Category: English

Back in college, I bought myself a boyfriend. He stayed with me. I paid off his grandfather’s six-figure medical bills. A full-ride genius, swallowing his pride to be mine for four years. Then my father got swept up in a federal financial fraud case. Everything vanished overnight. When we broke up, he was cold. Didn’t say a single word to make me stay. Years later, I’m dancing at a strip club. He’s the founder of a tech company, dating our college’s former cheerleading captain. He asks me: “Any regrets?” “No.” “Well, I have one.” — Of all the ways I imagined running into Evan Corwin again after graduation, this wasn’t one of them. I’m a dancer at a strip club. And tonight, he books me. The lights pulse wild and electric. I twist inside a giant martini glass, water lapping against my skin, while the crowd below howls and whistles, hurling fistfuls of cash at the stage. I’m the eye of the storm, same as always. But my attention,every last shred of it,snags on him. I can barely hold it together. Before going on, I threw on a mask and a wig, desperate to keep him from seeing my face. Now, I peel off one layer at a time, drawing fresh screams, more bills, hungry stares from every direction,and the whole time, I’m watching him from the corner of my eye. Stella Voss sits right next to him. They look disgustingly perfect together. There’s a plate of artfully sliced oranges on Stella’s side of the table. A long time ago, when I used to love oranges, Evan would always cut them for me. The way he handled a knife was almost obscenely attractive,each slice precise, uniform, arranged on the plate like a little work of art. I used to joke that he had to be a secret assassin. Back then, I thought he loved me. Turns out it was just his perfectionism talking. Four years apart. Feels more like half a lifetime. Somehow, my routine drifts closer and closer to his section. *Damn it.* I should be putting distance between us. God knows if I get any closer, he might recognize me. But clearly, one of Stella’s hangers-on already has. She leans over, loud enough to be heard over the bass: “Hey,didn’t Evan have a girlfriend in college? Four years together or something?” My hand freezes mid-reach for my bra strap. Evan doesn’t take the bait. The woman shifts in her seat, a little awkward, but pushes on: “Four years, though. That’s gotta be hard to forget, right?” Silence settles over their table like a still river. After what feels like forever, Evan lets out a quiet laugh. “Hardly.” —

“Honestly, Ev not hating her is generous enough.” Stella waves a hand, breezy and unbothered. “I went to the same school. It was honestly… ugh, he deserved so much better. If his ex hadn’t been in the way, Ev and I would’ve gotten together years ago.” “Exactly! Stella’s got like a million followers, she’s literally a reality TV star,no ex can compete with that.” The hanger-on throws a smug little glance in my direction. I snap a kick. Water arcs out of the glass and hits her square in the face. The crowd goes *feral*. Whistles, stomping feet, guys throwing their arms up begging to be next. Her cursing drowns in the deafening roar. My set reaches its finale. The cheers crash over each other, wave after wave. Bills carpet the stage. I blow a kiss for the curtain call. Inside, all I want is to get out. But as I pass Evan’s section, his voice cuts through the noise. “Wait.” —

My body locks in place like someone drove a nail through my feet. One second. Two. Dana materializes beside me right on cue. “Sorry,she’s part-time. Once her set’s done, she’s off the clock.” Dana shoots me a look. I bolt. She pulls me aside backstage. “Heads up next time, okay? We’ve all been the new girl. One complaint and your whole night’s pay is gone.” “Thanks, Dana. I owe you one.” “Don’t worry about it. But that VIP room? Watch yourself. Every person at that table is a big shot. Especially the young one in the middle,the good-looking one. Tech startup founder, been in Forbes. None of us can afford to piss him off.” The warning comes a little too late. If there’s one person on this planet who has already pissed off Evan Corwin beyond the point of no return, it’s me. I’m the ex he can “hardly” remember. —

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701JXTBmdvM3z 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni272166”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

Three years after the divorce, my ex-husband Julian showed up with roses, grinning like he’d already won. “Babe, I kept my word. Right on time to get you back.” Three years ago, he played Truth or Dare with his friends and lost to his childhood sweetheart Serena. Serena had a request: “I want to see if you and your wife are really in love.” “So you two get divorced. Three years. No contact.” “If she remarries you after three years, I’ll admit it’s true love.” He and Serena never had boundaries—always flirting, always blurring the lines. We fought about it constantly. I thought he’d say no. He agreed without hesitation: “Deal! ” His friend tried to stop him: “Dude, think this through! Divorce isn’t a joke!” He looked at me like it was already settled: “I trust what we have. My wife’s obsessed with me for life.” “She’ll definitely remarry me!” I didn’t say a word. He had no idea that was his last chance. Back to the present—he shoved the flowers at me. I didn’t take them. Stepped back. Voice flat: “My husband doesn’t let me take flowers from other men.” … A smirk tugged at Julian’s lips. “Mad at me?” “Come on, I’m here now, aren’t I?” “Be good. Don’t be mad.” His tone was syrupy, convinced I was playing hard to get. Like before, he moved in to pull me close. I stepped back again. Face harder now: “Mr. Chase, keep your distance!” His hand froze mid-air, eyes still glued to my face, all soft and loving. “Really pissed this time?” “Tell me what’ll make you feel better. Anything.” Still thought he could sweet-talk his way out of it, like always. He stepped closer. Every step he took, I took one back. His eyes flared with that hunting look, like he was already claiming me. “Julian, three years is enough to change everything.” He nodded like he agreed: “True.” My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go. He caged me in, hands on either side of my head—his signature move. Back when we were dating, he loved pinning me against walls, kissing me under the moonlight. “Did you have a boy? Or a girl?” His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. The thought of that baby still tore through my chest. Three years ago, he knew I was pregnant. After he lost that stupid game— At Serena’s demand, he divorced me anyway. Three years. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Now he had the nerve to assume I’d have his kid, sit around waiting for him to come back! A bitter smile curled my lips. Before I could tell him I got rid of it, his phone rang. He pulled it out. The screen lit up with a contact name: Little Princess. That’s what he called Serena. I’d seen it a thousand times—the way he’d pat her head, grin, and say she’d been his little princess since they were kids! Never gave a damn how it made me feel when I was still his wife. He answered immediately. “Julian, please, come quick—I’m on my period and it hurts so bad.” Serena’s whiny crying came through the speaker. Julian’s eyes filled with panic: “Don’t worry, I’m coming right now.” He hung up. Gave my head a quick pat like I was some obedient pet: “I gotta check on Serena. I’ll come find you later.” Before I could blink, he was gone.

Serena posted to her feed like clockwork—showing off again, rubbing it in. The photo showed her lying in Julian’s arms, hair damp with sweat. Julian’s hand was on her stomach, rubbing gently. Her caption: He’s loved me most since we were kids. No matter how important the matter, or how important the person— As long as I’m not feeling well, he drops everything and rushes to my side. Giving me all his care and love. He’s truly the best man in the world!!! I hit Like. Not just one Like—every single day for three years, Serena posted about their relationship. Three years. She posted 1,095 times. I liked every single one. She found new ways to flaunt it daily. Like how she didn’t work—Julian gave her his card, unlimited spending. She could crash at the place Julian and I used to share whenever she wanted. My stuff? She’d use it if she felt like it, toss it if she didn’t. For three years, those two did everything couples do. I knew she posted them for me to see. Every Like was my way of showing I didn’t give a shit. But Serena thought I was jealous, losing my mind, desperate for attention. Next time I saw Julian was when he and Serena showed up at my coffee shop. They wore matching camel coats—couple’s outfits. Julian, who always wore boring suits, was in some trendy casual blazer. I used to suggest couple’s outfits. He’d always say he was used to suits, didn’t want to switch it up. Serena looked around my coffee shop, eyes wide. Shocked. Julian frowned at me: “I gave you all that money. Why are you doing this kind of hard labor?” When we divorced, I asked for half his assets. He gave it without hesitation. I stopped making the coffee in my hands, looked up at him, face blank: “Because I want to. And it’s none of your business.” Julian’s expression didn’t change. Still convinced I was just mad at him. Serena put on her fake sweet voice: “Chloe, it’s been three years. How’ve you been?” “Great.” Serena looked surprised by how calm I was. Julian’s phone rang. He turned and went outside to take it. The second it was just me and Serena, the mask dropped. Her smile twisted into something smug and taunting: “Stop playing games. But don’t get too excited yet.” She looked down at me, lips curled in a sneer: “Even if you remarry Julian this time, so what?!” “His mom hates you. She’s always wanted me as her daughter-in-law.” “Julian’s only remarrying you out of obligation.” “He even asked for my permission before coming to find you.” “And you’re signing a prenup.” “Oh, and I wrote it myself.” She pulled a prenup out of her bag and slapped it in front of me. I glanced down, barely hiding my disgust. First line: All Chase family assets have nothing to do with you. After marriage, you cannot call your mother-in-law Mom—must address her as Auntie. In public, you cannot claim to be Mrs. Chase—you’re the ex-wife only. The audacity made me laugh. I shoved the papers back at her: “If his mom loves you so much, how come you’re still nobody to him!” “Three years, and Julian still won’t claim you. How pathetic.” Serena’s face twisted. Her hand flew up to slap me— Then Julian’s footsteps echoed from behind. She switched faces faster than flipping a page, tears streaming, playing the martyr: “Chloe, I really do want you and Julian to remarry.” “As his childhood friend, I just want him to be happy.” “This prenup is just a formality. Don’t be upset, okay?” Same act as three years ago. The second Julian saw her crying, his brain turned to mush. Couldn’t tell right from wrong.

“Serena, what’s wrong?” Julian pulled Serena into his arms, eyes filled with concern. Serena shook her head, playing the victim: “It’s nothing. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Chloe.” The more she said that, the more Julian was convinced I’d hurt her. “Chloe!” He snapped at me: “Apologize!” His tone—like he was giving orders to the help. A cold smile crept across my face. He frowned, voice dripping with disappointment: “Serena grew up with me. She’s like my sister!” “She’s family. Can you stop being so hostile to her!” “For my sake, just be nice to her, okay!” My face stayed blank. I’d seen this exact scene a hundred times three years ago. I was over it. I was about to kick them out when my phone rang—video call. The screen lit up: Baby Boy. Julian’s eyes lit up when he saw that. He hit Accept before I could stop him. I grabbed my phone fast. My two-year-old son’s chubby face filled the screen. “Mommy, I miss you.” Julian heard “Mommy” and went rigid with excitement. Convinced I’d had his son. I said a quick word to my son. Before Julian could grab my phone to talk to him, I hung up. “I want to see my son!” He was grinning like an idiot, all the tension from before vanished like it never happened. Serena’s face darkened. “He’s not your son!” I looked him dead in the eye, voice ice-cold: “Stop bothering me, you sick freaks!” He didn’t get mad. Just kept assuming, condescending as hell: “Alright, alright. Stop being mad.” “I’ve really missed you and our son.” I finally got it. Guys like him—so full of themselves— Wouldn’t believe I’d stopped loving him until they saw my husband in person. He suddenly said: “Mom’s birthday is in a few days.” “You’re a good cook. Make some of her favorite dishes.” “Use this as a chance to fix things between you two.” “Now that you’ve given her a grandson, she won’t give you a hard time anymore.” So he knew. Three years of marriage— Three years of his mother treating me like garbage. His mother hated that I came from nothing. Even though I was Julian’s legal wife, she wouldn’t let me attend any family dinners. If she was there, I wasn’t allowed at the table. I hated her too. Our relationship was walking on eggshells—we just ignored each other. And in all of it, he’d stayed silent. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. I asked on purpose: “Julian, let’s say—hypothetically—” “What if I cook a whole feast and your mom still won’t let me sit at the table?” He hesitated before answering: “You can say something nice, butter her up.” “You know how she is—all bark, no bite.” Serena jumped in with fake helpfulness: “Chloe, it’s not shameful to beg your elders. Auntie can’t resist when someone begs at her feet.” She was mocking me, telling me to beg on my knees. I laughed bitterly, locked eyes with Julian, voice sharp and serious: “Julian, three years changes everything!” “I’m married now. And the kid isn’t yours.” Then I turned to Serena: “You should be the one begging on your knees. Maybe that’s your ticket into the Chase family.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607018u2ui1Bleo 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni176497”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I clawed my way through ninety-nine rounds of the Marchetti family’s death trials to become his bride — and in the hundredth, my fiancé put a bullet in my chest to crown someone else. They call it the Queen’s Gauntlet. Every time Dante Marchetti collects ten girls, he runs an elimination. Whoever survives moves on. Whoever wins all one hundred rounds becomes his wife. I’m the one who made it to ninety-nine. I’m tough enough. I played every sick game he threw at me without making a sound. He started looking at me differently — something close to awe. He paraded me through the Five Families, made every soldier and capo call me Madonna. I was about to win it all. Then, twenty minutes before the final round, I see him outside the private room — pressing Anya Rossi against the wall, kissing her like she’s oxygen. “Fifth chamber’s the live round.” “Got it.” My heart seizes. Something invisible wraps around it and squeezes until I can’t breathe. But I don’t get time to think. The game has already started. I watch Anya draw the rigged order — second shooter. My stomach drops through the floor. If I keep playing, I lose. That’s a certainty. I take a slow breath and look up into Dante’s calm, unreadable eyes. “Wren-bird.” He swirls the whiskey in his glass, voice dripping with warmth and adoration. “Still want to play? You know I’d never let you lose a game like this.” The room erupts. Whistles. Catcalls. The made men lounge around the table, trading looks between him and me, voices thick with amusement. “Boss always favors his Madonna. This round’s pointless.” “New girl thinks she can challenge the Madonna? She doesn’t even know who Dante’s heart belongs to.” “Be smart, sweetheart. Fold now and you walk away with your dignity.” Across from me, Anya is shaking head to toe — but she sets her jaw. “I’m not folding. I’m playing.” I catch it. That flicker in Dante’s eyes. Admiration. “Interesting.” His lips curl into a lazy smile, and he turns to me. “Then let’s make it quick, Wren-bird. I’ve got something new for us tonight.” Disgusting. He’s already rigged this for her. He’s already chosen. And he’s still putting on this devoted-lover act for me. My chest goes numb. Ice-cold. I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “Let’s start.” I want to see it. I want to see if this man — the one who keeps swearing he’ll never let me lose — actually has the stomach to watch me take the fall. The revolver hits the table. The room goes quiet. I draw first slot. I pick up the gun, press the muzzle against my own chest, and pull the trigger. Click. Empty. The room exhales. Someone laughs. Bets start flying. Dante’s eyes soften, just barely. “Wren-bird. Don’t worry. I’ll always bet on you.” Anya’s turn. Her hand trembles — prettily, perfectly — and she pulls. Click. My turn again. Third chamber. Still empty. But my heart is hammering now, because I heard what he said. Fifth chamber. Fifth. That’s mine. My whole body starts to shake. My eyes burn. My vision blurs. The slip that gave me first shot — he arranged that too. He set me up to take the bullet. Anya fires the fourth — knowing she’s safe — and lets out a delicate little whimper of fear. The men jeer. “Just quit, sweetheart! Get on your knees and kiss the Madonna’s ring — the Boss might let you walk!” “Kid, these rounds aren’t real bullets, but they still hurt like hell!” Anya doesn’t back down. She slides the gun across to me. My heart is in my throat. I stare at Dante. Waiting. Stop this. Stop this right now. He just watches. There’s even a faint smile on his lips. He doesn’t lift a finger. Seconds drag. His brow creases, just slightly. “Wren-bird. Don’t be scared. The winner is always going to be you.” My mouth twists — bitter, broken. I raise the gun to my chest with trembling hands. BANG. The round slams into me. Specialty rubber — not lethal — but the pain explodes white-hot through my ribs and I can’t breathe, I can’t — Anya screams. “Oh God — I’m so sorry — I didn’t know it would be like this —” Every face in the room goes pale. They all turn to Dante. The rule is simple. Whoever takes the bullet loses. The winner becomes his bride. “Boss, this —” Dante rises. Slowly. He looks down at Anya, voice glacial. “It’s fine. A loss is a loss.” Then he bends, scoops the trembling girl into his arms, and lifts her clean off the floor. His movements are steady, absolute. His gaze sweeps the room. His voice cuts like a blade. “Wren. You lost. I’m disappointed. But the only Queen in my heart is you.” In his arms, Anya flinches — then shoots me a look of pure triumph. A sharp pain stabs through my chest. My lips curve into something cold. He carries her toward the door. Steady. Certain. He doesn’t look back at me. Not once.

The second his back disappears through the door, my tears finally break. This game was never fair. Whoever he wants wins. That’s all it ever was. I wipe my face pick up the wine glass on the table and drain every last drop. Outside, I press my hand against the burning ache in my chest and dial a number with shaking fingers. “You wanted to get married. The answer’s yes. Seven days. I’ll be there.” Back at the penthouse, I swallow four painkillers. Ninety-nine rounds have trained my body to handle pain. But tonight, for reasons I can’t name, everything hurts worse than it ever has. I stare at the photograph on the wall — the one that appeared just weeks ago. Our engagement portrait. Me in white silk, him in black, his hand resting low on my waist. He took me to shoot it after I cleared round ninety-nine. I’d laughed and asked if that was cheating his own game. He scoffed. “My game. My rules. And you’re the only reason I ever break them.” Now he’s broken them for someone else. And he stood there watching me take a bullet like a fool. He doesn’t come home that night. I see everything in the videos Anya sends me. Dante has her pressed up against every surface of his most lavish penthouse. Their marks are everywhere — the walls, the sheets, the floors. The rare South Pacific black pearl he flew halfway across the world to buy for me last month — it’s caught between his teeth now, dragging slowly over her skin while she breaks, screaming his name. His face — raw, savage, consumed with want , is something I’ve never seen. Not once. Not for me. Miss Bellamy, you can see how addicted he is to me. Be smart and walk away. I stare at the message until my fingertips go white. I will not let myself cry again. The night I met Dante Marchetti, my grandmother was dying. Heart failure. The hospital was going to discharge her because I couldn’t pay. I was twenty-two, broke, and out of options. He walked into that waiting room like the angel of death in a five-thousand-dollar suit. Paid Gran’s bill in cash. Then he handed me a black card — an invitation. He looked at me the way a wolf looks at a rabbit. Smiling. “It’s just a game, sweetheart. Play it well, and everybody wins.” Even outside the Five Families, you heard the stories. Dante Marchetti was twisted. Years ago, the woman he loved sold him out to a rival. He never trusted love again. He built the Queen’s Gauntlet to watch women tear each other apart for the chance to sit beside him — to prove how far they’d go, how low they’d crawl. I took the card anyway. I needed the money. I needed Gran alive. Inside the game he called himself the King. He sat on a black leather throne and watched women bleed for his crown. I clenched my teeth and survived ninety-nine rounds. Bungee jumps with frayed cords. A sealed coffin with a live python. Seven minutes underwater without air. Live cockroaches shoved into my mouth. Every trial that made other women scream and shatter — I took in silence. One round was a skydive. My competitor slashed my arm with a blade and ripped the only parachute off my back. The plane was over open ocean. I was bleeding, falling soon either way. The earpiece crackled, and Dante’s amused voice came through. “You’ve won forty-some rounds, Wren-bird. Didn’t think you’d end up here. Any last words?” I closed my eyes. “Wire Gran’s medical bills before they cut her off.” His low laugh filled my ear. I jumped. They pulled me out of the Atlantic. I woke up in the ICU. Later, he came to my room. His eyes were hollow. “That round’s yours. I changed the rule mid-game — the winner is whoever’s more reckless.” A bitter, self-mocking smile. “You want out? A hundred million. Walk away clean. Right now.” He looked, for the first time, lonely. Something inside me tore open. I didn’t answer. I just reached up and pulled him into my arms. His face changed in a heartbeat — wild, unguarded joy. He cupped the back of my head and kissed me like a drowning man. “Wren. You’re mine now. From this second on. I’ll give you everything.” He bought me a brownstone. Ten percent of the family’s legitimate holdings, in my name. He walked me into every Family event with his hand at the small of my back and made every soldier and capo kiss my ring and call me Madonna. When the woman who’d betrayed him years ago crawled back into a banquet — weeping at his feet, humiliating me in front of the room, begging him to take her back — he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a wine bottle and cracked it across her skull. His men dragged her out. She was taken to the docks and never seen again. He stood there with blood on his cuffs and said: “Anyone else want to insult my Queen? Step up.” He spoiled me so completely that everyone believed it. Every capo. Every heir. Every woman watching from the sidelines. Even me. I believed I was the one. The special one. The woman who could make Dante Marchetti believe in love again. Until tonight. Until I finally understood — it was never anything but my own delusion.

I sit alone in the dark penthouse all night, phone off. At dawn, the lock turns. Dante walks in. His suit reeks of someone else’s perfume. The bite marks on his throat are obscene. He sees me frozen on the couch and pauses — then drags a hand through his hair, irritated. “Wren. Don’t tell me you sat here all night waiting for me.” My voice comes out raw. “Do you want to shower?” He stiffens. He takes in my white face, my bloodshot eyes, and his brow creases. He tosses his jacket on the chair. But there’s a flicker of something pleased behind his eyes. He walks over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, gentle. “I know. You’re upset because you lost.” “The rule is the rule, baby. Hundredth round. Anya won. By rights, I should be marrying her.” He pauses, pulls a pink diamond ring from his pocket — easily worth a million — and presses a slow kiss to my throat. “But you’re mine. So I’m giving you one more chance. Another round. Win back your crown. That’s a privilege I don’t give anyone else.” “So next time, sweetheart — win.” Win. The word is so absurd I almost laugh. I had a fifty-fifty shot. He took the crown off my head with his own hands and placed it on Anya. The rules were written in black and white — the hundredth-round winner becomes his bride. Anya won. This pink diamond is nothing but a bone he’s tossing me. Something shifts in his eyes — a glint of challenge. His lips curl. “What’s wrong, Wren-bird? Not happy? You used to fight like a wildcat for me.” He’s so certain I’ll cry. So certain I’ll scream and beg, just like every woman before me. I just lift my eyes. My voice is flat. Like I’m talking about someone else’s life. “No. I don’t care.” “Dante. As of right now, I’m out of the game.” The smile freezes on his mouth. The playful warmth in his eyes stays — but underneath, something murderous flickers. “You quit? Say that again.” I hold his gaze. Steady. “Dante. Your game. I’m done playing it.” “I’m leaving you. I won’t make a scene. You can have Anya, with my blessing.” His breath catches. His hands snap to my arms — and right then, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He answers. Whatever they tell him turns his face white with rage. “If you so much as touch her, I will end every last one of you!” He hangs up. His grip locks around my wrist — hard enough to grind bone. “Ow — Dante, what are you —” “In the car. Now.” His voice is ice. “Look what you’ve done.” He drags me out. I stumble, nearly fall. He shoves me into the back seat without a word. He drives like a man possessed. Jaw locked. Eyes dead ahead. He doesn’t explain a thing. The car stops at an abandoned warehouse by the river. Inside, Anya is on the concrete floor. Hands bound behind her back. Blood at the corner of her mouth. Dante crosses the room in three strides. He cuts her loose and pulls her against his chest. His eyes are red. Red. “Anya. Baby. Don’t be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She sobs into his shirt — then lifts her head and looks at me with wide, frightened eyes. “Miss Bellamy — if you don’t want me near him, I’ll leave, I’ll disappear — but why would you have someone beat me…” I take a slow breath. I look only at Dante. “Dante. I didn’t do this. Do you believe me?” He scoops Anya up, bridal style, shielding her completely. And those narrow, cold eyes turn on me with undisguised disgust. “She’s an orphan! She doesn’t make enemies. Who else would touch her — except the woman who’s jealous she lost?” “Lose with grace, Wren. The second you start playing dirty, you’re the one who can’t handle the game.” I clench my fists so hard my nails break skin. “Dante. I told you. It wasn’t me.” “Dante, it’s okay,” Anya whimpers, voice barely a breath. “I don’t blame Wren. She just… she loves you too much.” He laughs — short, cold — and turns for the door with her in his arms. He snaps his fingers at the soldiers behind him. “The new Queen has been hurt by the old one. The old Queen needs to be punished.”

The four soldiers don’t hesitate. They wrench my arms behind my back. “Sir. How bad?” Dante glances at me, then bends his head toward Anya, voice silk. “The punishment is for my new Queen to decide.” Another knife in my chest. After every single elimination round, he handed me — me — the right to punish the loser. Every time, I just told them to leave. Walk away. Start over. I never made anyone bleed. Now Anya puts on her sweet, harmless face ， and her mouth curls into something cruel. “Dante, baby, I don’t really know your old rules. Just… whatever the punishment used to be, do that.” He gets it instantly. He turns to me, searching my face for something — anger, jealousy, anything. All he finds is dead silence. It enrages him. He pulls Anya tighter and forces the words through his teeth. “You heard the Queen.” They drag me into the compound. Down to the basement. They press me face-down on the stone floor and use a leather strap soaked in salt brine. On the other side of the wall, in the bedroom, he and Anya lose themselves in each other, all heat and desperation. Her moans and my screams braid together through the plaster, rising and breaking, until the whole house throbs with it. My back splits open. My heart breaks worse. I think of that day in the ICU. The kiss. The promise. He’d wanted to shut the Gauntlet down right then — pull me out, end it all. But the Family heirs had hundreds of millions riding on the bracket. The game wasn’t his alone anymore. They wouldn’t let him stop it before the final round. He’d held me in that hospital bed, eyes red, arms shaking, and whispered into my hair: “Wren. I promise. From now on, every single round — I will never let you lose.” And I believed him. I fought for him. I outsmarted, out-bled, out-survived every contender they threw at me. Some of them tried to kill me with rigged equipment. With knives. With poison. I won anyway — because I loved him. Every woman who cheated against me ended up exactly where I am right now. Pinned down. Beaten. Listening to him fuck the next one through the wall. It was always going to come to me eventually. He finally let me get hurt. They go all night. Somewhere near dawn, Dante steps out in a black silk robe. I hear his voice, distant, bored. “Call the family doctor. Patch her up. Don’t let her die.” Then I’m gone. I wake on the couch. His jacket is draped over me. The housekeeper’s face is blank, professional. “You’re awake. Mr. Marchetti took Miss Rossi to the victory dinner. He said to get yourself cleaned up and join them.” My voice is sandpaper. I grab my bag. “Tell him I can’t. My grandmother’s surgery is today. He knows. He arranged it.” He found Gran her donor heart himself , my prize for clearing round ninety-nine. Two soldiers grab me. “What are you — let go of me — I need to get to the hospital — Dante knows about Gran’s transplant today!” They don’t care. They yank a dress over my shredded back. They don’t let me bring my phone. They throw me in the SUV. I can’t breathe. He used to come with me to see Gran every single month. And today he’s at a champagne dinner celebrating a stolen crown for a girl he rigged the game to win. The ballroom is full of capos and their daughters. Dante is at the center with Anya glued to his side. I’m in a backless dress. The strap marks across my shoulder blades are visible to every person in the room. People whisper. His eyes darken. He walks Anya toward me, his hand on her hip. “Wren. Today is Anya’s coronation. As the former champion, you should congratulate her properly. You walked in empty-handed. Are you trying to humiliate her?” Anya bites her lip, all wounded innocence. “Maybe she just thinks I shouldn’t have won. After all — she had the first ninety-nine.” I cut her off. I look only at him. “I quit the game. I owe her nothing. Dante — Gran is in surgery right now. I’m leaving. Let me through.” Surprise flickers in his eyes. Then it ices over. “It’s a celebration. You bring up something this dark on purpose?” I press my hand against the ache in my chest. “What do I have to do for you to let me leave?” “What do you have to do?” His eyes glint. He kisses Anya in front of me, slow and deliberate. “Let my new Queen name the price.” She pretends to think. Then she grins. “Have Wren strip naked. Kneel in front of me. And bark like a dog. Three times.” The breath leaves my body. And then I hear him laugh ,soft, amused. “Done.”

I stare at him. “Dante. What if I refuse?” He laughs once. Cold. “Sweetheart. Since when do you get to say no to me?” He flicks a glance at the crowd behind him. That’s all it takes. They erupt on cue. “You heard the Madonna! On your knees,you filthy dog !” “You lost everything down to your panties , and you still think you can negotiate?” These are the same men who called me Madonna. Who bowed when I walked past. Who kissed my ring. Now they’ve turned like wolves, every last one of them falling in line behind Anya. My chest crushes inward. The pain goes numb. There’s a wall of soldiers behind me. I can’t run. Dante is unhinged enough that fighting will only drag this out longer — and Gran is on an operating table right now. Dignity is a luxury I can’t afford. “You’ll keep your word. After this, I leave.” I choke the words out. I undress. I get on my hands and knees on the polished marble. The room sucks in a breath. “Woof.” Laughter explodes around me. I feel tears slide down my face. “Woof.” Someone kicks me in the ribs — I don’t even see who. “Woof.” Dante’s voice cuts the room cold. “Enough.” “Get her out of my sight.” I grab my dress off the floor, yank it on crooked, and stumble out barefoot. It’s pouring outside. I don’t know when the rain started. I flag down a cab with shaking hands and tell him the hospital. Fast. Please. I sprint through the lobby. I burst into Gran’s room. She’s not there. I tear through the hallways like a madwoman — and then I see it. The OR doors swing open. A gurney rolls out. There’s a white sheet over the body, and one hand has slipped out from under the cloth. On her wrist is the silver bracelet I gave her for her seventieth birthday. Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice. “Gran!” I throw myself onto the gurney, screaming. The surgeon exhales, exhausted. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could. She kept asking to see you one last time. We tried calling — we couldn’t get through. We had no choice but to proceed without you.” I don’t hear the rest. The room spins. I hit the floor. When I open my eyes, I’m in a hospital bed. A nurse adjusts my IV, her face tight with worry. “Honey, I know you just lost your grandmother and it’s awful. But you have to take care of yourself now. You’re pregnant.” The words hit me like a slap. “What?” My voice cracks. “I’m — I’m pregnant?” “Three months along. You really had no idea?” I press my hand against my belly. A tremor runs through me , something alive, something small, underneath my palm. I go cold all over. Once, I dreamed of this. Dante’s child. A home. A real life. It came now. Now. When the man I built my world around doesn’t love me anymore. The door opens. Dante walks in carrying half a cake on a plate. “Wren, you embarrassed me today.” His voice is flat with contempt. “Anya’s sweet. She thought you might be hungry. She saved you cake.” I look at the mangled thing on the plate — pawed at, half-eaten, barely recognizable. It’s not food. It’s a slap in the face. “You’re not even with your grandmother. You’re here, faking sick to get my attention?” “Get out!” I hurl the water glass at his head. He dodges. His eyes go pitch black. “Ungrateful. You’re not half the woman Anya is.” He slams the door behind him. I break apart. I sob until there’s nothing left inside me. For the next few days, Dante parades Anya across the city. Diamonds dripping from her throat and wrists. Yachts, rooftop parties, flashbulbs chasing them at every turn. Cameras everywhere. I bury Gran alone. The day we put her in the ground, the sky splits open and the rain doesn’t stop. While I’m standing graveside in the mud, Dante is at a charity gala downtown, presenting Anya with a flawless museum-grade diamond in front of the press. I go back to the penthouse. I pack one suitcase. I walk out. I rent a tiny studio across town. He calls. I pick up. “Where the hell are you?” “Dante. The game is over. We are nothing to each other.” He finds me the next day. He looks around my studio — the peeling paint, the narrow bed, the bare lightbulb — and his nose wrinkles like he smells garbage. “You’re living in this hole? Cute.” A mocking smile. “You’re playing hard to get.” “It’s none of your business. Get out.” His eyes flatten. He nods at the men behind him. They grab my arms before I can move. “Let’s go. Anya wants to take you somewhere fun.”

I fight. I lose. They drive me to a private estate outside the city. Underground, the owner keeps a fifteen-foot golden python in a steel-reinforced cage and charges the ultra-rich to watch it feed. Live prey. Invitation only. Anya is already there, draped in couture, champagne in hand. “Wren, sweetie — the feeding show tonight is so boring.” Inside the cage, the python is coiled around a slab of raw, bloody meat, jaw unhinged, swallowing it whole. She tilts her head, all innocence, but her smile has teeth. “You survived ninety-nine rounds of the Gauntlet. A little snake should be nothing for you, right? Dante, baby — I want to watch her tame it.” My blood turns to ice. Deep in my belly, something flutters — the baby. As if even he can sense what’s coming. “Are you insane? That gets people killed!” Dante looks at my white face. Something flickers — just for a second. Regret. Maybe mercy. He leans close. His breath stirs my hair. His voice is low, almost tender. “You know what I hate about you, Wren? You’re so goddamn stubborn. Just bend. Once. Ask me to save you ， beg me ， and I’ll rig the game so you win.” “Last chance. One more round. Beg me, and it’s yours.” I look back at him. My eyes are dead. My mouth curves into a smile so bitter it tastes like ash. “Dante. The biggest regret of my life is ever taking your invitation.” His face contorts. Anya jumps in, right on cue. “How can you be so ungrateful? Dante is giving you a chance! If I were you, I’d be on my knees crying! If you won’t play, it just proves you never loved him at all!” Murder flashes through Dante’s eyes. He shoves me — hard — and forces three words through clenched teeth. “Put her in.” Hands grab me. The cage door clangs shut behind me. The python’s head lifts. Its tongue flicks the air. It starts toward me. “Dante — please — let me out!” My scream rips through my throat. “I’m pregnant!” The crowd outside is roaring — drunk, wild, deafening. They can’t hear me. He can’t hear me. Dante squints, like he’s trying to read my lips. Anya hooks her arms around his neck and breathes into his ear. “Baby, she’s having so much fun in there. I’m jealous. Take me to the back room…” His Adam’s apple bobs. He scoops her up and walks away without looking back. The python coils around my legs. It bites — once, twice — then starts to constrict. I can’t breathe. My vision goes purple at the edges. I hear my own screams like they belong to someone far away. “Oh my God — the snake’s gone berserk —” “She’s bleeding — there’s so much blood — someone call 911!” I wake in a hospital bed. A tearing pain in my pelvis. I rip the sheet back. My belly is flat. The baby is gone. A scream rips out of me as it hits all at once—Gran is gone, and with this baby, the last of my family on this earth is gone with her. Why? Why would he do this? Why would he take the last thing I had? “No!” The door swings open. Dante walks in, flushed, with fresh marks on his throat. The evidence of what he was doing while I was dying. He glances at me. Mocking. Bored. “I heard you got your period. That’s why you’re in the hospital?” “Come on, Wren. Through ninety-nine rounds, even at your worst, you were never this dramatic.” I take a slow breath. I drag myself out of the bed. Pain screams through every nerve in my body. I cross the room and slap him across the face with everything I have. “Dante Marchetti — I hope you rot in hell.”

The wildness in my eyes makes him freeze. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Something dark flickers behind his gaze. His hand snaps around my wrist. “I’ve been too easy on you lately, haven’t I?” His phone rings. His face changes instantly. “Anya — baby, hold on — I’m on my way, don’t be scared.” He looks at me, already halfway to the door. “Anya’s stomach hurts. I’m going to her. And that studio of yours — I already canceled the lease. Stay put.” He’s gone before I can speak. The door slams. I sit on the hospital bed for a long time. Staring at nothing. Then I pick up my phone. My fingers are shaking, but my voice is steady. “Before I come to you — help me stage one last performance.” “Make it convincing. I need him to believe I’m dead.” I hang up. A new message lights up my screen. Anya, curled against Dante’s chest, tracing circles on his collarbone with her fingertip: See, Wren? Even after you nearly died from a snake attack, all I have to do is say one word and he drops you to come running to me. He doesn’t love you. He never did. You almost lost your life for him and he still picks me every single time. You’re pathetic. I grip the phone until my knuckles go white. Tears hit the screen and blur the words. There are guards outside my door. I can’t run. I can only wait. Every time I close my eyes, the nightmares come. Ninety-nine rounds of hell. Dante’s cold, empty stare. Gran dying alone on an operating table, calling my name. The baby I never got to hold. The next day, Dante brings Anya to visit me. “Wren, sweetie, are you feeling better?” Anya pouts, all wounded innocence. “Dante really does care about you, you know. Even after everything, he still wants to give you a fair rematch.” “But if you won’t play… it just proves you don’t really love him. That you never wanted him at all.” I turn my head. I look at both of them. Calm. “Fine. I’ll play.” Dante’s eyes flash bright — just for a second. Anya stiffens. She wasn’t expecting that. Hatred ripples under her sweet face, but her voice stays sugar-soft. “Of course I want a fair fight. But this time, I set the rules.” Dante strokes her hair, indulgent. “Of course. You earned that right when you won the last round.” Where he can’t see, her mouth curves into something venomous. “Last time we played the gun, and you lost. That must have killed you.” She tilts her head, mock sympathy. “So this time — we play the gun again. Sound fair?” My expression doesn’t change. I nod. “Fine by me.” “Then it’s settled.” Her eyes are full of calculation, but her smile is radiant. “Dante, baby, let’s go set everything up. Let her rest.” Something tugs at Dante — a flicker of unease he can’t name. But before he can think, Anya hooks her arm through his and pulls him out the door. The next night. They drive me to a cliff above the open ocean. A small table. Two chairs. A black revolver in the center, its barrel gleaming cold under the moon. Anya and I sit on opposite sides. The soldiers lead us to our places. Dante’s Bentley rolls up behind us. He steps out, slow, deliberate, and settles into a leather throne his men have placed at the cliff’s edge. A soldier stands beside him holding a bottle of champagne. “After this round,” he says, voice low, eyes drifting between us, “I’ll announce my engagement to the winner. Right here. Right now.” “Begin.” Anya plays modest. “Wren, sweetie — I’ll let you roll for first shot. Fair and square. Odd number, you go first.” I don’t hesitate. I roll. Odd. First shot is mine. I hear Dante’s breath catch. His knuckles go white around the arm of the throne. That reaction tells me everything. The bullet is in an even chamber. He rigged it for her again. Anya’s face goes pale. “Wait — no — best two out of three!” I almost laugh. I let her have it. She rolls again — somehow, both times landing odd. She steals first shot back. “Looks like I go first after all.” Dante doesn’t intervene. His voice is flat. “Get on with it.” Anya gives him a slow, seductive smile. She picks up the gun, presses it to her own chest, and pulls the trigger. Click. The gun slides across to me. I pick it up. I weigh it in my palm for just a second — and a cold laugh escapes my lips. This isn’t the same prop from last time. It’s heavier. The balance is different. This gun is real. And the bullets inside it are real too.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701hzrKQI45TP 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni426714”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

On the day of my wedding to the Lycan prince, his childhood sweetheart, Rue, his wet nurse’s daughter, killed herself with her own claw. Kane knocked over the blood covenant cup. He was silent for a long moment. Then: “Give the wet nurse some gold coins for her retirement. Bury Rue properly.” Then he went back to completing the blood covenant ritual with me, as if nothing had happened. Five years later. The night before Kane’s coronation as Lycan King. The elders examined me and declared I was barren. Would never bear children. He had his warriors drag me to the stone quarry behind the royal grounds. Made me pave a road of atonement. Said I could never return to court. That night, he pointed at Rue’s grave marker and said, “She was carrying my pup when she died. If your Stormfang tribe weren’t so powerful, why would I have married you? Rue would still be alive, and so would my child.” “You don’t deserve to have offspring. Spend the rest of your life moving stones. Atone for Rue and her pup.” Within a year, my father and brother were framed for colluding with vampires. The entire Stormfang tribe was slaughtered. I coughed up blood and died. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. The day I was marrying into the royal court. Outside, the wolves were howling at the moon. The sound of Alpha Kane kicking the wedding carriage axle snapped me fully awake. I was reborn. I clenched my fists. My heart pounded. If the Moon Goddess was giving me a second chance, I wasn’t going to waste it. The Stormfang tribe wouldn’t die in vain. I would live this time. And I would make Kane pay for every drop of blood he spilled in my past life. Kane led me into the ritual circle. Wolf-bone beads hung lightly over my face. Freya, my handmaiden, steadied my arm. As she leaned in, I whispered a few quick words. Freya’s eyes flickered. She slipped away without a sound. She was a warrior raised by the Stormfang tribe. She’d been by my side since childhood. A handmaiden in name, a bodyguard in truth. I trusted her completely. The wedding between Alpha Kane and the daughter of Stormfang, every chieftain in the northern territories had come with their mates.  It was the biggest union the North had seen in years. The daughter of Stormfang was about to become the Luna of the royal court. The ritual circle was alive with noise. The elder chanted: “In the name of the Moon Goddess, bind by blood.” Then a young servant from Rue’s room came running in, stumbling over herself. “Alpha! Rue tried to kill herself!”

Tears streaming down her face, she dropped to her knees, forehead hitting the ground. “Rue grew up with the Alpha. Please, Alpha, save her. Kane’s hand, the one intertwined with mine, went slack. Dropped away. “Why would she do something so stupid?” he muttered. “I told her I’d give her a title after the wedding.” He caught himself mid-sentence and shut his mouth. He turned to run. Nearly tripped on the ritual circle steps. Remembered, it was his wedding day. Every chieftain in the North was watching. If he left now, by tomorrow his father’s desk would be buried in letters demanding his head. So he stopped. Looked at me. “Liora, I need to check on Rue. I’ll come back and finish the blood covenant. The wedding’s set, what’s the hurry?” I widened my eyes, made my voice small and pitiful. “Alpha, this is a matter of life and death. Why don’t I come with you? A Luna should handle household affairs, after all.” Kane looked relieved. “Yes, yes, of course.” So the Alpha and his bride-to-be left the ritual circle halfway through the ceremony to visit a wet nurse’s daughter. The crowd whispered behind us. They couldn’t believe it. Inside the wooden house, Rue was wearing a Moonlight Gown. The kind a bride was supposed to wear for the blood covenant.  She’d dyed cheap burlap white herself. The stitches were crooked.  Her half-shifted claws were pressed against her own throat. Her fingertips had already broken skin. Blood trickled down her neck, dripping onto the white dress. She saw Kane walk in. Burst into tears. Threw herself at him. “Alpha, I didn’t mean to, I just want to be with you.” “I know I’m lowborn. I can never be your Luna. But I wanted, just once, to wear a Moonlight Gown and complete the blood covenant with you.” “You know I’ve wanted to be your mate since we were children.” Kane pulled her close. His face was twisted with pain. “Why are you so stupid? I told you I’d give you a title after the Luna moved in.” “Why would you do this? If anything happened to you, how could I go on? Are you trying to rip my heart out?” Rue took his hand. Placed it gently over her stomach. “Alpha, the healer came a few days ago. I’m carrying your pup. Two months. I didn’t want my child to be born lowborn. To be mocked and called bastard. That’s why I…” Kane’s face lit up. “Really? You’re carrying my pup?”

Rue threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, Alpha. We’re having a child.” They held each other. Everyone else just stared. “No way. The Alpha knocked up a wet nurse’s daughter?” “On his wedding day? And she chose today to make a scene?” “Look at them. This is bad.” “Liora must be devastated. She’s the future Luna. This is a slap in Stormfang’s face.” I let my face go pale. Let the betrothal wolf fang slip from my fingers. It hit the ground with a clatter. I staggered back into my old nurse’s arms. “Alpha Kane,” I said, my voice trembling. “I thought she was just a servant. Now you’re telling me she’s pregnant with your pup?” Kane looked at me, uncomfortable. “Liora, she’s my wet nurse’s daughter. We grew up together. She’s the woman I love.” I cut him off. “So you’re in love. You’ve been meeting in secret. And now there’s a child.” Question after question. He didn’t answer any of them. Rue scrambled off the bed. Dropped to the floor in a full submission kneel, forehead to the ground, hands spread wide, throat bared. “Luna, it’s not the Alpha’s fault. It’s mine. I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to give the Alpha a pup. He drank too much that night, he thought I was you…” Slap. My palm connected with her cheek. “How dare you,” I said coldly. “I’m the legitimate daughter of Stormfang. I was raised with discipline. I will not be slandered.” “I met the Alpha two times before the engagement. Always with elders present. Never alone. So don’t drag my name through the mud just to make yourself look less disgusting.” Rue sobbed. Shook her head. “It’s my fault, Luna. Forgive me.” Then she half-shifted and dragged her own claws down her face. Three gashes from forehead to cheekbone. Blood poured down her cheeks. Kane grabbed her arms. “Stop.” He looked at me. His voice was sharp with blame. “This isn’t Rue’s fault. She wasn’t born powerful. You were. That’s the only difference.” “Without your father’s wolves, would I want you as Luna?” “Rue tried to kill herself today because of you. She’s carrying my pup.” “Now you’re married in. Rue is my consort. I won’t leave her or my child without a title.” I laughed at him. I laughed at him. Luna? The Lycan King himself had approved this match. If it weren’t for this engagement, Kane wouldn’t even be sitting in the Alpha’s seat. I lifted my chin. “The Luna position was granted by the Lycan King himself. How you’ve behaved today, on our wedding day, insults not only Stormfang but also the King.” “If you loved Rue, why not call off the engagement? You wanted my family’s army and your lover. Did you think I’d refuse you a consort?” Then I turned to Rue. “And you. You’ve known about the pregnancy. You waited until wedding day to make a scene. Are you really not doing this on purpose?”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701JRXLM04P55 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni004604”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I hid my power. I chained the wolf within. All for him. My blood-bound mate, Lord Caius. But when I went into labor and the contractions hit, I was locked away in the abandoned altar beneath the castle. Magical restraints carved with confinement runes bound me tightly. The contractions were getting worse. I cried, begging Caius. “The baby’s coming, Caius. Please, get me to the Sanctuary… It’s our child…” He just stepped forward, elegant and cruel. He forced a black pill into my mouth. “The Blood-Binding Elixir,” he said. “It will delay your labor. Be a good girl. I have to make sure you give birth after Isadora.” Instantly, invisible threads seemed to tighten around my veins, strangling them. Blood soaked my dress. The pain was so intense my wolf spirit screamed, a howl trapped in my throat. “Why…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You are a wolf. An outsider,” Caius’s voice echoed in the cold abandoned altar. “Isadora carries the true heir. A pure-blood. My dead brother’s only legacy. Tonight is the Blood Moon’s Blessing, granted once in a thousand years. Only a child blessed tonight can become the next Lord. I won’t let you steal that from her.” Then he dissolved into black mist, leaving me behind to go to Isadora. I closed my eyes. The tiny life force thrashing inside me suddenly went still. I slipped into darkness. …… A tearing pain in my belly ripped me from the darkness. The cold stone of the magical array was hard against my back. I struggled to sit up. Another contraction slammed into me, harder than anything I’d ever felt. My wolf spirit whimpered in agony. “The baby… My baby is coming! Help me!” I screamed, biting back the pain. “Still putting on a show?” Lilith stepped into the dim light, her crimson eyes glittering with malice. Caius’s little sister. “Isadora’s potions never fail. She made that Blood-Binding Elixir herself. It will stop your labor for four hours, guaranteed.” She lifted a finger, her hand open in the air between us, aimed at my heart. She slowly made a fist. “The Ancestor’s Blessing, the title of Lord… it all belongs to Isadora!” A roar filled my ears. My own blood turned on me, boiling and surging backward through my veins until I thought they would burst. I gagged, coughing up a clot of blood that felt like ice. A deep chill settled over me. “I never wanted to be Lord!” I shook my head, desperate. “Don’t lie!” Lilith’s fingers snapped shut. Invisible magic choked me, forcing my head up to meet her gaze. “You think we’re all fools? The moment you learned the blessed child would be the next Lord, you started hurting Isadora! Your ambition is pathetic. Obvious.” She released me, and I collapsed. She stood over me, looking down. “You tricked Isadora. Lured her to the Star-Gazing Tower. You used your wolf strength to open the sun-shielding dome, didn’t you? You tried to burn her and the baby alive!” No… that’s not what happened! Isadora came to me that day. Crying. She said she missed Liam’s presence so much, and begged me to go with her to the tower, to feel closer to him. The moment we got there, she used her vampire speed to push me away, threw open the dome herself, and held her own arm in the sunlight until it burned. Then she clutched her stomach and screamed that I was trying to kill her child. … I had a thousand things to say, a thousand ways to defend myself. But the agony from the elixir intensified, and all I could do was curl into a ball. “Please… let me go… The baby is really coming…” I sobbed, reaching for her. Lilith slapped my hand away. “Why are you still acting?” “The Blood-Binding Elixir doesn’t fail,” she sneered. “You’ll wait your turn. After Isadora is finished, you can have your little mutt.” “No… please…” I struggled, but the magical restraints only bit deeper, the energy searing the skin on my wrists. “Isadora warned me you’d pull a stunt like this.” A dark red light glowed at Lilith’s fingertips. “If you try another one,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “I’ll drain every drop of blood from your body and leave you a dried-up corpse. Understand?” She motioned to the blood-servants behind her to watch me. Then she turned and left. As the heavy door slammed shut, I felt the warm, sticky wetness spread beneath me. Blood. So much blood. My dress was soaked, my limbs bound by magic. I couldn’t move. The lock clicked. The finality of it hit me. I was completely, utterly alone. Three months ago, Caius had taken my communication crystal, claiming it was to “prevent hunters from tracking me.” Now I knew the truth. He was cutting me off from everyone. I was a lone wolf with no pack, no status. I was never truly one of them. I tried to stop crying, to focus, but the pain made it impossible to breathe. A new wave of contractions hit, stronger than the last. My head spun. I was about to pass out. I remembered the nightmare seven months ago. Caius’s brother, the Lord, was ambushed and killed on a hunt. When Isadora announced she was pregnant, the whole coven breathed a sigh of relief. The bloodline would continue. Overnight, my child and I became a threat. A sin. They all watched me, terrified the outsider would harm Isadora. Every time she accused me of something, Caius believed her without hesitation. The pain made me thrash, fighting against the magical restraints until my wrists and ankles were burned raw and bleeding. And then, a miracle. The confinement runes on one of the restraints shattered. I dragged myself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood. I pounded on the door with my free, bleeding hand. “Please! The baby’s coming!” “Shut up in there!” a guard yelled back. “Wait until Lady Isadora is done!” Then I heard voices. A magical projection. Caius and Lilith. “How is Isadora?” Lilith asked. Caius’s voice was tired. “Another two hours, at least. How is Rowan? Is she behaving?” “Don’t even ask,” Lilith scoffed. “She’s locked in the abandoned altar, and she’s still putting on a performance. Crying that she’s in labor. What an actress.” Her tone turned venomous. “Wait, Caius. Are you actually worried about her? Don’t forget she’s the one who stole the labor-inducing potion from Isadora’s room, trying to force an early birth to steal the blessing.” “No… I never stole anything…” I whispered to the empty room. “I haven’t forgotten,” Caius’s voice was laced with disgust. “Isadora promised me the elixir would only delay the birth, not harm her. Let her suffer. It’s a lesson she needs to learn. Nothing can happen to Isadora, or to Liam’s child.” The voices cut off. The abandoned altar was silent again. I collapsed on the floor, cold to the bone. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the despair.

I don’t know how long I lay there. The pool of blood beneath me grew larger. I was fading, drifting away, when the door suddenly burst open. “Gods above!” a familiar voice cried out. Healer Alistair. The Alucard family’s head healer. The only one who had treated me throughout my pregnancy. He rushed to my side, dropping to his knees in my blood. His trembling hands felt for my pulse. “Lady Rowan!” His face was white with horror. “What in the gods’ name are you doing down here?! Lady Lilith told me you were merely anxious and resting!” “Lilith—” I gasped. “She locked me in here—” “Don’t talk.” Alistair lifted my blood-soaked skirt to check me. His expression turned to one of pure terror. “Gods, you’re fully dilated! Your water has broken… and you’re hemorrhaging! We have to move. Now!” He tried to use his communication crystal. The screen flashed: NO SIGNAL. “Damn this shielding matrix!” he swore. He looked at me, his eyes wide with urgency. “My Lady, I have to get you to the Healing Sanctuary. Right now.” The vampire guards outside tried to stop him as he carried me out. “Halt! Lady Lilith said—” “Lady Lilith said WHAT?” Alistair roared, his voice filled with a healer’s authority. “To let a woman in labor bleed to death in the abandoned altar? Get out of my way!” The guards actually flinched and stepped back. Alistair stumbled through the halls with me in his arms, a gruesome trail of blood marking our path. “Hold on,” he panted. “The top floor has the best equipment. We’re almost there.” The castle stairs seemed to stretch on forever. Every step was a new wave of agony. My vision was blurring, but I could feel my baby fighting, struggling to be born. “How much longer?” I whispered. “Two minutes,” Alistair said, his eyes fixed on the top of the spiral staircase. “Just two more minutes.” We finally reached the top floor. He kicked open the door to the private, luxurious Healing Sanctuary— It was open. We burst inside, and then we both froze. The room was empty. The state-of-the-art magical medical equipment—all of it was gone. The life-monitoring arrays, the shadowless light orbs, the auto-regeneration blood pool, even the birthing bed. Gone. Nothing remained but four bare walls and a few shattered power crystals on the floor. “This is impossible,” Alistair whispered, standing stunned in the doorway. “Where is the equipment?” Footsteps echoed from the hall. Lilith appeared, flanked by her servants. “Oh, the equipment?” she said breezily. “It’s all been moved to Isadora’s suite.” Alistair’s face went even paler. “What?” “Isadora is birthing the one true heir of the Alucard line,” Lilith said, her words sharp. “A pure-blood. She gets our best resources. Obviously.” “But Lady Rowan is also in labor!” Alistair yelled. “She needs an emergency intervention!” Lilith glanced at me, then shrugged. “Stop the act, Rowan. The elixir is harmless. You’re just desperate for attention. Trying to disrupt Isadora’s moment.” I stared at her perfectly made-up face. I suddenly remembered a year ago, when I gave her a rare, ancient book from my collection to help her with her blood magic. She had hugged me, her voice filled with joy. “Rowan, you’re like a real sister to me!” How ironic.

Alistair laid me on the bare floor of the empty sanctuary and ran out to find supplies. He came back two minutes later. Empty-handed. His face was ashen. “The potion storage is empty,” he stammered. “Not even a basic hemostatic herb. No bandages. Nothing.” Lilith let out a small, cruel laugh. “Oh, those? Also sent to Isadora. Caius’s orders.” “This is murder!” Alistair shouted. “She’ll die! The child will die!” “Then that is their fate,” Lilith said with a cold shrug. “The coven comes first.” Alistair knelt beside me, taking my hand. “My Lady, I am so sorry,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I have no equipment, no potions, nothing.” “Then use your hands!” I screamed, grabbing his collar. “Use anything!” “I can’t risk it. Without a magical barrier, without tools to stop the bleeding—” “Enough of this pathetic drama! Take him away!” Lilith suddenly barked. Two guards entered the room, grabbed Alistair by the arms, and began to drag him out. “Listen to me!” Alistair yelled back at me. “Remember the pressure point I showed you? The one on your abdomen? Push on it! It will stimulate the contractions! You have to push with everything you have on the next one—” The door slammed shut. It was just me and Lilith again. She took out a scrying mirror made of blood-crystal and opened a channel. “Caius?” Her voice was instantly wounded and frail. “You need to see this. Your precious mate is putting on another show for us.” She turned the mirror towards me. I saw Caius’s face. He was standing in the bright hallway of another, fully equipped sanctuary. His expensive clothes were disheveled, his brow furrowed with exhaustion. When he saw me lying in a pool of my own blood, a flicker of shock and horror crossed his face before it was replaced by ice. “What is going on with her?” His voice was tight, cold. “What do you think? It’s an act,” Lilith said casually. “She’s bled a little, but Alistair is always so dramatic. I think she’s just trying to force you to come to her.” Caius’s jaw tightened as he stared at me through the mirror. Just then, a weak voice called from his side of the connection. Isadora. “Caius… who is that…? Is it Rowan? Is she… is she blaming me again?” “It’s nothing. Don’t be distracted,” Caius soothed her instantly, but his eyes on me grew colder. “Caius!” I screamed with my last bit of strength. “Help me… the baby… the baby is really coming!” “Rowan, stop it,” he said, his expression unchanged. “Isadora is struggling. The Ancestor’s Blessing… it’s causing a bloodline rejection. The healers are fighting to save her. She is the coven’s priority.” “But I—” “I’ll deal with you when I’m done here,” he cut me off coldly. Through the mirror, I saw him turn to stroke Isadora’s forehead. “You deserve to pay for what you’ve done.” The mirror went black. Lilith put it away, looking pleased. “See?” she said, squatting down in front of me, her eyes filled with triumph and cruelty. “In Caius’s heart, what are you? A pathetic lone wolf who slept her way into his bed for protection. A birthing tool. And now, you’re not even useful for that.” She stood up, her voice a final judgment. “You thought marrying into the Alucard Coven was your ticket to the top? You and your mutt are just trash that needs to be taken out.” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at her anymore. My body was soaked in blood, but my hand secretly moved to the necklace around my neck. The moonstone pendant my father gave me. My last resort. They all thought I was just a lone wolf. No pack. A nobody running a broken-down bookstore. Of course they did. They couldn’t sense the royal blood sleeping inside me. The Alpha blood I had sealed away. I loved him, so I chose to give up my birthright. What a stupid joke that turned out to be. “If you are ever in danger from which there is no escape,” my father had told me on the day I left my pack, “crush this. Every wolf of our kind will feel your call.” My fingers found the tiny trigger inside the pendant. Lilith’s voice was still droning on. “…Isadora always said you were manipulative. I actually defended you. I was such a fool. A stray wolf who married for power. Who knows what you were really plotting.” With the last of my strength, I crushed the trigger. There was no sound. No flash of light. But I knew. The signal had been sent. “In half an hour,” my father’s voice echoed in my memory, “my Royal Guard will tear this world apart to find you.” But my baby… Could my child hold on until my people arrived?

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701KCUYu1tmGc 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni712284”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I walked into Serena’s apartment with our wedding invitation in hand. Too hurried, so that I grabbed Damian’s phone by mistake on my way out. The second I stepped through the door, the screen lit up. Connected to Wi-Fi automatically. I froze for a moment. Damian had never been to her place. How the hell did his phone know her network? Serena glanced at the phone in my hand and smiled. “Stop guessing. Every time he told you he was on a business trip these past three years, he was sleeping here.” I stared at the invitation in my hand, ten years of my life suddenly feeling like a sick joke. She picked up an ultrasound scan from the coffee table and waved it at me. “Two months along. If you still want this wedding, perfect—you can be my free nanny.” The fingerprint lock beeped. Damian walked in carrying takeout soup. Our eyes met. His smile froze on his face. I folded the invitation and slipped it into my pocket. From this moment on, Serena Croft and Damian Sterling were dead to me. …………………………………. “Why the hell are you running around with my phone?” Damian kicked off his shoes and set the soup container on the entryway table. His eyes swept over the ultrasound in Serena’s hand, then landed on my face. After a brief pause, he loosened his tie and sat down next to her. “Since you already know, there’s no point hiding it.” He looked up at me. “The scan’s real. She’s pregnant with my kid. Almost two months.” The invitation crumpled in my pocket as my fingers tightened around it. “So?” I could barely hear my own voice. Damian frowned, clearly pissed at my reaction. “What’s with the attitude? I haven’t even called you out for snooping through my phone.” He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, his tone self-righteous. “You’ve had two miscarriages. The doctor said your uterine lining is too damaged to carry another pregnancy.” “I need an heir. Serena’s willing to have my child—she’s doing us a favor.” “The kid will call you Mom when it’s born. You’re getting a free baby. What’s the problem?” Ten years. I’d starved with him. Destroyed my stomach drinking for his business deals. Lost two unborn children for him. And now he was telling me that screwing my best friend was for my own good. Serena leaned against Damian’s shoulder, her hand resting on her flat stomach. “Sienna, I never had parents growing up. I’ve always thought of you as my sister.” “The three of us can live together. My baby will be your baby too.” She lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming with victory. “You’ve always wanted a complete family, right? Well, now you have one.” Damian stroked her hair. “See how understanding Serena is? Unlike you, walking around with that bitchy expression all the time.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “This is a supplemental agreement. My lawyer drafted it.” “Next month’s wedding goes ahead as planned. You’ll still be Mrs. Sterling.” “But publicly, Serena will be my cousin. She’ll move into our penthouse for the pregnancy.” I stared at the document without reaching for it. “Serena moves into our home as your cousin?” “Yes.” Damian nodded. “I can’t leave her alone in this condition.” “And after the baby’s born?” I forced a bitter smile. “Registered under your name. Serena’s still young—she can’t let a kid hold her back.” Damian pulled out a pen and held it toward me. “I’ll add an extra ten grand to your monthly allowance, specifically for taking care of Serena and the baby.” “Sienna, don’t be greedy. I’ve given you the best of everything. What more do you want?” He looked into my eyes with terrifying sincerity. He genuinely believed he’d done nothing wrong. To him, I was nothing but an accessory with no income of my own, completely dependent on him. As long as he tossed me a few scraps, I should be grateful. Serena grabbed the pen and shoved it into my hand. “Just sign it, Sienna. If you don’t, those ten years will have been for nothing.” “You don’t even have a job. What are you going to do without Damian?” The pen dug painfully into my fingers. I watched them play their synchronized game, and suddenly the whole farce felt absurd. Ten years of my youth, traded for a contract to be the mistress’s free nanny. I set the pen down on the table. “I’m not signing.” Damian’s expression darkened. “Don’t push your luck, Sienna. I’ve felt guilty about those two miscarriages.” “Think of this baby as compensation. What the hell else do you want?” He stood up, looking down at me. “Last chance. Sign it.” I stood, pulled the invitation from my pocket, and threw it in the trash. “I’ll think about it.” I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, Damian sat back down and picked up the soup container, blowing on it. “I knew you’d come around. Remember to pick out engagement rings tomorrow.” “Serena said she likes pink diamonds. Get her one too while you’re at it.”

That evening, I returned to the penthouse I shared with Damian. I entered the code. The lock beeped an error. I stood there frozen and tried again. “Incorrect password.” The robotic voice echoed through the hallway. I stared at the door I’d walked through for five years, suddenly feeling like a complete stranger. Two hours later, the elevator doors opened. Damian stepped out, helping Serena walk beside him. Seeing me still standing at the door, he frowned. “Why haven’t you gone in? Standing out here like a damn statue?” I looked at him. “The password’s wrong.” Damian slapped his forehead. “Serena said the old code had unlucky numbers, bad for the baby. I changed it.” He walked up and entered Serena’s birthday. The door opened. I followed them inside and saw my slippers were gone from the entryway. In their place sat a pair of non-slip pregnancy slippers. “Your slippers had hard soles. I was worried Serena might slip, so I had the housekeeper throw them out.” Damian tossed off the explanation casually as he helped Serena toward the master bedroom. I walked to the bedroom doorway and froze completely. All my skincare products had been swept from the vanity into the trash. The closet doors hung open, half my clothes cleared out, replaced with racks of Serena’s maternity wear. “Damian, what the hell is this?” I pointed at the empty closet space. Damian was pouring warm water for Serena, not even looking back. “Serena’s pregnant. She can’t handle the smell of your perfumes.” “I had the housekeeper move your stuff to the guest room. You’ll sleep there for the next few months.” Serena leaned against the headboard, her hand on her stomach as she sighed. “Sienna, you’re not mad at me, are you? The doctor said my pregnancy is high-risk, I need complete rest.” “The master bedroom has better light, better for the baby’s development. You care about me so much, you wouldn’t mind giving it up, right?” I stared at her sickeningly fake face with no desire to argue. The next morning, I sat at the dining table eating oatmeal. Damian walked out of the bedroom with his phone in hand. Right in front of me, he pressed the speaker button. “Hello, is this the wedding planner? Yes, this is Damian Sterling.” “Change the bride’s name on the welcome sign. Put Serena Croft instead.” My hand clenched around the spoon. The voice on the other end hesitated. “Mr. Sterling, but what about Ms. Hayes…” Damian pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing at me. “Ms. Hayes? She’ll be the maid of honor.” He hung up and took a sip of his milk. “Serena said she’s dreamed of wearing a wedding dress since she was a kid. She’s pregnant now, we can’t upset her.” “We’re practically an old married couple anyway, it’s just a formality. Let her have the bride’s spot, think of it as fulfilling her dream.” His tone was casual, like he was discussing something completely trivial. Serena came out of the bedroom wearing my nightgown and wrapped her arms around Damian’s neck. “You’re so sweet, Damian.” She turned to look at me, her smile innocent. “Sienna, will you be my maid of honor? I want you to witness my happiness with your own eyes.” Damian tapped the table, prompting me. “Serena asked you a question. Don’t be petty, it’s just a dress.” I looked down at the oatmeal in my bowl. Ten years of devotion couldn’t compete with one casual request from her, and now even my place as the bride was stolen. I set down the spoon and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Fine.” Damian smiled with satisfaction. “That’s more like it. We’re a family, we should get along.”

“There’s a business gala tonight. Wear something plain, don’t steal Serena’s spotlight.” On the couch lay a cheap, dated dress he’d tossed at me. Behind him stood Serena in a designer maternity gown, wearing my pink diamond necklace. “Damian, do I look good in this?” Serena lifted her skirt and spun in a circle. Damian walked over and put his arm around her waist. “Beautiful. You’ll be the most stunning woman there tonight.” He turned to me, his brow furrowed. “What are you standing there for? Go change. Don’t waste time.” I picked up the gray dress and walked into the guest bedroom. By the time I came out dressed, Damian had already left with Serena. I had to take a cab to the hotel myself. When I pushed open the ballroom doors, Damian was holding a champagne flute, laughing and chatting with several business partners. Serena clung to his arm, the picture of elegance. I walked over, about to take my place behind Damian. “Mr. Sterling, who is this?” A partner gestured toward Serena. Damian raised his glass, all smiles. “Let me introduce you. This is my fiancée, Serena Croft.” A chorus of flattery rose around them. “Ms. Croft is absolutely radiant. You two make such a perfect couple.” Another partner recognized me. “Wait, then who’s Ms. Hayes over there?” The ballroom went quiet for a moment. Everyone’s eyes turned to me with curiosity and mockery. Damian paused briefly, not even turning around. “Her? My sister.” Ten years together, and I’d become his sister. He couldn’t even give me a decent explanation, casually erasing every trace of me. I stood in the corner, watching Serena accept everyone’s congratulations. Halfway through the gala, Serena walked toward me carrying a glass of red wine. “Oh no!” She suddenly stumbled, half the wine splashing across my gray dress. The red liquid dripped down the fabric, making me look pathetic. “Sienna, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Serena covered her mouth, putting on a performance of panic. Damian rushed over and shoved me aside, pulling Serena into his arms. “Are you okay? Did you hurt the baby?” He turned to glare at me, his tone harsh. “Why were you standing so close? You know she’s pregnant and you’re still crowding her!” “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass yourself here.” I didn’t argue, just turned and walked toward the restroom. After the gala ended, we waited in the parking garage for the driver. Serena suddenly cried out. “Damian, I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.” Without a word, Damian crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” Serena climbed onto his back, her arms wrapped around his neck. Over Damian’s shoulder, she looked back at me following behind. Her lips moved silently. “Your ten years don’t measure up to my three months.” I stopped walking, staring at their overlapping silhouettes. Damian turned his head, impatient. “Sienna Hayes, can you walk faster? The car keys are in your bag, stop dragging your feet!” I stood still, not moving. “Hand them over!” Damian raised his voice. I unzipped my purse, pulled out the car keys, and threw them on the ground with a sharp clatter. Damian froze. I didn’t look at him. I turned and walked to the curb, flagging down a taxi. Back at the penthouse, I opened my phone. The photo album held over three thousand pictures, all of Damian and me through the years. I selected batch delete and removed them one by one until every single one was gone. I cleared our pinned chat history too. One final message popped up, from Damian. “Remember to try on the maid of honor dress tomorrow. Serena wants pink.” I didn’t reply. In the corner of the living room, three packed suitcases sat quietly against the wall.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701yohEW4b8w9 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni936970”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The pack has a rule. Every ten years, the pack will give birth to twin she-wolves. One will take a mate. The other must stay behind and become the Lunar Seer to guard the pack. The Lunar Seer never takes a mate, and she is never permitted to leave the pack territory. When we were kids, my older sister said she would become the Lunar Seer and let me go to the Citadel. So under my efforts I was chosen by the Citadel, which meant I could make a living in the capital, far from this isolated pack. And I made a promise with my love, Soren. When I turned twenty-two, he would claim me as his mate. We will live in the capital. The day arrived, I prepared myself and waited, my heart pounding with nervous excitement. Soren came and stopped at my family’s lodge. Pushing down the wild joy in my chest, I heard him lean against the carriage, speaking to someone. “I came here to claim Elodie as my mate. We will move to the capital.” “You do not understand. Their parents favor the older daughter. If I do not take Elodie, she will be forced to become the Luna Seer.” “Tamsin at least earned her place at the Citadel. She can leave and make her own life. Their parents definitely will not force her into anything.” I silently wiped the makeup off my face. Tomorrow is the day of the consecration ceremony, for the Luna Seer. I sat on the edge of my bed. My chest felt tight with bitterness. Because of my sister’s promise, I had to yield everything to Elodie. Our parents favored her, too. But compared to all of that, freedom was too important. All these years, I carried guilt and shame, pushing myself to the breaking point with barely any rest. Just for a position in the Citadel. But now she used my mate to play the victim. She did this on purpose. She never truly wanted to spend her life confined to the pack, just wanted to reap the benefits without sacrifice. I sat on the bed, wiping off the foundation layer by layer. The woman in the mirror slowly revealed her true face. Nothing special about it. Just an ordinary face, ordinary eyes, an ordinary nose. Identical to my sister Elodie’s face. But since childhood, everyone said she was beautiful, said she was gentle, said she looked like the Lunar Seer. They said I was wild, said I was rough, said I was improper. Outside the window came the sound of the carriage door closing, then footsteps approaching. Soren was coming but I did not move. I gripped the cloth in my hand, staring at that face in the mirror, forcing myself to see it as a stranger’s face. He knocked on the door. “Tamsin, I am here.” I said, “Come in.” He pushed open the door and froze for a moment. He probably had not expected me to have removed my makeup and not be wearing the ceremonial dress I had prepared, just an old tunic as I sat on the bed. “You…” He walked in. “Why have you not changed clothes?” I looked at him. “What are you here for?” He paused, then forced a smile onto his face and walked closer. “To claim you, of course. We made a promise, did we not? Twenty-two years old, I come to take you as my mate.” “Whose mate?” He stopped. I continued watching him. “Soren, I am asking you. Whose mate did you come to claim?” His smile slowly faded. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. “Tamsin, let me explain—” “No need to explain.” I stood up and placed the cloth on the table. “What you said just now, I heard everything.” His expression shifted. “You said Elodie did not earn a place at the Citadel and cannot leave, so you came to take her as your mate.” I said. “You said I earned my place and can make my own life, so it does not matter for me.” “Tamsin—” “You are saying you weighed both of us,” my voice remained even, “and decided I was less deserving of your protection, so you came here to take her away instead?” He opened his mouth but could not form words. I knew it. He could not deny it because that was the truth. Soren and I have known each other for five years, been bonded for three. He has seen Elodie fewer than five times. But he still weighed us. On both sides of the scale, one side held me, the other held her. And he decided I could carry my own weight, so he did not need to help me. “Soren,” I took a step back. “Go off.” He frowned. “Calm down. I have my reasons for this—” “I am calm,” I said. “Much calmer than you think.” He looked at me, hesitating to speak. Footsteps sounded outside, then came Elodie’s voice, soft and sweet with a hint of tears. “Tamsin, I know you are angry, but you do not know, I actually…” She pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed with tears clinging to her lashes. She looked beautiful when she cried. It had always been this way since childhood. One tear, and everyone felt sorry for her. Even I used to feel sorry for her. But now I only looked at her and said, “Elodie, you do not need to explain to me.” She froze. “Tamsin…” “I have no right to blame you,” I said. “I was too foolish to think the promises between us meant anything.” I was speaking to both Soren and Elodie. Silence fell for a moment. Then I said, “I am going to the Sacred Cavern. You two can wait here.” “Wait,” Soren followed. “What are you going to the Sacred Cavern for?” I did not turn around. “To tell Elder Torin,” I said, “that I will participate in tomorrow’s consecration ceremony.”

The Sacred Cavern lies in the deepest part of the pack territory. Moonstone torches lined both sides of the stone path, their flames casting dancing shadows on the ground when the wind blew. I walked slowly. Not because I was reluctant. My mind was just chaotic, and I needed to sort through everything before moving forward. I was thinking about what happened five years ago. That year I was seventeen, Soren came to our valley as an emissary from the Citadel. He sat on the stone steps reading, the setting sun painting his profile in gold. I had never seen anyone like him before. Clean, graceful, like he came from another world entirely. Later he asked me where the road outside the pack territory led. I said it led down the mountain to a town, and beyond the town was a city, and beyond that city were even greater cities. He asked what I wanted to see in the future. I said I wanted to see everything. He smiled and said, then see it all. I believed him right then. After he left, we began mind link, and it went on for five years. He said when I turned twenty-two, he would come to claim me as his mate and take me away. I asked him how he knew I would be willing to accept him by then. He said I would be willing, because I cared for him. I called him shameless at the time. But I truly did care for him. Five years, and I never fall in love for anyone else. When I reached the entrance to the Sacred Cavern, Elder Torin sat on the steps smoking his pipe. When he saw me, he narrowed his eyes. “You came,” he said. “I thought you would not come tonight.” I crouched down across from him. “Elder, I want to ask you something.” “Please.” “The Lunar Seer’s duty, does she truly have to remain within pack territory?” Elder Torin drew on his pipe. “The ancient law states the Lunar Seer guards the pack and protects the wolves. She never leaves pack territory, never takes a mate, devoted until death.” I nodded. “If the Lunar Seer left the territory, what would happen?” He paused and turned his head to look at me. “Which Lunar Seer would dare leave?” “I am just asking.” He drew on his pipe again, exhaling slowly. The smoke dispersed in the torchlight. “Have you decided?” he said. “Will you accept the consecration?” “I have not decided yet,” I said. “I just want to understand the rules clearly.” He watched me for a long time, then said something that surprised me. “Tamsin, do you know that your generation is the first time I have ever misjudged?” I froze. “What do you mean?” “You two sisters,” he paused. “I always thought the one who would stay would be your older sister.” “But that child, I watched her grow up. Her eyes have never truly fallen on this pack territory.” The wind blew past, and the torch flames flickered. “But you,” he said, “every time you come down from the mountain, you always look back.” I said nothing. “Truly look, not out of reluctance, but to remember,” he said. “Remember the paths, the mountains, every blade of grass and tree here.” “People who love a place and people who want to escape a place have different eyes.” I lowered my head. Something caught in my throat. “But I am not someone who should stay here,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse. “I have my own path to walk.” “You walk your path,” Elder Torin tapped out his pipe and stood. “But Elodie cannot walk that path. You need to understand that.” With that, he pushed open the door to the Sacred Cavern and walked inside. I remained crouched on the steps, watching his back disappear into the candlelight. Of course I understood. Elodie could never become the Lunar Seer. Not because she was inadequate, but because she could not hide that restless heart that wanted to leave. And according to the ancient law, the Lunar Seer must guard not only the pack, but also her own heart. If she could not guard her own heart, she could not guard the pack. I stood up and brushed the dust off my knees. The night wind lifted my hair. Footsteps sounded behind me. I did not turn around, but I knew who it was. “Are you really going through with the consecration?” Soren’s voice. I said, “I have not decided yet.” “Then why did you come to the Sacred Cavern?” “To understand the rules clearly.” He walked up and stood beside me. After a moment of silence, he said, “Tamsin, if you accept consecration as the Lunar Seer, you will never be able to leave for the rest of your life.” “I know.” “You earned your place at the Citadel. You have so many paths you could take—” “Soren,” I interrupted him and turned to look at him. “Did you come here today to claim me as your mate, or to claim her?” He didn’t say a word. I said, “Then there is nothing more to discuss.”

When I returned home, Elodie still sat in the main hall. Our parents were there too. When they saw me, Mother spoke first. “Tamsin, where did you go?” “The Sacred Cavern.” Mother froze. “You…” “I went to ask Elder Torin about the rules for the Lunar Seer consecration.” I sat down in a chair and looked at them. “Tomorrow is the ceremony. I wanted to understand clearly.” Father drew on his pipe and said nothing. Elodie lifted her head, her eyes still red. “Tamsin…” “Sister,” I called to her. “You said in the beginning that you would volunteer to stay behind as the Lunar Seer and let me go to the Citadel. Those were your words, correct?” Elodie’s fingers tightened. “Yes, but…” “There is no but,” I said. “You said it, and I remembered. Because of those words, I yielded everything to you. Mother and Father yielded to you. Whatever you wanted, the family found a way to give it to you.” My voice remained even. “You said you would give me the way out. I was afraid of failing you.” The hall fell silent for a moment. “But Sister,” I said, “what are you trading that promise for now? Trading it so Soren would come take you away?” Elodie’s eyes reddened and tears fell. “That was not my intention. I did not scheme against you. Soren and I just…” “Just what?” She choked out, “We just got along well, and he also thought I was pitiable…” Mother wiped her eyes beside us. “Tamsin, your sister has suffered too. She has known since childhood that she might have to stay here. You should understand her situation…” I looked at Mother. “What about me?” Mother froze. “I have known since childhood that if I was the one who stayed, I would never get out,” I said. “I understand her. Who understands me?” No one spoke. Father snuffed out his pipe and spoke, his voice muffled. “Tamsin, this matter is your mother’s and my fault, not your sister’s fault.” “We were the ones who contacted Soren.” I froze. “What?” Father sighed. “Your sister’s health is weak. These past two years it has gotten worse. We were afraid if she stayed in the pack territory…” He could not continue and paused. “We contacted Soren and begged him to come take your sister away.” “If we were going to beg him to come, we had to give him a reason.” “So we told him Elodie was pitiable and asked him to claim her as his mate.” Mother lowered her head. “You had been bonded with him for three years. He is someone who values bonds, so it was difficult to ask him directly. We told him you earned your place at the Citadel, that you could make your own way out, and only your sister had no way to leave…” I sat there and went through these words from beginning to end in my mind. Then I laughed once. “So,” I said, “the three of you schemed against me alone.” Father raised his head. “Tamsin—” “It was not scheming,” Mother rushed to explain. “We truly had no other choice. If your sister stayed here, she…” “What if I stayed here instead?” Mother stopped. “Mother,” I said. “If I were the one staying behind, would you work so hard to find a way out for me?” When I asked that question, the hall became as silent as stagnant water. No one answered me. I did not need an answer anymore. Some things, the moment you ask them aloud, you already know the answer. I stood up. “I will participate in tomorrow’s consecration ceremony.” Mother shot to her feet. “You cannot go! You earned your place at the Citadel. You have your future—” “My future is not something you need to worry about,” I said. “I fulfilled the promise with my sister. Now that she has taken back that promise, I should give her this way out.” “Tamsin!” I said nothing more and turned toward my room. Behind me, Elodie suddenly said, “Tamsin, I am sorry.” My steps paused. I did not turn around. “You are not sorry to me,” I said. “You just regret that this plan did not stay hidden from me.” I pushed open my door and closed it behind me, leaned my back against the door, and tilted my head to look at the ceiling in the darkness. My mind was chaotic yet clear. Chaotic with all the emotions accumulated over these years that had nowhere to go. Clear that starting today, some things could finally be let go.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701VzBD9ppNKC 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni552110”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

Because I knew my husband, Victor Harlan, would bring his widowed sister-in-law back to live with us, I quietly moved out of base family housing after I was given my second chance at life. Because I knew he would hand over his entire service allowance to Sandra, I raised Tina alone — never asking him for a single dollar. When Tina’s fever spiked and her life hung by a thread, the hospital called Victor because the bill had gone unpaid. He arrived breathless, his face tight with fury. “No money for treatment and you didn’t think to tell me? She nearly died, Ellie!” I watched his jaw work and looked away. “It was nothing. Didn’t want to trouble you.” Because in my first life, trying to stop Victor and Sandra from destroying everything, we spent ten years tearing each other apart. Sandra had racked up crushing gambling debts, and when I told Victor, he called me a liar. He kicked me hard enough to crack two of my ribs. To protect his brother’s fragile, sickly wife, he turned my parents into enemies of the household and drove them to their graves. In despair, I walked into the river. My child was left behind and starved to death. In that life, fighting for his love cost me everyone I had. In this life, I want nothing from him — not his love, not his attention, not even his pity. … Victor’s voice was barely controlled. “Ellie Gould. Our daughter almost died. And you call that nothing?” I kept my mouth shut. He stepped closer, jaw clenched. “Talk to me.” I laughed, low and quiet. “What would you like me to say, Victor? That you’ve been sending your entire allowance to Sandra every month without keeping a cent?” “Or that you used your last leave to spend three days with her instead of coming home for Tina’s birthday?” He took a half-step back. The look on his face was one I had never seen there before — something close to disbelief. Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a familiar cough. “Ellie, please don’t blame Vic. It’s all my fault. I never should have taken that money—” Sandra braced herself against the doorframe, pale-faced and frail. Victor’s throat moved. When he turned toward her, his voice had already softened. “Sandra, what are you doing here? The ward is full of germs — your lungs can’t take it.” Sandra pushed herself to the observation window and pressed her hands to the glass, eyes red. “It’s my fault. The money that should have gone to Tina’s care — it went to my prescriptions.” Victor caught her elbow gently, his voice full of a tenderness I had not heard in years. “Tina’s going to be fine. You need to go back and rest. I’ll handle things here.” I watched them move away together, then turned and held Tina tightly against my chest. “Ma’am.” The nurse stopped me at the desk. “I’m sorry, but without payment—” “Give me a little more time. I’ll have the money.” She looked at me the way people look at someone they feel sorry for. “She can’t wait much longer.” I squeezed the few coins in my pocket and walked out of the hospital. In my first life, I had carried Tina through a winter just like this one — burning with fever — and knelt on the hospital floor in front of Victor, begging him to save our daughter. He had looked down at me with disgust. “Get up. Have you no dignity? Look at yourself.” Sandra had stood behind him, her voice small and careful, driving every word like a nail. “Vic, Ellie’s just scared. It’s my fault really. But my leg has started hurting again—” She beat at her own bad leg, and Victor turned to her without hesitation. I had grabbed his arm. He shook me off and walked out. The cold had gone all the way into my bones, but I did not stop walking. This time, I would not hand my life or Tina’s to a man who could not see what was right in front of him. I went to the pawnshop and left my mother’s silver brooch on the counter. Then I ran back to the hospital and paid the bill. Past midnight, Tina’s fever finally began to break. I folded my arms on the edge of her bed and drifted off. I woke to a familiar presence standing over me. Victor spoke first, his voice rough. “Did you pay?” “Yes.” “Where did you get the money?” “Pawned the brooch.” I kept my voice flat, as if I had given away something worthless rather than the last thing my mother had left me. He was quiet for a long time. “That brooch belonged to your mother, Ellie. How could you just—” “What else was I supposed to do?” I turned and looked him in the eye. “Wait for you to save a little from Sandra’s prescriptions and grocery runs?” His face flushed dark. “Watch your mouth! Sandra is sick! My brother died young and she’s been alone ever since — of course I look after her. Is that a crime?” Again. That sentence. I had heard it so many times in my first life I could recite it in my sleep. “She’s fragile,” I repeated, slowly, and let the irony carry itself. “So Tina and I are supposed to be the durable ones?”

Victor’s face went gray. “Tina is my daughter. You think I don’t care? Ellie, stop keeping score.” I closed my eyes. I was too tired to keep looking at that face — the one I had once loved, obsessed over, and then learned to hate. “Victor. From this day on, I’m done making allowances for you two. I’m also done fighting. And I am done hoping.” “What does that mean?” “It means you can take care of Sandra however you like. But Tina and I — that’s no longer your concern.” “Ellie!” His hand closed around my wrist. “Is this about money? Fine. I’ll draw next month’s allowance tomorrow. Every cent. Just stop talking about separating.” His fingers were warm. The touch turned my stomach. I pulled my arm free and rubbed the red mark on my wrist. “Keep it. Sandra will need it for her next round of prescriptions.” His chest heaved. “Fine. See how long you last on your own. And don’t forget you’re still living in base housing.” I smiled, reached into my coat pocket, and held out a folded sheet of paper. “Actually. This is for you.” It was a handwritten Voluntary Waiver of Base Family Housing, signed and dated in my own hand. “When did you—” His mouth opened and closed. “The day I moved out. I’ve been carrying it since then.” I kept my voice even. “Sign it. Tina and I are done taking up space that belongs to someone else.” Down the hall, Sandra’s voice drifted toward us, soft and trembling. “Vic? You’ve been in there so long. I can’t stop worrying—” She appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, wearing her suffering like something carefully arranged. “Ellie, please don’t do anything rash. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave you both alone—” Her eyes filled. Victor stepped toward her at once. “Sandra. Stop that. I made a promise to my brother. You’re not going anywhere.” He looked at me over his shoulder — and in that look was the same disappointment I had seen a thousand times before, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. “Ellie, look what you’re doing to her.” He signed the form. “But Tina is my daughter. That doesn’t change. When she’s better, I’m coming to get her.” I took the paper, folded it carefully, and tucked it away. “Safe travels.” He guided Sandra out without looking back. At the hospital entrance, under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. He never once glanced back at the window where Tina lay. In my first life, I had drowned myself in the river over this man. Tina was left alone. Sandra forgot her. By the time anyone thought to look, she was gone. I had heard — much later, in the version of events that haunts me still — that Tina’s last words were whispered into an empty room. “Mommy, I’m so cold. I’m so hungry. Where are you?” The tears came before I could stop them, sliding down in silence. “Tina. Not in this life. No one is going to hurt you again.” I dried my face. My eyes went cold. Victor Harlan. This time, you take nothing from me.

After leaving base housing, I rented a small room on a side street near town. During the day, I picked up alterations and mending work — hemming, patching, whatever people brought to the door. In the evenings, by lamplight, I sewed rag dolls and cloth animals for Tina. Word got around now and then that Victor handed over most of his allowance to Sandra each month — imported vitamins, new clothes, specialist appointments. That information passed through me like wind through a screen door. One evening, I was returning from dropping off a batch of finished alterations when I saw a crowd gathered outside my door. My stomach dropped. I pushed through. Inside, the room was destroyed. My sewing things were scattered everywhere; three garment orders I had taken from base families lay in pieces on the floor. Sandra stood in the middle of it all, composed and faintly pleased. “I saw Ellie hiding subversive pamphlets in her sewing basket. She’s been working against the base community. Against all of us.” She held up a few crumpled slips of paper. Two MPs stood near the door, arms folded. “Ms. Gould. Sandra Harlan has filed a report claiming you concealed prohibited materials on premises. Do you have anything to say?” The neighbors murmured. “Can’t believe it. She was doing alterations for military families. What was she hiding in there?” “No wonder Victor Harlan put her out—” I recognized the play. It was the same one Sandra had run on my parents in my first life — a quiet accusation, a ransacked room, a crowd already half-convinced. This time I would not freeze. “What proof do you have?” Sandra’s satisfaction sharpened. “The room. The papers. What more do you need?” “Victor Harlan is here!” Someone called it from the back of the crowd. Victor pushed through and walked in. His gaze moved across the ruined garments, and then he turned it on me. “Ellie. Do you understand what you’ve done?” Sandra moved quickly to his side, her voice dropping to something wounded. “Vic, I only came to check on her. I never imagined I’d find — this.” He put a hand briefly on her arm. When he looked back at me, there was no warmth in it. “Evidence is right in front of us. What is there to argue?” In my first life, he had looked at me exactly this way. No question. No pause. Sandra had accused my parents and he had believed her instantly, led the search himself, watched my father’s head split on a doorframe and my mother collapse. “You have no case,” I said. “These garments belong to base families. Every order has a receipt with a date, a description, and the customer’s signature. The paper trail is complete.” “As for those slips of paper — I’m requesting a handwriting analysis.” Sandra’s color shifted. “That’s enough!” Victor cut across me. “Ellie, making this official helps no one. Apologize to Sandra, and I’ll make this go away.” He had done this before, too. Used my humiliation as currency to keep Sandra calm. I pulled my arm back and looked at him steadily. “I have done nothing wrong. I will not apologize for something I didn’t do. And I don’t need you to make anything go away.” His patience ran out. He pointed at the MPs. “This is a failure of household conduct and it reflects on my command. Whatever the investigation requires, we’ll cooperate fully.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607016mgylT8qqs 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni418452”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The morning school resumed after winter break, my stepmother, Donna, pressed a dented case of off-brand protein shakes into my duffel bag. “Take these. Drink them at school.” They were the ones people brought as hostess gifts over the holidays — the kind nobody actually wanted. They’d been sitting in the pantry for weeks. Dad was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. “I’m not sending you money this semester. You worked that winter job, didn’t you? Made two thousand, right? That’s five hundred a month — four months, perfect.” “You’re eighteen now. Time to learn what independence looks like.” My hands went still inside the duffel bag, hovering over nothing. Across the room, my half-sister Madison was glued to her phone. Suddenly she shrieked with excitement. “Yes! I got the floor seats! Dad, I need you to book the flights — and I want to stay at a five-star hotel!” Dad pulled her into a hug and agreed to everything before she’d even finished the sentence. Donna glanced at me from the corner of her eye. The diamond studs in her ears caught the light. The three of them huddled together, laughing, scrolling through hotel options on Dad’s phone. I had watched this kind of warmth directed at everyone else in this house for ten years. It still knocked the air out of me every time. My phone buzzed. A text from my bank. 【Chase Bank: Dear Ms. Rachel Holt, your Certificate of Deposit ending in 1234 has matured. Principal: $800,000. To renew, reply 1.】 A certificate of deposit? I counted the zeros twice. Eight hundred thousand dollars. I assumed it was a phishing scam. I didn’t reply. “Dad.” I kept my voice flat. “I earned that two thousand to finally get this mole removed.” I touched the corner of my mouth — a raised, dark mole, nearly the size of a pea, that had been drawing stares my whole life. Dad, Gary Holt, squinted at it with undisguised contempt. “College and suddenly you think you’re a socialite. Stop wasting money chasing vanity.” “Just like your mother. Born under a bad sign.” Donna — Linda Holt — wore a thick layer of foundation and batted her false lashes. “Oh, sweetheart, once you graduate, I’ll personally take you to get that taken care of.” That was the promise on rotation. After middle school. After high school. After you start college. Now: after you graduate. The mole had only gotten larger. The deadline kept moving. I’d already called a dermatologist before break. Two thousand dollars. Gone now. The entire winter holiday I hadn’t taken a single day off, working doubles at a fried chicken shack — on my feet from open to close, grease burns freckling my forearms. I looked at Madison humming to herself as she swiped through the concert seating chart. Something tightened in my chest. “Dad, you dropped two grand on her floor seats without blinking. You won’t give me five hundred a month for groceries. And I’m your biological daughter.” Dad’s face went red. “Watch your mouth with me.” “Fine. Your mother has been dead for ten years. You want the truth? Here it is.” “Madison is my daughter — mine and Linda’s.” Donna turned her face to the wall. Said nothing. Mom died ten years ago. I’m eighteen. Madison is fourteen. Dad started sleeping with Linda when I was four years old. Back then, Mom was still healthy. She was the top accountant at her firm — brilliant, always busy. She spent long days at the office, sometimes never making it home for dinner. I remember the look on her face during those years. A kind of grief she couldn’t quite wash off. But every time she saw me, she’d erase it. She’d pull me close and smile like I was the only good thing left. When I was seven, she got sick. She spent a year in the hospital. Near the end, Dad held her hand by the bedside. “Susan, are there any savings in your name? You’re leaving, but the rest of us still have to live.” Mom’s cheeks were hollowed out. She was colorless. She asked him to lean in closer. Then she spat in his face. Dad had carried a grudge against her ever since. I reached into my duffel bag and yanked out the protein shakes. Set them on the floor. Linda’s expression tightened, but she kept it hidden under a thin smile. Dad clamped his hand over mine. “Linda went out of her way to get those for you. Show some gratitude.” “She specifically asked us not to drink them — she saved every last one for you.” I pulled away. He grabbed my arm. A sharp, searing pain shot up to my shoulder. The burn blisters from the fryer were still healing, still weeping under the skin. Tears blurred my vision. “Saved them for me, or just didn’t want them for anyone else?” “If they’re such a gift — keep them for Madison.” The slap came fast. It wasn’t the first time. I pressed my fingers to my cheek and looked at him — forty-five years old, breathing hard, eyes burning. For ten years, I had waited for him to love me differently. He was my father. I was his blood. I waited ten years. Nothing changed. Now I understood why. I lowered my head and went back to packing. School started soon. I just had to leave. But I thought of the mole, and something in me went dull and aching again. I was so tired of watching people’s eyes catch on it. If only I had the money. If only.

I zipped the duffel bag and retreated to my room. First thing: turn on the light. My room had no window. Without the light, it was a cave. There were five bedrooms in this house. Dad and Linda had the master suite. Madison’s room was right next door — painted lilac, with a gallery wall of her favorite artists. The remaining three rooms: Dad’s tea and whiskey lounge, Linda’s walk-in closet, and a dedicated fan merchandise room for Madison’s celebrity obsession. I lived in the storage room under the stairs. I hadn’t even been worth a north-facing bedroom. Linda nudged the door open a crack. “Rachel, honey, I washed some grapes for you. Come have some.” The cluster she held out had dry, shriveled stems. The skin was puckering. I’d seen Madison pick one off earlier, chew it, and spit it into the trash. “Ugh. Sour. Disgusting.” What Madison wanted, I never got a taste of. What Madison rejected, Linda packaged up for me with a smile. Mom had been gone one month when Dad brought Linda into the house. He told me to call her Mom. I couldn’t make the word come out. Linda set the grapes on my nightstand, then dipped into her pocket and produced two hundred dollars. “Here, Rachel. I don’t have a lot on me right now, but take this — for when you get to campus.” Her nails were freshly done. A deep, aggressive red. I stared at her. “Drop the act.” Dad appeared behind her and snatched the money. “See what coddling her gets you? She’s completely insufferable.” “From this point on, she gets nothing from this house. Not one cent. Let’s see how that mouth of hers does without our support.” He threw the grapes on the floor and ground them under his shoe. “And she’s not eating tonight. One day without food. Maybe she’ll reflect on what she has.” “She needs to understand who runs this house.” In high school, my monthly allowance was three hundred dollars. When I started college, it went up to five hundred. My first month of freshman year, I spent nearly all of it on the cheapest train ticket I could find — a hard seat, eight hours each way. I arrived on campus with three hundred and eighty dollars left. By the last week of that month, I was surviving on discount bread and canned beans. When I called Dad to ask for next month’s money, he tore into me before I could finish the sentence. “Already? It’s been barely three weeks. Do you think I’m an ATM?” “I work myself half to death and you’re up there living it up at my expense.” “Keep spending like this and you can forget about school. Go find a factory job.” He wired the five hundred dollars two weeks later. I slid Mom’s photo out from under my mattress. Stared at it until my eyes blurred. If she were still here. The smell of dinner drifted under my door. Madison’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Oh my god, Mom, you made so much! This is amazing!” Nobody called me. My stomach felt like it was folding in on itself. I used to go hungry so often that my stomach had developed a Pavlovian response — any sign of an empty afternoon and the cramping would start. Madison’s voice again, bright and easy. “Mom, your ribs are literally my favorite thing in the entire world. You’re the best.” Linda’s voice, warm and unhurried: “Eat as much as you want.” I crouched on the floor and made myself as small as possible, trying to wait out the pain. My phone rang. The bank. “Hello, is this Rachel Holt? A Certificate of Deposit opened ten years ago in your name has matured. Would you like to roll it over or withdraw?” “I think you have the wrong person. I don’t have a savings account like that. Ten years ago I was eight.” “Ten years ago, a Ms. Susan Holt deposited $800,000 into an account registered in your name.” “Can I ask — what is your relationship to Susan Holt?” Susan Holt. My mother. I pressed the phone tight against my ear and lowered my voice to barely a whisper. “Can I take the money out?”

I tucked Mom’s photo inside my jacket, grabbed my ID, and walked out the door. Linda looked up and nudged Dad. “Don’t stay angry at the kid. She lost her mother young — it makes a person difficult. That’s all.” “Rachel, come eat with us. The food’s getting cold.” I looked at the picked-over dishes on the table — the scraps and bones that remained — and gave her a smile that said everything. “What exactly am I supposed to eat?” Dad was already at the sideboard, arranging his whiskey glasses, satisfied and full. “There’s plenty left. Ungrateful to your core. And when you’re done eating, wash the dishes and wipe down the table.” I turned and walked out. Behind me, Dad’s voice rose. “She’s completely out of control. If she’s got so much nerve, she can walk out that door and never come back.” Then Linda’s voice, measured and smooth. “Where do you think she’s going? Maybe follow her, just in case. Kids this age can be so fragile. If she does something rash — ” “Good riddance. She’s an adult. I don’t owe her a thing.” I walked faster until their voices fell away entirely. The bank branch was fifteen minutes on foot. The teller who received me was cheerful and professional. She laid it out clearly: the principal was eight hundred thousand dollars. Ten years of compounding interest added approximately one hundred and twenty-eight thousand. My account — the one ending in 1234 — currently held nine hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars. I stood at the window and couldn’t speak. She slid a sealed envelope across the counter. “Ms. Susan Holt stored this with us ten years ago. She asked that it be given to you when the account matured.” My hands were shaking. Inside: a letter, a key, and a property deed. I unfolded the letter. The paper had gone soft and yellow at the edges. *To my Rachel at eighteen — are you doing okay?* *I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to watch you grow up.* *Before I go, you are the only thing I cannot let go of.* *The money in this account, and the apartment that goes with this deed — these are your eighteenth birthday gifts from me.* *If life has been kind to you, then this is just something extra, a little more sunshine. If life has been hard — don’t be afraid. I’m still here, standing behind you.* *About your father — I think you already know. I won’t say more.* *Loving you always,* *Mom* *2016* Those few short lines. I read them again and again until the paper was wet. She knew. She had always known about Dad and Linda. Ten years later, standing in this bank, I finally understood the grief that never left her face. Why she refused to tell Dad what she had saved. Why, with the last strength she had, she spat at the man holding her hand. She had known everything. And she had spent the time she had left making sure I would be alright. I folded the letter and pressed it inside my jacket, next to her photo. I stared at the balance on the screen. Nine hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars. I thought about Dad — the way he’d turned the house upside down after the funeral looking for anything she might have left. How he’d found nothing and decided she must have hidden it from him out of spite. How he’d convinced himself she was reckless with money, or worse. How he’d punished me for it for ten years. The healed-over burn blisters on my arm itched. I pressed my fingernails against them. Then I made a fist. This money was hers, and she gave it to me. No one was going to touch it.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701DsnUZuNEmT 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni632409”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The door opened. I started undressing. Three years of this had taught me not to think. Not to fight. Just comply. But tonight, instead of heavy breathing and the stench of feral musk, I heard a voice. “Elara, would you like to return to your mother’s side?” I had four fathers once. Four SSS-level Alpha Kings who ruled the four kingdoms. The Dragon King. The Bear Emperor. The Nine-Tailed Fox. The Phoenix Lord. I grew up beloved by all of them. I inherited my mother’s S-level calming power. I was the most envied female in the realm. Until Giselle arrived. The daughter of their former fated female. She whispered lies, and my fathers believed every one. She said I cursed her. The Dragon King stitched my mouth shut. She said I poisoned her. The Nine-Tailed Fox threw me into the Shadow-Spider Cavern, where insects devoured my face and ate my left eye. She said I defiled her. The Bear Emperor threw me into the Feral Dens. I became a rut slave. Mounted, clawed, bitten bloody by berserk shifters. And through it all, I was forced to use my calming power to soothe their savage minds. Three years of that. And now, a voice in the dark was offering me a way out. …… I jerked my head up. The room was empty. The voice came again, echoing inside my skull. It said it was Mother’s guardian spirit. That Mother was a traveler from another realm who’d left in a hurry, not knowing I’d survived. Now she knew. And she wanted me back. All I had to do was die. “Elara,” it murmured, “your mother has been desperate since learning you exist. Are you willing—” I didn’t let it finish. I grabbed a rusted blade and pressed it to my throat. Yes! Mother was alive! I’d see her soon! Pure joy drowned my fear of death. Just as I pulled back to slash— —something massive slammed into my wrist. Pain shot through my hand. The blade clattered to the floor. A taloned foot stomped down on it. “Elara. You trying to kill yourself?” I looked up. My mouth opened instinctively. “Fourth Dad.” I regretted it immediately. His expression darkened. “Don’t call me that. I severed our bond years ago.” The man before me was Rowan, the Phoenix Lord. When I was small, a feral warlord kidnapped me. Rowan tracked my scent alone to the warlord’s lair. He knelt before his sworn enemy in full shift, bared his throat three times, and let the warlord tear six gashes through his wings. All just to get me back unharmed. After I was rescued, I cried over his wounds. He just nuzzled my hair and said those gashes didn’t hurt at all. But watching me cry hurt so much he wanted to die. Of the four fathers, Fourth Dad loved me most. Too bad that love vanished four years ago when Second Dad brought injured Giselle back from the borderlands. I’d always known the four fathers shared an obsession—a female they’d never gotten over. I just didn’t know it wasn’t my mother. It was Giselle’s mother. They say the four fathers were once outcasts, each exiled from their own kind. Young Mother found them and helped each one reclaim their territory and rise as Alpha. They say Mother was their fated female—all four of them. But just before the bonding ceremony, Giselle’s mother Genevieve appeared. The moment she appeared, all four fathers shifted to her. After that, Mother supposedly grew jealous and tormented Genevieve. Finally, consumed by despair, Mother drowned herself in the river. After Mother died, Genevieve vanished too. Only when Giselle returned did the fathers learn the truth. Genevieve left because she felt responsible for Mother’s death. I never believed it. My instincts screamed Mother was innocent and Genevieve was poison. But fathers didn’t trust me. They said I was jealous like Mother, competing for mates. So whenever Giselle and I clashed, they chose her. Before long, I went from the most treasured female in the realm to a Feral Den slave. Fourth Dad picked up the fallen blade and studied the cut on my throat. Then he flipped it and drove the edge toward me. I jerked back. The blade kissed my skin, opening a fresh wound. Fourth Dad smiled coldly. “If you want to die so badly, why dodge?” “You’re just like your mother, Elara. Pathetic. Both of you hurt yourselves for attention.” “She was smarter though—she did it in front of all four of us.” “You picked this shithole. Stupid.”

I started to explain I wasn’t acting. Then I remembered—they never listened anyway. So I lowered my head. “You’re right, my lord. May I ask—did you come all this way just to watch me perform?” Fourth Dad blinked. “Don’t flatter yourself. Today is Giselle’s birthday and her Naming Rite. She’s being declared Sacred Female. She says she’s willing to forgive you. I’m here to bring you to her.” Three days ago I’d heard: First Dad was naming Giselle the Sacred Female. A title the four fathers had promised me since I was ten. Before, if someone took what was mine, I’d tear the whole territory apart. Now I just said, “I don’t want to go.” Fourth Dad stared. “That’s not your choice.” He grabbed me and dragged me out. Then brought me back to his nest, had me washed and groomed. He summoned his sky carriage, a gilded chariot drawn by two winged serpents. On the way, Fourth Dad wouldn’t stop talking. Bare your throat when you see Giselle, don’t provoke her, submit. My chest ached. The higher we flew, the louder Mother’s voice called in my head. So I stood, pushed open the carriage door, and jumped. I heard Fourth Dad’s scream behind me. At this height, I’d surely die. But the impact never came. I landed in warm arms instead. Fourth Dad had caught me. His wings folded around us as we crashed and rolled twice on the ground. His furious roar shook the air. “Elara! Have you lost your mind!” I looked up. Blood from a gash on his forehead dripped onto my face. I reached up to wipe it away. His expression turned vicious. “Stop these games. You just want to see if I still care. I don’t. I’d catch any falling creature. If I’d known you’d pull this, I never would’ve dove after you.” “Next time you want to die, go ahead. I won’t bother.” My hand froze. I caught the shimmer of the river below us. I smiled bitterly. “Good. Remember that, Rowan.” Before he could react, I sprang up and dove straight into the river. Fourth Dad nearly drowned as a cub. Deep water terrified him more than anything. And after what he’d just said? He wouldn’t save me. So when the icy current flooded my lungs, I was happy. Finally. I was going home to Mother.

I don’t know how long the darkness lasted. When it lifted, I sat up—desperate to find Mother. Then someone’s hand cracked across my face. “Selfish bitch! We only had you doing chores at the dens, and the second you see Rowan you throw yourself in the river? You know he almost drowned saving you!” Third Dad’s voice rang overhead, his face twisted with fury. Of the four fathers, I’d been closest to him. The others were too busy ruling their clans, so raising me fell to Third Dad. He taught me to read scent trails, identify healing herbs, mix remedies. He was always gentle. No matter what I did wrong, he never punished me. He only guided me with soft words. But the day Giselle returned, this male who’d never even bared his fangs at me struck me for the first time. Giselle touched one of his venomous spirit beasts and got stung. She swore I was the one who put it on her. Third Dad’s tails lashed the air. He struck me across the back so hard my skin split open. “This is my fault, Elara. I didn’t raise you properly. That’s why you’ve become so rotten, treating lives like toys.” Later when Giselle was poisoned again, Third Dad fed me a pill that attracted shadow-spiders. Then he threw me into the Venom Pit. Thousands of creatures burrowed into my flesh, laid eggs under my skin, burst out in sprays of blood. Even after Third Dad healed me, I’d lost my left eye. Seeing my silence now, he took it as admission. His fury deepened. He raised his hand to strike again. Fourth Dad caught his wrist. “Brother, calm down. Today is Giselle’s Naming Rite. Elara probably can’t handle it. She tried killing herself three times in front of me.” I glanced at Fourth Dad. He’d shifted back to human form. His wounds were bandaged. But his face was deathly pale. Third Dad snorted. “You’ve been away from court too long. She’s pulled this stunt dozens of times over four years. Just another grab for attention.” Fourth Dad paused—then exhaled in relief. “So that’s what this is.” Third Dad turned back to me. “Elara, today is Giselle’s birthday. Throw your tantrum here if you must—but don’t you dare make a scene in front of First Dad and Second Dad. You know how they are…” Before he finished, I lunged for the medicine chest behind him. I’d lived with Third Dad long enough to know exactly where he kept his deadliest poisons. I grabbed the worst one and swallowed it. Third Dad’s face went white.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701ZfUs7nHokc 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni045069”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix