Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 222

The room was functional and plainly arranged, with no microphones or press in sight. A long oak table, faintly scented with polish, stretched between two rows of mismatched chairs pulled from various offices. Some

-were padded, others worn and bare, but all showed signs of regular use. They served their purpose, and every seat was filled.

The vampires had arrived early. Some wore formal robes stitched with clan symbols, while others dressed in practical clothing that reflected years of resilience and caution. Their faces were serious, alert without being hostile.

Across from them sat a mix of wolf leaders. Uniformed officials occupied seats beside civilian council members, some with dirt still on their boots, others with fresh bandages wrapped over healing skin. The room held a quiet strain, a sense of watching and waiting that settled behind every still glance.

When I entered, the room quieted further. Heads turned.

Every eye found me. They weren’t waiting for theatrics or authority, they were trying to gauge who I would be in that seat. I walked to the head of the table and took my place beside the blank nameplate they had left there.

That absence wasn’t a mistake. It reflected the same question everyone here carried. I placed my hand on the edge of the table and took my seat. “Thank you forcoming.”

Richard entered behind me and took the seat at my side.

He didn’t speak or fidget or offer any gesture of dominance. His stillness wasn’t passive, it was deliberate.

He let his presence underscore that this was my meeting to lead mira spoke first, her voice even and direct. “The curfews in the southern districts remain active. Identification laws are still being enforced. We’ve received an increase in stop and-search incidents. These policies were written during Dominion control, and that influence is no longer valid.”

“They were never meant to last,” I said. “They’ve been preserved through complacency. I’ve seen the records. I’ve followed how they were maintained through procedural Silence. They were written to divide people and keep them afraid. It’s time they’re formally repealed.”

A younger wolf councilor leaned forward. “You’re suggesting we strip out every restriction in one motion.

What happens if that opens the door to something we can’t contain?”

“We’re not leaving a gap,” I said. “We’re building a framework with oversight, transparency, and civilian involvement. The systems we implement will function on mutual accountability, not suspicion.”

An older councilor straightened in his seat, fingers tapping once against the table. “You’ve said we several times. But who exactly are we now?”

“This council will decide that,” I said. “If we don’t, others will, and they won’t do it with the interests of peace in mind.”

Something eased in the room. A nod from one corner, the sound of a pen being set down, someone leaning forward instead of back. The resonance within me hummed quietly, not in a way that drew attention, but in the way a deep breath can steady you:

We moved into the details, discussing repeal schedules, the formation of independent review panels, and the language that would be used in official public releases.

One wolf official proposed the idea of mixed-species patrols during the transition period. I agreed, with the requirement that they would be overseen by an impartial board and subject to independent.audits. Imira raised the issue of whistleblower protections. I clarified the enforcement clause to make those protections enforceable and public.

No one left early or raised their voice. Everyone stayed until the policy was complete.

That evening, I visited one of the newer neighborhoods, still unrecognized on official city maps. The sidewalks were unfinished, some poured in segments, others marked with wooden stakes and string. Street signs had been handwritten and nailed to posts. A vampire baker wiped condensation from a chalkboard menu. Across the street, a wolf carpenter leaned over a half-built porch,brushing sawdust from his hands. The smell of yeast and wet lumber drifted through the air.

The two tradespeople didn’t interact directly, but there was no tension. They were neighbors, working under the same sky, trying to get through the same uncertain week.

Two children ran through the street, one barefoot and carrying a string of copper wire, the other wrapped in patched fabric. They slowed when they saw me, then giggled and disappeared.

The baker watched them go before looking at me. “They’re worried about what happens when you stop standing in the middle of this.”

Because they’ve seen others leave?”

“Because even the people who stay sometimes stop paying attention,” she said.

I asked what she needed. She didn’t hesitate. Running water, a teacher who wouldn’t be reassigned halfway through the semester, a mailing system that worked. She didn’t dramatize it. She gave me facts and waited.

When I returned to the palace that night, I revised three sections of the draft and added a new clause that came directly from her words.

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