Rise of the Fallen Wolf

The grand dining hall was alive with murmurs as family members and servants shuffled into their seats, confusion evident on their faces. It was unheard of for the staff to dine alongside the Jones family. The clinking of silverware against plates and the occasional whispers filled the air, but the tension was palpable.

Elizabeth entered the room in a flourish, her sharp heels clicking against the marble floor. Her eyes swept over the room, her expression twisting in disgust at the sight of servants seated at the same table.

"How ridiculous," she spat, her voice cutting through the hum of conversation. She strode toward the table, her fiery gaze silencing even the most defiant of servants.

"Getting invited to a dinner does not mean joining the same dining table as us!" she bellowed, slamming her fists onto the table. The force caused glasses and plates to rattle, a few nearly toppling over.

The maids scrambled to their feet, heads bowed, too terrified to risk her wrath.

"Stop!" A deep, commanding voice echoed from the adjoining room. Everyone turned to see Mr. Jones emerging, his presence silencing the chaos instantly.

"I said a collective dinner, and I meant it!" His tone brooked no argument as he strode to the table, standing face-to-face with his daughter. In one swift motion, he slammed his hands onto the table with equal force, the echo reverberating through the hall.

Elizabeth's lips parted, but before she could utter a word, Mr. Jones raised a finger. "My house, my rules. Don't forget that." His words were firm, but then he softened, gently patting her hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Sit down, Elizabeth," he commanded. She did, though her cheeks flushed with humiliation and her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

---

The guests settled into their seats, though the tension lingered like a storm cloud. Mr. Jones scanned the room, his sharp eyes noting the two empty chairs.

"Where are Maxwell and Rynald?" he asked, his voice carrying over the table as he set down his silverware.

Elizabeth's forced smile faltered. "Oh, Father, don't you remember? Maxwell doesn't have an assistant anymore. So, Rynald—being the caring brother that he is—decided to help him get dressed and bring him here." Her voice wavered, but she quickly masked her unease with a nervous chuckle.

Before anyone could respond, the grand doors creaked open. All eyes turned as Rynald pushed Maxwell into the room. Both were dressed impeccably in matching black attire, their hair neatly slicked back. They could have passed as twins if not for Maxwell's wheelchair.

Rynald guided Maxwell to the table and took a seat beside him. He unfolded a napkin with exaggerated care, draping it over Maxwell's lap before doing the same for himself.

Mr. Jones observed them closely, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Rynald's display of affection seemed sincere, and for a moment, the old man allowed himself to believe in the possibility of familial harmony.

---

The dinner carried on, with laughter and conversation filling the room. But beneath the surface, a current of unease rippled through certain members of the group. Maxwell remained unusually quiet, his eyes flickering to his aunt and cousin every so often. Elizabeth occasionally glanced at her son, her jaw tight with tension.

By midnight, the guests moved to the sprawling garden behind the mansion. The moon hung low and full in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the scene. Mr. Jones stood in the center of the gathering, his glass of red wine raised high.

"One of the greatest blessings for a wolf," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "is to witness a full moon while surrounded by their pack."

His guests raised their glasses in response, the sound of clinking crystal punctuating the silence.

"Cheers to all the beautiful years we've spent together," Mr. Jones said before downing his wine in one swift motion.

As he lowered his glass, his gaze landed on Maxwell, who was blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. Mr. Jones could no longer fight his own emotions, a tear escaping down his weathered cheek.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking again. "As many of you know, my time is running out. The sickness that has claimed me… it has forced me to surrender. For the first time in my life, I have been defeated."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Mr. Jones raised a hand to silence them.

"I am sorry for failing your trust. I wish I could stay and protect you all, but I must prepare for what comes next. Tonight, I will announce my successor."

The crowd grew still, the gravity of his words sinking in.

---

Mr. Jones signaled for his assistant, Mr. Adam, to step forward. In his hands, Adam carried a small laptop and a USB drive. Placing them on a table near the fountain, he turned the screen toward the gathered crowd.

"What I am about to show you," Mr. Jones said, "is not easy for me to share. But it is necessary."

He gestured for Adam to play the first video. On the screen, Rynald could be seen in a dimly lit room, crouched beside Maxwell's wheelchair. His movements were precise as he loosened bolts and adjusted the chair's mechanisms. The recording ended with Rynald smirking as he walked away.

A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd. Maxwell's eyes widened, his confusion evident as he looked to his grandfather for answers.

The next clip played, showing Elizabeth and Rynald in hushed conversation. Her voice was cold and calculated as she instructed him to "take care of it."

Elizabeth's face drained of color, and Rynald's jaw tightened.

Mr. Jones faced them, his voice heavy with disappointment. "You have betrayed this family, this pack, and my trust. I will not let your actions destroy everything we have built."

He turned to Maxwell, his expression softening. "You, my boy, will take my place as the leader of this pack. I will ensure you have the support and guidance you need to succeed."

The crowd erupted in murmurs, some in support and others in disbelief. Elizabeth stepped forward, her face twisted in rage.

"You can't be serious!" she screamed. "Maxwell is weak! He can't lead this pack!"

Rynald joined her, his voice dripping with venom. "This is a mistake. Maxwell is unfit for this role!"

"Enough!" Mr. Jones roared, silencing them both. "Your true colors have been revealed tonight. Do not test me further."

Maxwell remained silent, his mind reeling from the revelations. He didn't fully understand the weight of what was happening, but he felt the tension crackling in the air around him.

Ryland seemed completely lost. He rushed outside, slamming the door behind him so hard it echoed through the house.

"With all due respect, Father, have you lost your mind?" she spat, her voice shaking with rage. "A creeple? Are you serious? You abandoned my strong, independent son and picked the disabled one instead!"

She grabbed Maxwell's hand roughly, holding it up for emphasis. "Look, Father! He can't even use his hands properly. His legs? Useless! He can barely walk without stumbling. And his speech?" Her voice cracked as she forced the words out. "He can't even speak clearly. And this is who you think can lead the pack?"

Her eyes burned with betrayal, but her voice grew louder, rising with every accusation. "We'll be the laughingstock of the century. The Jones Pack, led by someone who can't even stand straight!" Her fist came down hard on the desk, making papers scatter.

The room fell silent for a moment, her breathing ragged as tears threatened to spill.

"Why do you hate me so much, Father?" she screamed suddenly, her voice raw with pain. "What did I ever do to deserve this? Why are you so unfair to me?" Her chest heaved, and she gave him one last heartbroken look before turning on her heel.

"This isn't about Ryland," she whispered, her voice trembling now. "It never was."

She stormed out, tears streaming down her face, leaving her father behind, frozen in silence.

He stared at the door, the weight of her words heavy on his chest. Yet, no words came to his defense.