A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Maria.

I finally lost my patience.

With a frustrated sigh, I marched toward the door and unlocked it.

The moment I pulled it open, Vincent stumbled forward.

Apparently, he had been leaning heavily against it while continuing his relentless attempts to force a conversation.

The sudden loss of support caused him to lose his balance completely, as he practically fell into the room.

For a brief second, his arms flailed awkwardly as he tried to regain his footing.

I crossed my arms and watched him without an ounce of sympathy.

Eventually, he managed to steady himself and straighten up.

"You seem to really love Noah, don’t you?" Vincent asked the moment he recovered.

His words immediately irritated me.

I had not opened the door to play guessing games with him nor had I opened it to discuss my feelings.

"Go straight to the point, Vincent," I said sharply, as my patience was already hanging by a thread. "What exactly did you mean by what you said earlier?" I demanded, locking my gaze firmly onto his.

For a moment, Vincent simply stared at me and then a smile slowly spread across his face.

A smile that instantly made me suspicious.

"Well," he began casually, "I love you, Maria."

My expression hardened immediately.

"And I am ready to do anything to make you mine." He added, as his smile widened. "Even if it means forcing you."

The confidence in his voice was unbelievable.

The audacity was even worse.

For a moment, I simply stared at him, trying to process what he had just said and trying to decide whether he was being serious or simply insane.

Unfortunately, the expression on his face told me everything I needed to know.

He meant every word.

And somehow, that only fueled the anger already burning inside me.

The smile plastered across his face became impossible to look at—It irritated me and infuriated me, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe it away.

Without thinking any further, I raised my hand and slapped him hard.

The sound echoed throughout the room.

Vincent’s head snapped slightly to the side from the impact.

For a second, complete silence followed.

He slowly turned back toward me, with shock that was written all over his face.

Good!

At least something had finally managed to surprise him.

"You are delusional, Vincent," I said coldly, my voice steady and cutting through the tension in the room.

For a brief moment, I paused, as my eyes stayed locked on him as I took in the shock written clearly across his face.

The way he seemed to be trying to process what had just happened, as though my words and actions were something unimaginable.

"And I hope that slap just woke you up," I added flatly, as my tone carried no softness, no regret and no hesitation.

But as I stared at him, something inside me shifted, because deep down, I wasn’t convinced it had worked, not even a little.

Vincent still looked like a man refusing to accept reality, like someone who thought persistence could bend someone else’s will.

That realization only made my irritation return stronger.

Before he could fully gather himself, before he could even open his mouth to respond, I moved again, quickly and without warning.

I raised my hand and brought it down across his face for a second time, but this time, it was harder than before.

The sound cracked sharply through the room, echoing off the walls.

For a split second, everything went still.

Then Vincent stumbled backward, taking a forced step away from me as the impact registered.

His hand immediately went to his cheek.

I didn’t look away.

"If the first one didn’t," I continued calmly, my voice steady despite the fire in my chest, "then I guess the second one will."

My gaze remained fixed on him as I let the words settle, because there was no apology in my tone, no softness to reduce the impact of what I had done.

Because Vincent needed to understand something very clearly.

I was not someone he could pressure.

I was not someone he could corner.

And I was certainly not someone he could intimidate with twisted ideas of love or control.

A strange sense of satisfaction settled inside me, not because I enjoyed hurting people but because Vincent desperately needed someone to challenge the ridiculous fantasy he seemed determined to live in.

Honestly, if I followed my first instinct, I would have slapped him a third time and maybe a fourth.

Perhaps then the message would finally sink in.

Vincent slowly raised a hand to his cheek, his eyes widened as he touched the reddened skin.

"Maria, what’s wrong with you?" he asked in disbelief, as continued rubbing his cheek. "Why are you being violent?"

For a second, I simply stared at him and then I laughed. The sound escaped before I could stop it.

Because the irony was unbelievable.

Here was a man openly talking about forcing me to be with him. A man who had spent days disrupting my life.

A man who seemed determined to ignore every boundary I set.

And somehow, he was asking why I was being violent?

The absurdity of it all was almost amusing.

My laughter faded as I shook my head slowly, still staring at him.

The more Vincent spoke, the more convinced I became that he was completely detached from reality.

"Violent?" I finally asked, raising a brow in amusement.

The word itself sounded ridiculous coming from him. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I stared directly into his eyes.

"You were clearly talking about forcing me into a commitment," I said slowly, emphasizing every word.

I folded my arms across my chest and tilted my head slightly.

"So, I guess I was only helping you out." I paused deliberately. "Helping you avoid committing the gravest sin."

For a moment, Vincent simply stared at me and then he frowned. As though he could not understand my reasoning at all.

"How is forcing you a sin?" he asked.

Before I could react, he suddenly grabbed my shoulders tightly.BThe pressure of his fingers immediately made my irritation spike.

"As long as I love you, it’s not," he added firmly.

I stared at him in disbelief, there it was again that twisted logic. That ridiculous belief that his feelings somehow justified everything.

As though love automatically gave him ownership.

As though love erased consent.

As though love made every action acceptable.

The more he spoke, the more frustrated I became.

Without hesitation, I brought my foot down hard on his.

Vincent immediately winced. "Ouch!"

His grip loosened instantly and he stumbled backward and took a step away from me, clutching his injured foot.

For a brief moment, I almost felt satisfied but before I could say anything else, Vincent suddenly rushed forward.

His movements were quick and instinctively, my body tensed, when I saw it—his hands, they were raised above the air.

For a split second, my mind went completely blank.

Was Vincent seriously about to hit me?

The thought alone made my stomach twist.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

The word was quiet but not quiet enough, because I heard it clearly.

Immediately, his expression changed. The anger that had flashed across his face vanished, almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Slowly, he lowered his hands, as his shoulders sagged slightly and then he stared at me.

"I am sorry, Maria," he said quietly, his voice sounding strained. "I didn’t mean to raise my hands at you, but..." His words trailed off, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "You are just making me helpless."

I scoffed.

Helpless?

The irony was unbelievable.

"I thought threatening you—"

"Yeah, I know, Vincent," I interrupted before he could finish, my voice was sharp. "Threatening me with Noah’s life only makes you pathetic."

The words hit him immediately, as I could see it in his face but I didn’t stop, not this time because I wanted it to sink in.

"And I would rather die alongside him than allow myself to be manipulated for the rest of my life."

And at my words, a heavy silence followed. The kind that settled over a room after words that could not be taken back.

I held his gaze for a few seconds longer before finally turning away.

I was tired—tired of arguing, tired of defending myself and tired of explaining basic things that should not need explaining.

Slowly, I walked past him and headed toward the bed, each step felt deliberate and controlled.

I sat down and faced him again.

"If you don’t want me dead, Vincent," I began calmly, "then you will have to welcome them into the pack as your guests."

My tone left little room for argument.

I paused briefly before continuing.

"And any of them who are injured must receive immediate treatment."

The moment the words left my mouth, Vincent’s expression darkened.

Clearly, he wasn’t pleased.

"But—"

He barely got the word out before I cut him off.

"No." I said, as I raised my hand slightly, not aggressively but just enough to stop him. "It’s your choice to make, Vincent." I added, as my voice remained steady, firm and unwavering.

I locked eyes with him.

"You decide what happens next."

And for the first time since entering the room, I had absolutely no intention of backing down.