Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 104: _ The De La Vega Storm

Chapter 104: _ The De La Vega Storm

The scent of blood was in the air, clinging to my nose and throat. It was like a horrible reminder of the way his hands crawled down my body with filthy intentions. The way fear wrapped around my neck so tightly, it felt like a noose.

It reminded me of a lot I’d rather forget about.

The butcher’s shop was busy, men working in the back, their knives flashing as they hacked at slabs of meat. The sound of cleavers hitting bone sent chills up my spine.

The moment we stepped inside, my father straightened his shoulders, his presence commanding the entire room.

Conversations died. Heads turned.

The butcher looked up, and his face morphed into that of horrification as he saw my father approaching.

And then my father began his show.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice booming, "I have come here today to show why my family’s name must be respected by all means. It seems my daughter has brought shame upon it, but I will not allow our reputation to be dragged through the mud. Wherever you hear the name; De la Vega, you bow your head in idolization, not take advantage of it. Not even if it is my useless Omega daughter!"

The moment my father’s words rang through the butchery, the butcher did the only reasonable thing a man in his position could do—he turned on his heel and bolted.

Unfortunately for him, reason had no place here today.

My father’s men were faster.

Before he could reach the back door, two of them seized him by the arms. His feet barely scraped the ground before they hauled him back, dragging him through the blood-stained tiles and throwing him unceremoniously at my father’s feet.

He landed with a sickening thud, his face smashing against the floor. A groan of pain slipped out as he struggled to lift himself, but my father had no patience for that.

A sharp crack echoed through the butchery as my father’s hand met his face.

I winced.

The butcher staggered from the impact, his head snapping to the side. A bright red imprint of my father’s palm instantly bloomed across his cheek.

He blinked dazedly like a man trying to understand how he had gone from standing behind his counter to lying on the floor in the span of seconds.

"Where do you think you’re going?" my father growled, shaking his hand like he was the one who had suffered. "Did I say you could leave?"

The butcher scrambled onto his knees, his breath coming out in ragged pants. "Señor De la Vega, por favor..."

"Por favor, qué?" My father’s mockery tone repeated. He grabbed the man by the collar, jerking him up to face him. "Por favor, don’t punish me? Por favor, have mercy?" He sneered. "Where was your mercy when you put your filthy hands on my daughter?"

The butcher’s mouth opened and closed, words failing him.

Which was funny, considering how easily he had found them when he was trying to justify his actions to Axel earlier.

I stayed quiet, pressing myself against the wall, wishing I could disappear. The smell of raw meat and blood was thick in the air and that of fear. I knew what was coming.

I didn’t want to see it.

This was wrong.

I had no love for the butcher, not after what he did. But was this really necessary?

He had already been punished—Axel had made sure of it. Father, let him go.

I swallowed hard, gathering my courage. "Papá..."

He turned on me so fast that my voice withered in my throat.

"¡Cállate, María José!" he barked, his eyes flashing red. "Cállate before I lose my patience with you completely."

I shut my mouth immediately.

His patience was a flimsy thing on a good day. Today, it was nonexistent. Oh, how I wish I could tell him my mind here and now.

If the butcher’s action was shameless, his was worse. Look at him raging about his reputation, and not how badly his daughter was treated.

Shame on you, Don Diego!

My father turned back to the butcher. "Do you know why I haven’t killed you yet?"

The butcher, still gripping his stinging cheek, shook his head frantically.

My father smiled.

That was bad.

That was so bad.

"Because I want you to remember this lesson. I want you to carry it with you for the rest of your miserable life. To know that from this day forward, you are a dead man walking. That I spared you. That I let you live." He leaned in close. "And that I can take that life back at any time."

The butcher trembled so hard I thought his bones might shake loose. I couldn’t take it anymore.

"Papá, por favor," I tried again in a whisper. "He’s learned his lesson."

My father scoffed. "You think this is about teaching him a lesson? This is about making sure everyone in this room never forgets the name De la Vega. That no one—no one—touches what belongs to me without suffering the consequences."

I swallowed thickly, my fingers curling into the material of my dress. My father wasn’t done. I could see it in the glint in his eyes; the sheer, brutal delight that came with reminding everyone just how untouchable he was.

This was never about me. It never had been.

It was about power. About making sure everyone knew that De la Vega was a name spoken with reverence—or not spoken at all.

The butcher’s breath came in short, panicked gasps. He was on his knees, trembling so violently that the sweat dripping from his temples was more of a waterfall than a trickle.

But my father wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes swept across the butchery, landing on the workers who were standing frozen in the back, their hands still gripping their knives and cleavers.

Distaste turned his lips up.

"And what about them?" he mused, flicking a dismissive hand in their direction. "They stood there, didn’t they? Watched like pigs wallowing in filth and did nothing."

The workers jolted at the sudden shift of attention, their knuckles whitening around their tools. Manuel in particular opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a pathetic wheeze.

Cowards.

"They’re guilty too," my father continued. "Accessories to a crime. Filth begets filth." His gaze turned to his men. "Teach them a lesson."

Murmurs burst through the butchery.

The workers snapped out of their stunned silence, some dropping their knives with sharp clatters against the floor. Then, the chaos began.

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