Jefferson's POV
The rules Alana had given me were torture. I couldn't be myself, which meant no commanding anyone, no intimidating glares, and definitely no ordering people around. Basically, I had to bury every instinct that made me the feared Alpha King I'd become over the years.
Every fiber of my being screamed against it.
Alana had even handed me a damn list of conversation starters. Topics that supposedly wouldn't make people run for the hills. Unfortunately, I'd already managed to piss Elisabeth off by the second suggestion. I couldn't imagine what would have happened if I'd made it to "civil rights" on that ridiculous list.
Anger burned in my chest, but I forced myself not to snap at Elisabeth for her tone. I deserved every bit of her fury. The mantra Alana had drilled into my head played on repeat: I can be nice. I can control my temper. I can respect people's feelings without wanting to throttle them.
