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The excitement in the room had reached a fever pitch as every pair of eyes locked on the two figures standing at the center of the arena.

Irene Hale, and her son, Griffin Hale, two titans cut from the same steel, now stood face to face with each other, tension radiating between them.

Even in silence, their confrontation gave the crowd exactly what they wanted: a show.

"Such childish theatrics," Alpha Henry rolled his eyes from where he was seated. His comment caught the attention of Alpha Leon, who was lounging beside him.

Unlike grumpy Henry, Alpha Leon was thoroughly enjoying the view, his eyes shamelessly sweeping over Irene’s body. That woman was a work of art. Too bad she would probably snap his dick in half if he so much as made the wrong move.

And of course, there was her mad husband, Arion. He might look easygoing, but Leon knew better. The man was pure crazy. Fitting, really. Only Irene would end up with twins whose original mission had been to kill her. A twisted, yet weirdly romantic love story.

Beside Leon, his wife, Luna Alexa, was fully focused on Griffin. Her eyes smoldered, lips curling as she bit down, lost in thoughts of everything that boy’s hands could do. She smirked to herself. One of these days, Griffin was going to give in. She would make sure of it.

Commander Malakai’s voice boomed over the crowd. "Let the match begin!"

Irene never hesitated. She struck first, dashing forward with blinding speed, her fist snapping out in a clean arc.

Griffin ducked smoothly, his reflexes quick, and countered with a low sweep toward her legs.

But Irene was ready, and jumped with ease, twisting mid-air, and landed with the grace of a seasoned warrior.

The crowd cheered madly, clapping for her amazing moves.

Of course, a certain Alpha was less than thrilled with all the attention she was getting.

If it were up to Alpha Henry, he would have downplayed every single one of Irene’s moves.

Thankfully for everyone, his bitter thoughts stayed in his head, so no one gave a damn.

Mother and son circled each other, their eyes locked, and muscles tense.

Then Irene lunged again, this time feinting left before pivoting and slamming a fist toward Griffin’s ribs.

He blocked, but the force of the hit reverberated through him, pushing him back a step.

Violet, watching from the stands, gripped her seat tight. God, Irene was a beast.

But so was Griffin.

He sprang forward in a blur, launching a rapid series of punches and kicks that Irene blocked, deflected, twisted, and retaliated, the clap of their strikes echoing across the room like a drumbeat.

Their movements were fast, but not too fast such that the humans could not follow. Griffin caught Irene’s wrist mid-punch, spun her around, and locked her arm behind her back in a flash.

Gasps rippled through the audience. But before he could tighten his grip, Irene slammed her elbow back into his side, forcing him to release. She spun, hooking her leg around his knee, and dropped him hard onto the mat.

The women roared with support while the men groaned in disappointment. But Griffin rolled with the fall, landing on his feet in a crouch, eyes glittering with challenge. He wiped at his busted lip, the hint of a smirk playing at his mouth.

"Not bad, Mom," he called, circling her again.

"Not bad yourself, boy, " Irene fired back, her breathing quick but controlled. Her eyes were alight with pride and focus. "But don’t hold back."

A beat of silence passed between them. Irene knew exactly how much Griffin was holding back.

She rushed forward once more, quicker this time, her fist whipping through the air.

Griffin parried, but she followed up with a brutal combo: a jab to his ribs, an elbow to his jaw, and a spinning kick that knocked him back several feet.

He stumbled, bruises blossoming across his torso, but still Griffin didn’t unleash even a fraction of his true power.

The audience was on their feet now, swept up in the battle’s ferocity. Violet’s heart pounded as Griffin rose, bruised, but not broken. His breath came evenly, his stance sure, but his eyes shifted to the crowd, just for an instant.

It was time.

Irene launched a crushing blow right at him, and he absorbed it without flinching. The sheer force knocked him flat, and as he lay still, Malakai counted to three. When he made no move to get up, the verdict was sealed.

The arena exploded with applause and cheers.

Commander Malakai swept in, grabbing Irene’s hand and hoisting it high in the air. "And here is your Winner, Alpha Irene Hale!"

The crowd went wild, chanting her name with pride.

Irene stood tall, barely a scratch on her, and the picture of victory. Beside her, Griffin had finally risen, wiping the blood from his split lip, bruises already forming across his ribs and jaw.

But as Malakai raised her hand, Irene’s gaze flicked sideways to her son. Deep down beneath the pride and triumph, she knew Griffin had been holding back so much.

Had it been a fair fight with no rules, this match would have been a war. One she wasn’t so sure she’d win. These children were rising fast, stepping into their power, and soon enough, she would have to let go of her authority.

But for now, Irene smiled and took the cheers.

Violet watched as Griffin left the arena in defeat. Even though it was just a show, he was still hurt, and no matter how minor the injury was compared to the real battles he faced, it made her sad to see him in pain.

How she wished she could sneak out and kiss it better. But there was no way she could leave now, not with Nancy seated right beside her. Besides, three of her boyfriends were still set to fight and next up was Roman Draven and his father.