Chapter 211: Hypocrisy

"How dare you! You have no shame!" growled one of the jurors, leaping up from his seat, his upper lip curling to bare his teeth.

"Forgive me, Your Reverence, I didn’t recognize you without your cassock," I replied, smoothing my expression into a picture of pure, exaggerated remorse before pressing a finger to my lips.

"Oh, wait—you aren’t a priest, are you? My mistake. I saw you last week at my friend’s club, sharing a booth with a remarkably accommodating young breeder. And if memory serves, your own mate is quite young herself, isn’t she? It’s fascinating how after letting your wife go out in a dress that short, mine manages to cause you such righteous shock."

The juror’s face flushed a mottled, furious red. His eyes darted nervously toward the back row, where an older, high-ranking omega sat—his lawfully bound mate.

We had kept a close watch on everyone who had received a summons for the jury pool. It had been an exhausting operation, tracking forty wolves across four potential panels. Because the final selection was drawn by lot right before the trial, we had been forced to run rapid-fire background checks and maintain round-the-clock surveillance on every single one of them.

"Order! Everyone settle down. We are commencing," the judge barked, slamming his wooden gavel onto the bench. He adjusted his robes and settled into his heavy chair, ignoring the pale, trembling juror.

"We are gathered today to try the case of Magnus Rainn—Alpha of the Blackthorne Pack and representative of the city’s Allied Pack Council. Magnus Rainn, you stand accused of the premeditated murder of twenty high-ranking government officials, as well as indirect complicity in the deaths of fifty others during an armed raid. You are further charged with acts of terrorism, kidnapping, unlawful restraint, and blackmail against an Alpha Breeder, Jane Pharean—as well as coercing her into delivering false testimony."

Judge Malcolm Egrin nervously wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. He could clearly feel the sheer hatred radiating from our side of the courtroom—a thick, suffocating weight pressing against his skin. The territorial aura bleeding off Sayan and the Allied pack members sparked so violently that the very air in the room felt dense and static-charged. Magnus looked ready to rip the corrupt old man apart with his bare hands.

"This session is presided over by Judge Malcolm Egrin. Court proceedings are recorded by Secretary Sally Fisher," the judge announced, his voice lacking conviction. "I ask the jury to swear an oath of impartiality—to render a verdict based solely on evidence and facts, devoid of personal bias."

Impartiality. Right. Especially considering that sitting right there in those rows were paid-off relatives of the very bastards Magnus had personally torn to shreds. A rigged, rotten trial from start to finish.

While the jurors took turns placing their hands on the city charter, passing the heavy bound volume down the line, I shifted my gaze toward Olivera. The Voice of the High Tribunal sat in the darkest corner of the room. The harsh angles of his face held such raw, undisguised skepticism—as though he were watching a cheap circus act where the ringmaster was trying to pass off a trained monkey as an apex predator.

"The prosecution may proceed," the judge stated.

At the command, a scrawny prosecutor in a tailored pinstripe suit stood up. Adjusting his designer frames with his middle finger, he cleared his throat and began his speech. His voice was so grating and high-pitched it sounded as though something vital—and undoubtedly tiny—had been pinched between two rocks.

"Your Honor, Nicholas Hamilton, appearing today as the official representative of state justice." The prosecutor yanked down the lapels of his jacket. "According to our verified records, the defendant committed truly appalling acts of terror. It began the moment his application to the Department of Matrimonial Unions was lawfully rejected. Unable to accept the system’s denial, the enraged Alpha orchestrated a mass slaughter. But that is merely the beginning. The defendant went entirely rogue after receiving an official directive to surrender the Alpha Breeder Jane Pharean into state custody and grant her immediate release."

The man paced back and forth before the dais, gesturing with theatrical grandiosity, alternating between hushed whispers and shrill exclamations.

I glanced over at the reinforced steel cage. Magnus’s crimson-tinged grey eyes burned with hellfire and pure, lethal instinct. My Alpha was clearly calculating how long it would take to break out, reach the floor, and rip this cheap actor’s head off with his bare hands. I’d bet good money the pathetic creature wasn’t even a real prosecutor.

"Does the defense have an opening statement at this stage?" Judge Egrin inquired, glancing nervously toward our side.

Measuring Egrin with a frozen gaze, I shook my head slowly.

"We intend to hear every charge in full. Once the prosecution has concluded, our legal team will present the necessary rebuttals," I replied coldly, lacing my fingers tight across my stomach.

Listening to them frame Magnus as a feral fanatic holding me hostage was testing every drop of my self-control. Bastards.

"Very well. Prosecution, continue." The judge gave a limp wave of his withered hand, and the prosecutor puffed out his narrow chest, launching back into his performance.

"Our valiant law enforcement officers were forced to confront a rogue Alpha and execute a complex operation to liberate Jane Pharean! To ensure her safety, an operative was brought in from abroad. His heroic sacrifice rests squarely on this monster’s hands as well! Dean Nyland gave his life attempting to rescue an innocent girl, only to be brutally slaughtered on his own yacht. The defendant eliminated every single soul who dared to stand for justice and return a national treasure—a dominant omega—to her rightful place!"

"Jane Pharean, are you an Alpha Breeder?" the judge asked, his faded, bloodshot eyes locking onto mine.

The entire farce felt surreal, as if I were observing it from a distance. I sat right there in the open courtroom, yet they spoke of me in the third person like a piece of rare, prized property. They fabricated wild claims out of thin air, painting me as a helpless, submissive victim trapped in the claws of a tyrant. It was almost laughable—during my own trial five and a half years ago, they had branded me a treacherous villainess capable of manipulating an Alpha’s mind. The hypocrisy was breathtaking.

"Yes, Your Honor. I am an Alpha Breeder."