My Fated Alpha's Cruel Game (Elena and Marcus) novel Chapter 245

Chapter 245: Chapter 245 Refusing the Cage

Briar’s POV

"You’re insulting this entire council," Rowena snaps, her cheeks flushing crimson.

"I’m trusting it," I fire back. "Trusting it enough to believe it can handle accountability."

A councilor I barely recognize speaks from the far end of the table. Her voice wavers but carries conviction. "These proposed safeguards are quite thorough."

"Thorough isn’t the word I’d use," Emerson interjects coldly. "Suffocating is more accurate."

"Necessary," Elena corrects.

The single word slices through the heated atmosphere like a blade. Every person in the room pivots toward her. Even Emerson’s perpetual scowl falters.

Elena rises from her chair with deliberate grace. "This is the first proposal I’ve witnessed in thirty years that actually confronts what unchecked authority becomes."

Emerson’s jaw tightens. "Elena, you’re overstepping..."

"I’m doing exactly what needs to be done," she cuts him off smoothly. "I’ve sat in these chambers watching this council rubber-stamp quick fixes, then feign shock when everything falls apart. Briar isn’t offering you comfort. She’s offering you accountability."

The room erupts into chaos. Voices clash and overlap. Several councilors recoil at the accusation while others shift uncomfortably in their seats, recognizing an unwelcome truth.

"You’re asking us to submit to external monitoring," Rowena protests, her tone harsh.

"Absolutely," I respond without hesitation. "Because none of us are above corruption. Not you. Not me. Not anyone."

"And who monitors these outside observers?" Emerson demands, his voice cutting through the din.

"The same framework applies to everyone," I explain. "The entire point is eliminating untouchable positions. Permanently."

The vote arrives with startling speed. Too fast, as if they’re desperate to end this uncomfortable confrontation before it cuts any deeper.

Six votes in support.

Six in opposition.

A dead tie.

The silence that follows feels more oppressive than all the shouting. It settles over us like a suffocating blanket, thick with unspoken resentment and brewing conspiracies. I scan the faces around the table and clarity hits me like ice water.

Even if they eventually approved this position, they’d spend every day undermining it. They’d wait for my first mistake, my first vulnerable moment, then pounce with vindicated satisfaction. They’d never stop trying to reshape this role into something more manageable, more conventional.

I push back from the table and stand.

"There’s no need to continue this charade," I announce.

Emerson blinks in surprise. "The voting process isn’t finished."

"It is now," I state firmly.

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