The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 87: His Vision

Oliver’s POV

​I saw the look on my father’s face the moment his eyes settled on Aurora. It wasn’t the fiery hatred of an enemy, nor was it the warm acceptance I had secretly hoped for. It was a cold, sharp look of disapproval—the kind of look he used when a tactical maneuver had gone catastrophically wrong.

​Aurora, sensing the sudden drop in temperature, scrambled to her feet. She looked small against the backdrop of the massive office, her nervousness radiating so strongly it made my wolf whine in a desperate urge to shield her.

​She bowed her head slightly, her voice small and trembling.

​"Good day, sir," she greeted him, her fingers twisting together.

​My father didn’t return the greeting. He gave her one quick, clinical look, and then he dismissed her entirely, turning his piercing blue gaze back to me. The warmth he had entered with had evaporated, replaced by his heavy aura.

​"Oliver," he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Can I have a minute with you? Alone?"

​He didn’t sound angry. To a stranger, he sounded perfectly calm. But I knew my father. I knew the way his jaw tightened when he was holding back anger, and I knew that tone meant something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

​I felt Aurora stiffen beside me. I wanted to reach out, to touch the small of her back and tell her it was okay, but with my father’s eyes tracking my every move, I couldn’t. I had to maintain my position.

​"Aurora," I called softly. "Wait for me in the lounge."

​She didn’t look at me. She just nodded, her face pale, and hurried out of the room.

​I turned to my father, bracing myself. "Dad, you’re early. I thought you were still in the North."

​He didn’t answer immediately. He walked toward my desk, the rhythmic thud-thud of his cane against the carpet sounding like a countdown. He stopped, leaning his weight on the polished wood, and looked me dead in the eye.

​"Who is she, Oliver?" he asked.

​"My assistant," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Her name is Aurora."

​Father’s eyes narrowed, tracking the slight tension in my shoulders that I couldn’t quite hide. "You two are a thing?"

​I looked down at the documents on my desk, the ink blurring for a split second. "Not really," I muttered. It was the technical truth, but a functional lie, especially after the heat of the kiss that was still burning on my lips.

​He let out a short, dry huff and leaned closer, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look a decade older. "You like her?"

​I swallowed hard. The denial was right there, sitting on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn’t come out. I never thought a day would come when my father would ask if I liked someone and I wouldn’t immediately snap back or start an argument. My silence was heavy, filling the space between us, giving him the only answer he needed.

​He sighed, his gaze drifting toward the door where Aurora had just disappeared. "Oliver... she looks exactly like your mother did when she was that age."

​I nodded slowly, my jaw tight. "I know, Father. I know."

​He didn’t speak for a moment, but a deep frown etched itself into his face. The disapproval I had seen earlier wasn’t fading; it was hardening into something more serious.

​"Father, what are you thinking?" I asked, my voice rising with a hint of defensiveness. "And that attitude you just gave her... she’s done nothing to deserve that."

​"Oliver," he said, his voice dropping into that weary, prophetic tone he used when he thought he was protecting me from myself. "She is going to hurt you."

​"Not again, Father," I groaned, turning away to pace the small space behind my desk. "Not this lecture. Not now."

​"She is going to break you," he continued, ignoring my protest. "Just like your mother broke me."

​I whirled back around to face him, my wolf surging beneath the surface, baring its teeth at the comparison. "Father, Aurora is not Hailee! Just because they have the same hair and look slightly alike doesn’t mean they are the same person. She is different. She’s..."

​"She’s a catalyst, son," Father interrupted, shaking his head slowly. He looked at me with a mixture of pity and worry, like he was seeing his fate reoccurring with me. "That girl... she will be your undoing. I saw it the moment I looked at her. I saw the way you look at her, and more importantly, I saw the shadows she carries. She may not do it intentionally, Oliver, but that girl will be your doom."

​He gripped his cane tighter, stepping closer until we were nearly chest-to-chest. "Let her go. Before she destroys you."

​I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

​"I can’t," I whispered. "I’ve already tried. She’s not going anywhere."

​There was a tense silence in the air before he spoke. "Oliver," he started, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped his cane. "Yes, I wanted you to fall in love. I wanted you to settle down and find someone to share this burden with. And trust me, if any other girl had been in this room, I would have been so glad. I would have welcomed her. But Oliver... not her. She will destroy you. She will be your doom. I can feel it."

​He sounded worried—more than worried, he sounded like he was panicking. His heart rate was spiking, so loud that my wolf could hear it clearly.

​I stepped forward, reaching out to hold his shoulders, trying to calm him. "Calm down, Father... what is wrong? Did you see something?"

​My father wasn’t a seer in the traditional sense, but ever since my mother almost killed him, he had developed a strange gift. Sometimes things flashed in his mind like a trance, foresight that gripped him unexpectedly. Not once has any vision he ever told me turned out to be wrong. Every time he warned of an assassination, it happened... Every time he spoke about a conspiracy against me and I looked into it, I found out that he was right...

​"Father?"

​He didn’t speak. He just shook his head, his face turning an ashen gray, and tried to turn to leave.

​But I blocked his path. I moved with a speed that startled us both, my hands tightening on his shoulders. "Father, at first I thought you were just disapproving of her because of her look. I thought you were projecting your pain from Mom onto her. But now I see that’s not it. What is it, Father? What did you see?"

​He remained silent for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes staring at a point somewhere over my shoulder as if he were still watching the images unfold. When he finally spoke, his voice was a scared whisper that made the blood in my veins turn to ice.

​"The moment my eyes fell on her... it flashed," he said, the words coming out in a choked rasp. "I saw you on the floor, Oliver. You were gasping, choking on your own breath. There was blood everywhere. And in her hand... she held a knife. A poisonous knife coated in your blood. She killed you, son."

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