten properly in days. Hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. Servants whispered that even in sleep he muttered one name:

"Evelyn ".

He’d sent out half his pack to find her. None had returned with answers. The worry had hollowed him out.

The door opened without a knock.

Lord's wife stepped in, moving quietly, her face calm, calculated. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The incense was already doing its work.

She crossed to the bed and sat beside him, hand reaching out to touch his chest. To anyone watching, it looked intimate. Caring.

But Lord Dodge didn’t see his wife.

The incense twisted his mind. In her touch, in her voice, he saw "Madam Evelyn".

He reached for her, pulling her closer, his voice rough with longing.

“Evelyn… I’ve been looking everywhere.”

She let him believe it. Let him respond, let him hold her back, his guard completely down.

Then her tone changed. Soft, but poisoned.

“It’s Laura,” she whispered against his ear. “Laura tried to kill me and kidnapped me. She’s the one who enslaved me. Laura is wicked, Dutch .She’s the reason Evelyn is gone. She’s the reason you can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think straight.”

Lord Dodge’s expression shifted. Confusion. Rage. His grip tightened, not on his wife, but on the air between them, as if Laura herself was there to strangle.

“Laura…” he growled, the name like a curse.

Under the incense, he wasn’t himself anymore. He was a puppet. His wife’s hand on his chest, her words in his ear every sentence sunk deeper, twisting his grief into hatred.

She leaned back, watching him. He was already under her control.

Mad with grief. Mad with her words. Ready to believe anything she told him about Laura.