Page 80 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"You don't need me. You just need a tool to restore your voice."

His expression looked like he'd been slapped. The pain on his face was so raw, so naked, I almost wanted to look away. But he didn't retreat. He stood up, set the guitar aside, and stepped closer.

"Not a tool," he said, voice rough but steady. "I don't need a tool. I need—you. Mia."

He called my name. Not Vela. Mia.

I clenched my fists.

Just then, a black car screeched up, stopping hard at the curb. The door opened, and Ethan stepped out, face dark as storm clouds.

"Stay away from her." Ethan's voice was cold as winter rails. He strode over and positioned himself between me and Zane.

Zane frowned. "This is between her and me."

"There is nothing between you and her anymore," Ethan said, each word squeezed through clenched teeth. "You destroyed her once five years ago, you want to do it again?"

"I didn't—"

"You didn't?" Ethan laughed coldly, voice sharp as shattered glass. "You know how she spent these five years? Pregnant and alone in a strange city, singing in filthy dives, sang until her throat bled, just to earn a meal. And where were you? In your palace, sleeping with that bitch!"

Zane's face lost all color. "What did you say?"

"Not clear enough?"

"Enough, Ethan—" I reached for his arm.

Too late.

Zane's fist slammed into Ethan's face.

Fast and hard. Ethan flew backward, back hitting the lamppost with a dull thud. He grunted, blood trickling from his lip, but the next second he sprang up like an enraged bull and lunged at Zane.

They fought.

The sound of fists on flesh echoed sharp in the quiet street. Zane's shirt tore, Ethan's mouth bled, they rolled and fought under the streetlight like two beasts fighting for territory, the crowd gasping, some screaming, some shoving phones forward, flashes popping nonstop.

"Stop!" I rushed forward and tried to pull them apart. "Both of you, stop!"

No one listened.

Ethan punched Zane's ribs. Zane grunted, swung back, and hit Ethan's jaw. Ethan's head snapped back, and he stumbled, nearly fell.

"Enough!" I was almost screaming.

I turned and ran into the building lobby, grabbed a cup of ice water someone left at the front desk, ran back out, and threw it at Zane's face.

Water splashed everywhere.

Ice water ran down his messy hair, slid along his brow over his nose, soaked his torn shirt collar. He stood there, dripping wet, motionless.

He didn't dodge.

He didn't even blink.

He just looked at me, let water drip from his chin like a child willingly accepting punishment. His left eye had a shallow cut, probably from Ethan's fist, bleeding. Two shirt buttons gone, revealing a bruise turning purple below his collarbone. His hair plastered messily to his forehead, bedraggled as a stray dog pulled from a river.

But he didn't dodge.