Chapter 169
Zander
I didn't want to make this public.
That was never the plan.
My idea had been simple; clean, discreet. A few well-placed audits, a quiet investigation into his finances, maybe a drug charge or two. A silent takedown.
But this—thisspectacle—is what my husband wanted.
And when Ivan wants something… I give it to him.
Now the media are vultures circling a carcass, devouring every scrap of Dorian's downfall. The same talking heads that praised him last month as a "visionary entrepreneur" now brand him a monster.
His mistake was choosing this country to hide in. Conservative, pious, loud about morals—yet quietly tolerant of corruption among the rich.
Until, of course, their image is at stake.
Now they're feasting on him too. Public outrage. Headlines screaming. Even his allies are renouncing him to save face. And because everyone knows he's already doomed, they're piling on extra accusations just to be seen as righteous.
I should be satisfied.
But I'm not.
I hate that my husband's name has to be dragged through the same mud just to make it happen.
"Don't pout," a soft voice murmurs against my back, followed by familiar arms wrapping around my waist.
I exhale, leaning slightly into him. "How can I not?"
"I know, I know." Ivan's tone is amused, gentle and too calm for the chaos he's caused.
I turn in his arms, studying him. He looks radiant, even under the harsh hotel lighting, his robe slipping slightly from one shoulder.
I didn't even want to set foot in this godforsaken country. The way the staff looked at him, made my blood boil.
But here I am. Because he asked.
Because I'm a hopelessly, pathetically henpecked husband who'd follow his omega to hell and back.
***
Ivan
It's been a while since I've felt this kind of attention.
The whispers. The stares. The judgmental looks like daggers to my back.
Zander hates it, of course. He'd rather lock the world outside and protect me from every stray glance. But me? I've lived this before—on my Earth. The scrutiny, the disdain, the labels.
You grow a thick skin or you break. Seriously I've had people camp out of my hotel rooms before protesting how my presence in their community was immoral.
And I didn't crawl through two lifetimes just to break again.
So I decided to make an entrance.
If they're going to look, let them look.
Bright sapphire suit, tailored to perfection. Lined in gold. Heels just high enough to be disrespectful. My makeup sharp enough to cut their fragile masculinity in half.
The trial's been fast-tracked—one month, instead of waiting months for it to happen.Probably because I'm married to a super scary important alpha no one wants to mess with.
We're seated now, waiting. The courtroom is tense, cameras lining the walls, murmurs rippling through the crowd like static.
I cross one leg over the other, unfazed. I miss Nia. How long does this take?
The judge enters. I recognize him. One of Zander's acquaintances,another man who knows the cost of owing favors to the Vale family.
This will be over before it starts. It's all performative really.
But still… I wouldn't miss this for the world.
Because the doors open, and there he is.
Dorian Black.
Dragged in wearing shackles, wrists cuffed, posture brittle but proud. There's a reason why he's the male lead, right now he looks like those tragic male leads.
What's really tragic is that he's a piss if shit, such a waste of good looks.
He glances around the courtroom, desperate, angry,until his eyes land on me.
And for one perfect moment, he freezes.
I let my lips curve into a slow, satisfied smirk.
What a murdererous look in his eyes.
It's perfect.