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InactiveJun 29, 26
To repay a debt, she offered her wholehearted devotion, nursing a comatose man…
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To repay a debt, she offered her wholehearted devotion, nursing a comatose man back to health, only to be framed by his first love's schemes. With tears in her eyes, she signed the divorce papers, left decisively, and transformed into an untouchable icon. ===== "Put your signature on these divorce papers and get out of the Mitchell family's house right now!" Rodger Mitchell shouted, fixing his wife, Emilia Harris, with a cold stare, his eyes sharp enough to cut through her. "I swear I didn't push Violet. Why won't you believe me?" Emilia's voice trembled. Her reddened eyes spilled with unshed tears, while her ch**t ached with unbearable sorrow. "She leapt into the pool on her own--she framed me..." "I've heard enough!" Rodger's patience snapped. His hand shot out, fingers tightening around her neck with cruel force. Panic crashed into her, leaving her gasping for breath. Despite the suffocating pressure, she stared back at him, refusing to look away. One lone tear slid down and landed on his knuckles, burning him enough that he jerked his hand back. G**ping, Emilia tried to breathe, but a different kind of ache gripped her ch**t. Three years she had given him everything--only for it to end like this. Was this what her life had become? She had become nothing more than the b**t of everyone's jokes. To them, she was nothing more than a pitiful f**l to laugh at. "If you sign the papers right now, you'll still walk away with thirty million, the beach house, and a new sports car. Drag this out, and you'll get nothing at all," Rodger threatened with cold indifference. Emilia let out a brittle, sarcastic laugh. "You think that offer is generous?" Fury lit his eyes, and for a moment he looked ready to strangle her again, but the raw despair in her gaze stopped him short. Something twisted deep in his ch**t, though he shoved it down. Maybe it was the sight of Emilia, helpless and broken, that made something inside him hesitate for the first time. "Don't let your greed ruin what little you have left, Emilia. You nearly took Violet's life, and I haven't even started making you pay for that," Rodger said, his tone as cold as a winter storm. "I never touched her! Whatever happened by that pool isn't on me!" yelled Emilia, frustration boiling over in her voice. She could have shouted the truth until her lungs gave out, but not a soul here was willing to listen. Nobody in the Mitchell family gave her the benefit of the doubt. "You're pushing me to my limits! If you hadn't been so heartless, she wouldn't have had an attack so suddenly! You knew exactly how little time she had left, and you still treated her like that!" Rodger's glare burned with accusation. "You really want to talk about heartlessness?" Emilia shot back, her tone sharp as ice. "When you had the car accident and became a vegetable, she, then still your girlfriend, abandoned you and went abroad. If her time is running out now, maybe that's just fate giving her what she deserves." "Don't you dare speak ill of her!" Rodger barked, his hand shooting up, ready to strike. Emilia moved faster this time, grabbing his wrist before he could touch her. Her gaze met his, eyes fierce and blazing with resolve. Rodger had never seen this side of her before, and the sight stopped him cold. She had always seemed weak and forgettable. When did she sharpen into someone who could stand like this? "You! Who gave you the nerve--" Before Rodger could finish his sentence, her palm cr**ked across his face with stunning force, painting his cheek with a bright red mark. The s**p rang out, echoing in the room. "I've had enough! From this moment on, I owe the Mitchell family nothing," Emilia said, tearing her hand from his grasp. Just then, his phone buzzed loudly. He answered, the scowl on his face deepening as he listened. "What do you mean Violet's condition has worsened? Still nothing from Asclepius? Pay whatever it takes--get him here! We're running out of time for Violet!" Asclepius--a guy who was rumored to have miraculous medical skills and had thus earned the title--was the only one who could cure Violet's illness. Rodger ended the call, turning on Emilia with a glare that could have cut glass. "If anything happens to Violet, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life paying for it!" With a sneer, he tossed out his threat and stormed off down the hallway. Tears shimmered in Emilia's eyes, turning them a deep red. As she watched his retreating back, a hollow laugh slipped from her lips. If not for everything she'd done, Rodger would still be trapped in a hospital bed, lost in a world of darkness. All she ever gave was loyalty. Still, her dedication meant nothing next to the admiration he reserved for another woman--Violet Morgan. A memory flickered through Emilia's mind--Violet's voice still echoed, moments before she plunged into the water. "You might have taken him from me, but getting him back would take nothing but a whisper." Emilia could never forget that look of victory in Violet's eyes or the sly smile that curled on her lips. A harsh, bitter laugh escaped as tears slipped down Emilia's cheeks. Under her breath, she muttered, "Violet, you may have won this time. But your fate is in my hands." The truth was, the real power had always rested with her. Behind the name everyone whispered in desperation--Asclepius--stood Emilia herself, the one healer who could work miracles. A steely resolve flashed in her eyes. Picking up the pen, she scrawled her signature across the divorce papers, not pausing for a second. It was all over. Everything was over. The marriage that had consumed three years of her life had ended in ruin. Her gaze shifted to the portrait of Arthur Mitchell, Rodger's late grandfather. "Arthur," she murmured, "you gave me another chance at life. Today, that debt is settled. I walk away owing nothing to your family." She gathered her things without fuss. Head held high, Emilia stepped out of the Mitchell home, never glancing back. Chapter 2 Resurface Inside the hospital's bustling entrance, Emilia strode through with her suitcase in hand. Once she'd left the Mitchell estate, Emilia made straight for the hospital the moment she learned her bestie, Sloane Stewart, had been admitted. She barely reached the hallway when Rodger's little brother, Sebastian Mitchell, blocked her path. Sebastian had always gone out of his way to sneer at her, finding every opportunity to take jabs. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here!" Sebastian snapped, his glare brimming with anger. "Violet nearly died because of you!" Emilia's expression didn't waver. "What happens to Violet is none of my concern," she said, her voice colder than steel. "Now step aside." "Why would I? You came here to cause more trouble, didn't you?" Sebastian shot back, annoyance twisting his features. "I'm giving you one last chance. Move out of my way," said Emilia, her gaze hardening with a dangerous edge. Sebastian squared his shoulders, refusing to give an inch. "I'm not budging!" Without another word, Emilia seized his arm and flipped him flat onto the floor, moving with unexpected force. A heavy thud filled the hallway, followed by Sebastian's gr**n of pain. He hardly had a chance to process what happened. Without looking back, Emilia stepped right over Sebastian, ignoring him as he writhed on the floor. From behind, Sebastian's voice, twisted with rage, rang out. "Emilia! You'll regret this!" Elsewhere in the corridor. "Well, would you look at that!" Wilbur Collins let out a whistle, his eyes wide with surprise. "When did Mrs. Mitchell become such a force to be reckoned with? I always thought she was sweet and quiet. Guess she fooled all of us." Elias Dixon's gaze stayed fixed on Emilia, his expression unreadable. His cool stare tracked her every move. There was something about her boldness and swiftness that had caught his eye. "You're still staring, Elias? Don't tell me you've got an interest in her," Wilbur teased with a sly grin. Seated in his wheelchair, Elias kept his gaze cool. His slender fingers tapped a steady rhythm against his thigh. Several years ago, an orchestrated ambush had nearly stole his life, leaving him broken after the crash. Although the accident hadn't ki**ed him, Elias would never walk again. Without a miracle from Asclepius, he faced a lifetime tied to this wheelchair. Every time he recalled how his search had led straight to Inferno--the infamous assassin syndicate--a cold, ruthless spark ignited behind his narrowed gaze. There was no doubt in his mind. Lord Inferno--the leader of this organization--had a hand in this mess. "Any updates on Asclepius?" asked Elias. Wilbur's usual smirk faded as soon as the words left Elias's lips, his expression turning grave. "Tracking down Asclepius is like chasing a shadow. He vanished completely four years ago. No trace, no leads. If you ask me, finding him now is almost impossible..." Wilbur let his eyes drift down to Elias's motionless legs, concern creasing his brow. The only person capable of curing Elias was that arrogant physician, the one who dared call himself Asclepius. A shadow passed over Elias's features, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's go." All hope had been drained from him, replaced by reluctant acceptance. Life in a wheelchair would be his new reality. Wilbur's hand was just reaching for the wheelchair's grip when his phone went off. "Yeah, what is it?" He answered, trying to sound casual. As the words came through the line, his expression transformed--shock, then disbelief, then something close to excitement. Once he ended the call, Wilbur turned to Elias, a playful spark in his eyes. "So, I've got two pieces of news. You want the good one or the bad one first?" Elias stared straight ahead, lips set in a hard line. He looked completely uninterested. Wilbur gr**ned, throwing him a look of mock defeat. "You could at least pretend to care." "I don't care about either," Elias replied, voice flat and cold. "Are you sure?" Wilbur's grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Lowering his voice, he leaned and whispered, "Asclepius just resurfaced." For a split second, time stood still. A jolt of disbelief hit Elias. His hands balled into fists, tension written all over him. He had already accepted that hope was gone, and no one could have foreseen a twist like this. Chapter 3 The Chance "Are you kidding me? How are you not reacting to that?" Wilbur said, eyeing Elias, who looked completely unbothered. After all, Asclepius was the only doctor with a real chance of healing Elias's legs. The truth was, Elias only looked composed on the outside. Inside, he was anything but calm. Beneath the surface, his thoughts churned. Wilbur shrugged. "You're no fun at all." He didn't bother dragging it out any longer. "Here's the story: Asclepius has finally resurfaced. The catch is, he's going to choose a random patient with a complicated case from the biggest racetrack in Oticester. Only one person will get treatment. Just imagine how many desperate people will show up. The odds of you being picked are slim at best…" Wilbur cast a sideways look at Elias and let out a long sigh. With chances that low, it was hard to stay optimistic--bad news indeed. "Better to have a slim chance than none at all," Elias replied, his voice cold and even. Wilbur nodded, trying to sound upbeat. "You're right. We'll just have to hope for the best when the day comes. Maybe you'll get lucky." He started pushing the wheelchair down the hall. "He's got a nerve, naming himself Asclepius…" A distant look settled on Elias's face. "Do you think he's earned that title?" "If anyone has, it's him. The man's skills are the stuff of legend, especially with tough cases." Wilbur's voice picked up energy, eyes shining with admiration. "I mean it, he's in a league of his own." A slight crease appeared between Elias's brows, almost unnoticeable, as Emilia's determined, frosty face flashed through his mind. Whatever else Wilbur said faded into the background. ... Meanwhile, in a private hospital suite, Rodger stood at Violet's bedside, worry clouding his expression as he took in her pale features. Suddenly, Sebastian burst through the door, frustration etched on his face. "Rodger! Emilia has gone too far this time! Where is she? Hasn't she already started making trouble?" Rodger shot him a sharp glare, silencing him in an instant. "Enough, Sebastian." Sebastian recoiled, but couldn't help muttering, "She's the reason Violet's like this, and you're still defending her? "I'm not defending her. I just want you to keep quiet so Violet can rest!" Rodger's patience wore thin, veins pulsing at his temples. Realization hit Sebastian, and his tone softened. "Oh, sorry, Rodger. I got the wrong idea." Right then, Violet's eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened slowly. The first thing she did was clutch Rodger's arm, panic in her voice. "Rodger, where's Emilia? I slipped and ended up in the pool, and she had nothing to do with it..." Lowering her gaze, Violet chewed her lip, painting a picture of innocence and hurt. Sebastian's frustration exploded. "Violet! I saw her push you! You almost died because of her. Why are you still making excuses for Emilia?" Words caught in her throat, Violet looked like she wanted to defend Emilia, but all she did was bite her lip and pretend to look heartbreakingly fragile. Rodger's expression softened. He pulled her close, wrapping her in a comforting embrace. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad will happen to you. I'll track down the miracle doctor and get you cured. I promise." A tearful smile trembled on Violet's lips. "You've always been so good to me, Rodger. I never wanted to leave you, I just…" Her voice faltered as if her emotion overwhelmed her, the memories almost too much to bear. Back then, Rodger might have been a vegetable for life, so she had abandoned him and gone abroad. Her time overseas started out carefree, but a year ago, her life turned upside down. A rare illness plagued her, leaving her in agony every time it flared. Doctor after doctor failed her, until she heard whispers that Asclepius was the only one who could help. Hoping for a cure, Violet came home, the last rumors of the miracle doctor placed him in this city. Along the way, she decided she could also win back the now-recovered Rodger and use him to find Asclepius. "You don't have to explain. I never held any of that against you." Rodger brushed away her tears. Suddenly, his phone vibrated. Irritated, Rodger answered, but as he listened, his frustration vanished, replaced by a burst of hope. Sebastian leaned in, eager. "What is it, Rodger? Did something happen?" Grinning, Rodger held Violet's hand. "Asclepius resurfaces! Violet, we finally have a real chance. I won't let you suffer anymore. I'll do whatever it takes to save you." Chapter 4 The Miracle Doctor Meanwhile, inside another private hospital suite. "Why didn't you bother telling me you were admitted?" Emilia gave Sloane a sharp look. "I didn't think it was serious enough to trouble you, my precious Asclepius," Sloane explained, clutching her arm with a pout. Emilia could only shake her head, letting out a resigned sigh. "Trouble just follows you around, doesn't it?" "Forget about my problems. Is it really true--you actually signed the divorce papers?" Sloane asked, the question slipping out with a heavy sigh. For a moment, it seemed incredible that Lord Inferno, the leader of a notorious assassin organization, could be tangled up in a toxic relationship. Emilia said with a quiet smile, "Yeah. It's true." Sloane retorted, "Arthur's the only decent person in that whole Mitchell family. The rest of them are just fools!" "That's enough," said Emilia, voice calm and even, signaling she was finished talking about the Mitchells. "But why did you suddenly announce you'd pick some random patient?" Sloane's tone turned curious. When Emilia kept quiet, Sloane clutched her hand in alarm. "Don't tell me you still care about him. Is this some trick to win him back? Please tell me you've got over him!" Emilia let out a soft laugh. "Rest assured. Three years of being a fool was plenty for me. Ever since I walked out on the Mitchell family, I haven't once thought of returning." Relief washed over Sloane, and her shoulders relaxed as though a weight had lifted. "So what's really going on, then?" she asked, eyes bright with curiosity. Lowering her voice, Emilia leaned in and explained, "I've managed to pick up a lead--whatever I'm searching for might be with the Dixon family. I need a disguise to get close." Sloane's mouth fell open. "Wait, you're saying the other piece of--" She stopped herself mid-blurt, quickly whipping out her phone to type instead. "Are you saying the other half of the treasure map is in the hands of the Dixon family?" Emilia gave a slow nod. "That's the hunch, but I can't say for certain yet." "As long as this isn't about crawling back to that ba**ard, I'll let it go. But if you even waver, I swear I'll cut you off!" Sloane warned, her voice firm. A genuine laugh left Emilia. "I won't make the same mistake twice." "Good. That's the Emilia I like to see." Sloane's lips stretched into a smile as admiration glowed in her eyes. "You shine brighter when you're working toward something real. Oh, and-- are you going to tell your family what happened with the divorce?" Emilia shook her head, answering softly, "No, let's keep it between us for now. I'd rather spare them the worry." "Maybe that's for the best," Sloane remarked, a sly grin flickering as thoughts of the Mitchell family's fo**ishness crept in. "You know, if Rodger ever got a glimpse of your true identity, he'd be groveling in seconds." With a cold edge, Emilia replied, "Then he'll be waiting at the end of the line, since there are numerous people doing so." That got Sloane laughing hard. "That's exactly the Emilia I remember--fearless and confident! I wish I could see their jaws drop the day they discover who you really are. That's going to be a show." Sloane kept talking animatedly, while Emilia listened with quiet focus, adding a word here and there. ... A week drifted by. The racetrack brimmed with people, but today, the crowd was thick with patients facing their final battles. It wasn't an exaggeration to say the place looked more like a ward than a track. Each case brought its own grim weight. "Have you ever seen anything like this? It's as if every critical patient in the country showed up today!" "Even patients in comas were hauled in with entire medical teams. You can tell they belong to some wealthy family." "Tsk! Asclepius really is influential." "Yes! No one can deny his skill. He tackles the worst cases and somehow makes them walk out whole." "With a name like Asclepius, you'd expect nothing less. People around here also call him a miracle worker, and they mean it." People were discussing the various patients and the miracle doctor, Asclepius. Sebastian whispered, "Rodger, is he really as extraordinary as everyone claims? Or is this reputation nothing but a lie?" Rodger's eyes hardened, and he replied, "Stop doubting. If he weren't the real thing, the President might have..." The unfinished sentence told Sebastian enough. He murmured, "So the rumors about him curing the President are true?" Rodger's reply came flat and cold. "They're true." Out of the corner of his eye, Rodger spotted a familiar silhouette--Emilia. That woman again. She just couldn't leave him alone, even following him into a place like this. Annoyed, Rodger surged forward and caught her by the wrist. "Why are you here, Emilia? What scheme are you trying to pull this time?" ...... What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &3&

InactiveJun 28, 26 · 1d
💞📚"Alpha's Discarded Luna"📚Click to read more😍💕
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💞📚"Alpha's Discarded Luna"📚Click to read more😍💕

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Talia's POV I was trapped in the fire when my alpha mate finally came. But he didn't come for me. He ran past me—and lifted another woman into his arms. His first love. Imema. "Imema, are you hurt?" His voice shook with a fear he had never once shown me. I was lying three feet away, and he never looked down. "Aires…" My voice scraped out, thin and raw. The fire was too loud. I didn't know if he heard me at all. His men poured in. A boot came down on my hair, and the man didn't even slow. My wolf howled inside me. *Mate. Why isn't our mate coming for us?* "Alpha, the emergency room is ready," a beta said. "Get the best doctors in place," he said, hoarse but iron. "Nothing can happen to her. Do you hear me?" The words went into my chest like a blade and kept carving downward. He never even noticed that his own mate was trapped in the same fire. He turned toward the exit, carrying another she-wolf in his arms. Not me. Not his rightful Luna. My wolf went still. I felt nothing but cold, even as the fire crept up my arm. He flickered in the light beyond the door—then was gone. A beam cracked overhead and came down, snapping my ribs, pinning my legs beneath its weight. The pain whited out my vision. An ember dropped onto my cheek. My body began to feel weightless, as if something were lifting up and out of its shell. I felt like I was dying. When I woke, I was alone. White light. The flat smell of antiseptic. No flowers. No cards. No one in the chair beside the bed. Just that hollow ache under my ribs that no breathing could fill. I was seriously injured. And neither my husband nor my son even knew. A fire had nearly killed me—a fire I'd have walked out of without a scratch if my Alpha husband had spared me one glance. He'd chosen his first love instead. A she-wolf without a mark on her. I couldn't stay in that silent room. I held the wall and walked, step by step, into the corridor. That was when I saw them. Through a half-open door, Aires sat at the edge of a bed, cutting strawberries. He trimmed each stem, arranged each piece on the plate like it was the most important task in the world. Imema lay against the pillows, cheeks flushed, and opened her mouth for the berry he offered. My son sat on the other side, giggling, a spoon in his hand. "Open wide—this one's the yummiest!" "Good job, sweetheart," she said, ruffling his hair. "You'll make such a good husband one day." "I'm going to marry you!" Aeson announced. They all laughed. The sound came at me like needles. What a happy little family of three. And what about me? I'm clearly Aires' Luna. His wife. Imema's mother. But right now, I feel like a mistress—someone who can't be seen in the light of day. I turned and walked back, tears spilling over before I could stop them. I couldn't bear to watch anymore. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. The piano studio downtown. "Mrs. Talia? A customer has taken a liking to the piano your mother left behind. Can we sell it?" "Of course not," I said. "Don't let anyone touch it." "The customer said they'd arrive at four o'clock. Could you come over?" I turned to go—too fast. A medication cart came around the corner. A tray of glass shattered beside my hand; shards bit into my palm. The corridor went still. Everyone stared. Through the open door, Aeson's head snapped toward the sound. "Mom?" For a heartbeat his face was just confusion. Then it shifted into embarrassment—as if I'd shamed him simply by being seen. He looked away. Aires rose, set down the plate, and crossed into the corridor. His shadow fell over me where I knelt in the glass. He didn't offer his hand. He just looked down at me, cold as ever. "Are you following me?" I almost laughed. Following him. As if I hadn't been three doors down, bleeding, while he sliced strawberries into neat little pieces for someone else. "No," I said. "Then what are you doing on this floor?" His jaw tightened. Behind him, Imema had pushed herself up against the pillows, watching us. His eyes flicked back to her—just once. That was where his worry lived. "If you came to make a scene in front of her—" "I didn't come for anything of yours," I cut in. I pressed my bleeding palm to my chest and pushed myself to my feet. The glass shifted under me. I didn't let my face change. "Then why are you here, Talia?" There were a hundred answers. Because the fire nearly took my life. Because I screamed your name until it burned away in my throat. Because I'm your wife, and you carried another woman past my body like I was a fallen beam. In the end, I let just one of them out. "I almost died," I said. "Do you even care?" He said nothing. His face stayed calm. Unmoved. I had my answer. "…Never mind." I pressed my bleeding palm to my chest. "I'm fine. I only came to visit someone." Then I turned my back on him and walked toward the elevator. I don't want to explain anymore. No one will believe me, and no one will care. I have more important things to do. Chapter 2 Aires' POV Go to her. Vincent had been raking the inside of my skull since the second she hit the floor. She's bleeding. Something happened to our mate. Go— "She's fine," I said coldly. She was definitely faking it, just to get my attention. She'd done this trick too many times; I was sick of it. But I could smell it. Through the antiseptic, through the strawberries on Imema's tray, through the rosewater softness of the woman behind me—blood. Hers. It wasn't fresh—not from the fall just now. It smelled a day old, as if she'd been bleeding since before she ever got here. The awareness sat wrong in me. My wolf was more uneasy still. But I absolutely couldn't fall for it. She didn't have a mark on her that mattered. Imema was the one the doctors were still testing, the one who could barely stand. Imema was the one I should be concerned about. Talia was performing. She was always performing. I turned back to the room. Imema was holding a strawberry out to Aeson, the two of them laughing, my son's face open and bright in a way it never was for his mother. Good. That was how a family was supposed to look. Warm. Uncomplicated. I made myself watch it. I made myself not look at the door. I lost. When I turned my head she was already walking away—down the long white corridor, one hand on the wall, that oversized gown swallowing her, her hair loose down her back the way she'd worn it the first year, before she learned to pin it up small and quiet like everything else about her. She didn't look back. Not once. And something in my chest pulled tight, an old hook in old scar tissue, and dragged me five years down into the dark. I was twenty-four. I was dating Imema. She wasn't my fated mate, but I was sure I'd be with her forever. Then a scout dragged a half-dead she-wolf out of the eastern gorge, and the second the wind carried her scent to me—rain, something pale and flowering under the blood and silver—my whole life cracked down the middle. Mate, Vincent breathed, reverent, ruined. Finally. Ours. No. I knelt over her anyway. She was beaten near to death, poisoned, her veins gone black at the wrists. I carried her to our healers and sat by her bed three days, telling myself it was duty. When she finally opened her eyes, I had the words ready. I reject you. I'd practiced them in the dark like a prayer. I opened my mouth— "It's you," she breathed, before I could speak. Her eyes were steady on mine, clearer than they'd been in three days. "I knew you'd come back." And she pulled me down and kissed me. I never said the words. I've told myself a thousand times she knew what she was doing—that some cunning in her felt me slipping the hook and closed it for good. But the truth is I didn't fight it. The second her mouth touched mine, every generation of Alpha control bred into me burned off like fog, and there was nothing left but the bond and her scent and the starving pull of finally. "Stay," she said against my mouth. Not begging—certain. "Just tonight. I want to have you, my mate." "You'll regret this," I told her. It came out rough, unsteady—nothing like an Alpha's heir. "Then let me." Her fingers tightened in my hair. "Tomorrow's yours to ruin. Tonight is mine." I stayed. I let the bond take what it had been screaming for since the gorge. But even then, one cold thought stayed lit under the heat: Imema. I can't betray her. Vincent was wild for the rest of it. Mark her. Bite. Claim. Make it true— My teeth were at her throat, her pulse hammering against my mouth, my wolf howling for it. I didn't. It's the one thing I did right that night. You don't get to keep this one, I told him. She isn't ours to keep. I woke before dawn with her asleep on my chest and the weight of it caving in on me. I dressed in the dark. Before I left, I stood over her for a long moment—asleep, small, her hand still open on the sheet where I'd slipped out of it—and I did something I have never been able to explain to myself. I took the pendant from around my own neck. Old silver, my mother's before me, the Perseus crest worn nearly smooth. The one thing I never took off. I closed it into her palm. Later, I forced myself to forget that night. To forget that I'd found my destined mate at all. Imema and I were still together. But I was always distracted. I knew the pull of a fated bond was something an Alpha couldn't fully control. But I refused to let the mistake happen again. A few weeks later, Imema left to chase her dream at the conservatory. No warning. A letter, a closed door, a number that stopped ringing—gone, the way she was always threatening to go when things got hard. And in the wreckage she left behind, there was only one thing my mind kept circling back to. Her. So when the Coopers came—cars, lawyers, old-blood arrogance, her father at the front—and laid the pregnancy on the table between us like a winning hand, I didn't feel trapped. That's the part I can't forgive myself for. Your heir. Our daughter. You'll do right by both. She stood pale and silent behind her father, not begging, just watching me with those beautiful eyes— —and I wanted to. Goddess help me, I wanted to say yes for the right reasons. A mate. A child. A second chance at the thing I'd just lost. For one breath I let myself believe the bond had been mercy, not a trap. Then Theo pulled me aside and told me a cruel truth. The hunting "accident" that had taken Caleb the spring before—my oldest friend, the brother I chose, found dead in the cold two days too late—was no accident. It was her brother. A Cooper. A blood debt buried quietly in the dark, and I'd been standing there one signature away from marrying into the house that killed him. Ready to hand them my name, my heir, my real and stupid heart, while they laughed at me behind their lawyers. Something in me went out like a snuffed candle. I married her anyway. She carried my heir, and an Alpha pays his debts even to his enemies. No guests. No rings. No wedding she could ever show the world. I signed the papers with her hand cold in mine and hated her with everything the bond had tried to make me feel—because for one breath I'd let her in, and that was the most dangerous thing I'd ever done. Then, as if to prove I'd been right to seal myself back up, the money started to move. "Household expenses" at first. Then larger—sums leaving the pack's accounts every month, vanishing into Cooper hands. The family that took Caleb from me, bleeding my pack dry through the woman they'd planted in my house. When I asked where it went, she went silent. Always silent, as if I were the one who should be ashamed for asking. So I stopped asking. I stopped looking at her. I built the ice back inch by inch, thicker than before, until I could stand in the same room and feel nothing. That's the woman down the hall with a scratch on her palm and wounded eyes. My mate. My enemy. The snare I'm still caught in. "Aires?" Imema's voice pulled me back. "You went somewhere just now." "It's nothing." Rougher than I meant. I should have sat down and cut the next strawberry. Instead I was in the corridor. Finally, Vincent breathed. The bed was stripped. The room was empty. "Sir." A nurse hovered. "Were you looking for—" "No." I turned away. "Aires!" Imema came hurrying down the corridor, bright-eyed, breathless. "You'll never guess. The piano—the one I've wanted for years. They found it. A little shop downtown, a real Di Lian." Her fingers curled around my arm. "Come with me? You know how I sound when I play for you." I looked at Imema. She was the one I was supposed to want. "Okay," I said. Chapter 3 Talia's POV The cab let me out in front of Melody Works. Electra was waiting under the awning. She'd kept Di Lian safe for me for years—my mother's piano, the last thing of hers left in the world. "I tried to stall them," she whispered. "I said it wasn't for sale, that the owner was coming. Talia—it's him. He's already inside." I knew before she said it. I felt him through the glass. Aires. He stood beside the piano, and tucked against his side, gazing up at the worn black lacquer with shining eyes, was Imema. So he was the buyer. I pushed the door open. "It's not for sale," I said unequivocally. Imema turned first. "Talia… we were only looking." "That piano is mine." My voice came out rough, but it didn't shake. "The consignment is done. I came to take it home." Aires finally looked at me. His jaw tightened, as if my being there were one more thing I'd arranged to inconvenience him. "It's just a piano," he said, the way you'd reason with a difficult child. "I'll buy you ten." "I don't want ten. I want this one." "Don't be selfish." His voice cooled a degree. "It's Imema's dying wish." Imema said softly, one hand pressed to her chest. "I only wanted to give my last concert with a real Di Lian." Her eyes lifted to mine, wet and luminous. "But if it means so much to you, Talia, I'll find another. I would never want to take something precious from you." Said sweetly. Said so the whole shop could hear how gracious she was, and how cruel I'd have to be to refuse a dying woman who'd just offered to back down. She'd always been good at this. "At least you know your place. Anyway, I'm not selling it," I said again. "Not for any price either of you can name." Aires's expression hardened. "What if I insist that you sell? You cannot disobey my orders." "Or what." I looked at him. "This piano is the only thing I have left of my mother. She taught me to play on it before she died. Every key on it remembers her hands." My voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "Do you really have to do this?" For a moment he said nothing. "I'm asking you to stop being difficult," he said. And there it was. Five years, distilled into a single sentence. Everything I was, everything that mattered to me, weighed against Imema's passing whim—and found difficult. My heart was filled with bitterness. "No," I said. "I will never give it up. Not for her wish. Not for your patience. Not for anything." I let my eyes move from him to Imema and back. "You can buy every piano in this country. You can stand here and call me selfish in front of strangers until you're hoarse. It won't change the answer." Imema's lip trembled. A single tear slipped free. "Aires, it's all right. Please don't fight with her over me. I never wanted to come between you—" "You didn't come between us," I said. They both went still. "There's nothing left between us for you to come between." I said it to her, but it was for Aires. "I used to think there was. I told myself if I waited long enough, was good enough, quiet enough, he'd turn around one day and see me." I shook my head slowly. "He just looked right at me and called me difficult for wanting the last thing my mother ever gave me. I don't think I'll be waiting anymore." Aires's brows drew together. "Talia—" "Have the piano delivered to my address by morning." I looked at the shop assistant. Then I walked to the door. Electra stayed quietly by my side the whole time. But at this moment, she could no longer hold back. "How does he dare." Electra's voice shook with fury. "How does he stand there and call you difficult—over your own mother's piano—with that woman hanging off his arm." She caught my sleeve and turned me to face her. "Talia. He doesn't even know, does he. He still doesn't know." "Know what," I said quietly. "That it was you." Her eyes were wet and bright with anger. "The rogue attack, all those years ago. You were the one who pulled him back from the edge. You saved his life—and he's spent five years treating you like something he scraped off his shoe." Her hands curled into fists. "You even gave up everything for him. The stage, the music, your own name. You were going to be one of the great pianists of your generation, Talia, and you buried all of it in that house—for a mate who can't even let you keep your mother's piano." I froze and looked back at the lit window of the shop, where Aires was bending his head toward Imema, gently. Noticing my gaze, Electra took my hand and held it. I wanted to cry. The pain and the disappointment had gone somewhere too deep for that. I was already thinking, clearly and calmly: I want a divorce.

InactiveJun 28, 26 · 1d
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Talia's POV I was trapped in the fire when my alpha mate finally came. But he didn't come for me. He ran past me—and lifted another woman into his arms. His first love. Imema. "Imema, are you hurt?" His voice shook with a fear he had never once shown me. I was lying three feet away, and he never looked down. "Aires…" My voice scraped out, thin and raw. The fire was too loud. I didn't know if he heard me at all. His men poured in. A boot came down on my hair, and the man didn't even slow. My wolf howled inside me. *Mate. Why isn't our mate coming for us?* "Alpha, the emergency room is ready," a beta said. "Get the best doctors in place," he said, hoarse but iron. "Nothing can happen to her. Do you hear me?" The words went into my chest like a blade and kept carving downward. He never even noticed that his own mate was trapped in the same fire. He turned toward the exit, carrying another she-wolf in his arms. Not me. Not his rightful Luna. My wolf went still. I felt nothing but cold, even as the fire crept up my arm. He flickered in the light beyond the door—then was gone. A beam cracked overhead and came down, snapping my ribs, pinning my legs beneath its weight. The pain whited out my vision. An ember dropped onto my cheek. My body began to feel weightless, as if something were lifting up and out of its shell. I felt like I was dying. When I woke, I was alone. White light. The flat smell of antiseptic. No flowers. No cards. No one in the chair beside the bed. Just that hollow ache under my ribs that no breathing could fill. I was seriously injured. And neither my husband nor my son even knew. A fire had nearly killed me—a fire I'd have walked out of without a scratch if my Alpha husband had spared me one glance. He'd chosen his first love instead. A she-wolf without a mark on her. I couldn't stay in that silent room. I held the wall and walked, step by step, into the corridor. That was when I saw them. Through a half-open door, Aires sat at the edge of a bed, cutting strawberries. He trimmed each stem, arranged each piece on the plate like it was the most important task in the world. Imema lay against the pillows, cheeks flushed, and opened her mouth for the berry he offered. My son sat on the other side, giggling, a spoon in his hand. "Open wide—this one's the yummiest!" "Good job, sweetheart," she said, ruffling his hair. "You'll make such a good husband one day." "I'm going to marry you!" Aeson announced. They all laughed. The sound came at me like needles. What a happy little family of three. And what about me? I'm clearly Aires' Luna. His wife. Imema's mother. But right now, I feel like a mistress—someone who can't be seen in the light of day. I turned and walked back, tears spilling over before I could stop them. I couldn't bear to watch anymore. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. The piano studio downtown. "Mrs. Talia? A customer has taken a liking to the piano your mother left behind. Can we sell it?" "Of course not," I said. "Don't let anyone touch it." "The customer said they'd arrive at four o'clock. Could you come over?" I turned to go—too fast. A medication cart came around the corner. A tray of glass shattered beside my hand; shards bit into my palm. The corridor went still. Everyone stared. Through the open door, Aeson's head snapped toward the sound. "Mom?" For a heartbeat his face was just confusion. Then it shifted into embarrassment—as if I'd shamed him simply by being seen. He looked away. Aires rose, set down the plate, and crossed into the corridor. His shadow fell over me where I knelt in the glass. He didn't offer his hand. He just looked down at me, cold as ever. "Are you following me?" I almost laughed. Following him. As if I hadn't been three doors down, bleeding, while he sliced strawberries into neat little pieces for someone else. "No," I said. "Then what are you doing on this floor?" His jaw tightened. Behind him, Imema had pushed herself up against the pillows, watching us. His eyes flicked back to her—just once. That was where his worry lived. "If you came to make a scene in front of her—" "I didn't come for anything of yours," I cut in. I pressed my bleeding palm to my chest and pushed myself to my feet. The glass shifted under me. I didn't let my face change. "Then why are you here, Talia?" There were a hundred answers. Because the fire nearly took my life. Because I screamed your name until it burned away in my throat. Because I'm your wife, and you carried another woman past my body like I was a fallen beam. In the end, I let just one of them out. "I almost died," I said. "Do you even care?" He said nothing. His face stayed calm. Unmoved. I had my answer. "…Never mind." I pressed my bleeding palm to my chest. "I'm fine. I only came to visit someone." Then I turned my back on him and walked toward the elevator. I don't want to explain anymore. No one will believe me, and no one will care. I have more important things to do. Chapter 2 Aires' POV Go to her. Vincent had been raking the inside of my skull since the second she hit the floor. She's bleeding. Something happened to our mate. Go— "She's fine," I said coldly. She was definitely faking it, just to get my attention. She'd done this trick too many times; I was sick of it. But I could smell it. Through the antiseptic, through the strawberries on Imema's tray, through the rosewater softness of the woman behind me—blood. Hers. It wasn't fresh—not from the fall just now. It smelled a day old, as if she'd been bleeding since before she ever got here. The awareness sat wrong in me. My wolf was more uneasy still. But I absolutely couldn't fall for it. She didn't have a mark on her that mattered. Imema was the one the doctors were still testing, the one who could barely stand. Imema was the one I should be concerned about. Talia was performing. She was always performing. I turned back to the room. Imema was holding a strawberry out to Aeson, the two of them laughing, my son's face open and bright in a way it never was for his mother. Good. That was how a family was supposed to look. Warm. Uncomplicated. I made myself watch it. I made myself not look at the door. I lost. When I turned my head she was already walking away—down the long white corridor, one hand on the wall, that oversized gown swallowing her, her hair loose down her back the way she'd worn it the first year, before she learned to pin it up small and quiet like everything else about her. She didn't look back. Not once. And something in my chest pulled tight, an old hook in old scar tissue, and dragged me five years down into the dark. I was twenty-four. I was dating Imema. She wasn't my fated mate, but I was sure I'd be with her forever. Then a scout dragged a half-dead she-wolf out of the eastern gorge, and the second the wind carried her scent to me—rain, something pale and flowering under the blood and silver—my whole life cracked down the middle. Mate, Vincent breathed, reverent, ruined. Finally. Ours. No. I knelt over her anyway. She was beaten near to death, poisoned, her veins gone black at the wrists. I carried her to our healers and sat by her bed three days, telling myself it was duty. When she finally opened her eyes, I had the words ready. I reject you. I'd practiced them in the dark like a prayer. I opened my mouth— "It's you," she breathed, before I could speak. Her eyes were steady on mine, clearer than they'd been in three days. "I knew you'd come back." And she pulled me down and kissed me. I never said the words. I've told myself a thousand times she knew what she was doing—that some cunning in her felt me slipping the hook and closed it for good. But the truth is I didn't fight it. The second her mouth touched mine, every generation of Alpha control bred into me burned off like fog, and there was nothing left but the bond and her scent and the starving pull of finally. "Stay," she said against my mouth. Not begging—certain. "Just tonight. I want to have you, my mate." "You'll regret this," I told her. It came out rough, unsteady—nothing like an Alpha's heir. "Then let me." Her fingers tightened in my hair. "Tomorrow's yours to ruin. Tonight is mine." I stayed. I let the bond take what it had been screaming for since the gorge. But even then, one cold thought stayed lit under the heat: Imema. I can't betray her. Vincent was wild for the rest of it. Mark her. Bite. Claim. Make it true— My teeth were at her throat, her pulse hammering against my mouth, my wolf howling for it. I didn't. It's the one thing I did right that night. You don't get to keep this one, I told him. She isn't ours to keep. I woke before dawn with her asleep on my chest and the weight of it caving in on me. I dressed in the dark. Before I left, I stood over her for a long moment—asleep, small, her hand still open on the sheet where I'd slipped out of it—and I did something I have never been able to explain to myself. I took the pendant from around my own neck. Old silver, my mother's before me, the Perseus crest worn nearly smooth. The one thing I never took off. I closed it into her palm. Later, I forced myself to forget that night. To forget that I'd found my destined mate at all. Imema and I were still together. But I was always distracted. I knew the pull of a fated bond was something an Alpha couldn't fully control. But I refused to let the mistake happen again. A few weeks later, Imema left to chase her dream at the conservatory. No warning. A letter, a closed door, a number that stopped ringing—gone, the way she was always threatening to go when things got hard. And in the wreckage she left behind, there was only one thing my mind kept circling back to. Her. So when the Coopers came—cars, lawyers, old-blood arrogance, her father at the front—and laid the pregnancy on the table between us like a winning hand, I didn't feel trapped. That's the part I can't forgive myself for. Your heir. Our daughter. You'll do right by both. She stood pale and silent behind her father, not begging, just watching me with those beautiful eyes— —and I wanted to. Goddess help me, I wanted to say yes for the right reasons. A mate. A child. A second chance at the thing I'd just lost. For one breath I let myself believe the bond had been mercy, not a trap. Then Theo pulled me aside and told me a cruel truth. The hunting "accident" that had taken Caleb the spring before—my oldest friend, the brother I chose, found dead in the cold two days too late—was no accident. It was her brother. A Cooper. A blood debt buried quietly in the dark, and I'd been standing there one signature away from marrying into the house that killed him. Ready to hand them my name, my heir, my real and stupid heart, while they laughed at me behind their lawyers. Something in me went out like a snuffed candle. I married her anyway. She carried my heir, and an Alpha pays his debts even to his enemies. No guests. No rings. No wedding she could ever show the world. I signed the papers with her hand cold in mine and hated her with everything the bond had tried to make me feel—because for one breath I'd let her in, and that was the most dangerous thing I'd ever done. Then, as if to prove I'd been right to seal myself back up, the money started to move. "Household expenses" at first. Then larger—sums leaving the pack's accounts every month, vanishing into Cooper hands. The family that took Caleb from me, bleeding my pack dry through the woman they'd planted in my house. When I asked where it went, she went silent. Always silent, as if I were the one who should be ashamed for asking. So I stopped asking. I stopped looking at her. I built the ice back inch by inch, thicker than before, until I could stand in the same room and feel nothing. That's the woman down the hall with a scratch on her palm and wounded eyes. My mate. My enemy. The snare I'm still caught in. "Aires?" Imema's voice pulled me back. "You went somewhere just now." "It's nothing." Rougher than I meant. I should have sat down and cut the next strawberry. Instead I was in the corridor. Finally, Vincent breathed. The bed was stripped. The room was empty. "Sir." A nurse hovered. "Were you looking for—" "No." I turned away. "Aires!" Imema came hurrying down the corridor, bright-eyed, breathless. "You'll never guess. The piano—the one I've wanted for years. They found it. A little shop downtown, a real Di Lian." Her fingers curled around my arm. "Come with me? You know how I sound when I play for you." I looked at Imema. She was the one I was supposed to want. "Okay," I said. Chapter 3 Talia's POV The cab let me out in front of Melody Works. Electra was waiting under the awning. She'd kept Di Lian safe for me for years—my mother's piano, the last thing of hers left in the world. "I tried to stall them," she whispered. "I said it wasn't for sale, that the owner was coming. Talia—it's him. He's already inside." I knew before she said it. I felt him through the glass. Aires. He stood beside the piano, and tucked against his side, gazing up at the worn black lacquer with shining eyes, was Imema. So he was the buyer. I pushed the door open. "It's not for sale," I said unequivocally. Imema turned first. "Talia… we were only looking." "That piano is mine." My voice came out rough, but it didn't shake. "The consignment is done. I came to take it home." Aires finally looked at me. His jaw tightened, as if my being there were one more thing I'd arranged to inconvenience him. "It's just a piano," he said, the way you'd reason with a difficult child. "I'll buy you ten." "I don't want ten. I want this one." "Don't be selfish." His voice cooled a degree. "It's Imema's dying wish." Imema said softly, one hand pressed to her chest. "I only wanted to give my last concert with a real Di Lian." Her eyes lifted to mine, wet and luminous. "But if it means so much to you, Talia, I'll find another. I would never want to take something precious from you." Said sweetly. Said so the whole shop could hear how gracious she was, and how cruel I'd have to be to refuse a dying woman who'd just offered to back down. She'd always been good at this. "At least you know your place. Anyway, I'm not selling it," I said again. "Not for any price either of you can name." Aires's expression hardened. "What if I insist that you sell? You cannot disobey my orders." "Or what." I looked at him. "This piano is the only thing I have left of my mother. She taught me to play on it before she died. Every key on it remembers her hands." My voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "Do you really have to do this?" For a moment he said nothing. "I'm asking you to stop being difficult," he said. And there it was. Five years, distilled into a single sentence. Everything I was, everything that mattered to me, weighed against Imema's passing whim—and found difficult. My heart was filled with bitterness. "No," I said. "I will never give it up. Not for her wish. Not for your patience. Not for anything." I let my eyes move from him to Imema and back. "You can buy every piano in this country. You can stand here and call me selfish in front of strangers until you're hoarse. It won't change the answer." Imema's lip trembled. A single tear slipped free. "Aires, it's all right. Please don't fight with her over me. I never wanted to come between you—" "You didn't come between us," I said. They both went still. "There's nothing left between us for you to come between." I said it to her, but it was for Aires. "I used to think there was. I told myself if I waited long enough, was good enough, quiet enough, he'd turn around one day and see me." I shook my head slowly. "He just looked right at me and called me difficult for wanting the last thing my mother ever gave me. I don't think I'll be waiting anymore." Aires's brows drew together. "Talia—" "Have the piano delivered to my address by morning." I looked at the shop assistant. Then I walked to the door. Electra stayed quietly by my side the whole time. But at this moment, she could no longer hold back. "How does he dare." Electra's voice shook with fury. "How does he stand there and call you difficult—over your own mother's piano—with that woman hanging off his arm." She caught my sleeve and turned me to face her. "Talia. He doesn't even know, does he. He still doesn't know." "Know what," I said quietly. "That it was you." Her eyes were wet and bright with anger. "The rogue attack, all those years ago. You were the one who pulled him back from the edge. You saved his life—and he's spent five years treating you like something he scraped off his shoe." Her hands curled into fists. "You even gave up everything for him. The stage, the music, your own name. You were going to be one of the great pianists of your generation, Talia, and you buried all of it in that house—for a mate who can't even let you keep your mother's piano." I froze and looked back at the lit window of the shop, where Aires was bending his head toward Imema, gently. Noticing my gaze, Electra took my hand and held it. I wanted to cry. The pain and the disappointment had gone somewhere too deep for that. I was already thinking, clearly and calmly: I want a divorce.

InactiveJun 28, 26 · 1d
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I once had a best friend. She was so good to me, it felt like a performance. She married my ex-boyfriend, whose family was fantastically wealthy. She told me all rich men were terrible, so she was taking a bullet for me. She sold the Cartier wedding set he gave her, then told him the money was for my birthday gift. She maxed out the Amex Centurion card her husband had given her, then told him it was to pay off my gambling debts in Las Vegas. She was pregnant, but after sleeping with her husband's younger brother, she began to hemorrhage. She told everyone I’d been sleeping with strangers, and when she tried to talk some sense into me, I’d pushed her, causing the miscarriage. In the end, her husband dragged me to an abandoned warehouse outside the city and handed me over to some of his brother's criminal associates to make me "pay the price." I was violated there, and left to die in that wasteland. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she cheated and had the miscarriage. ... Every time Helena went to see her lover, she told her husband, Desmond DeLuca, that she was coming to keep me company. She always had a new excuse. Sometimes, she’d say I was reeling from a breakup and couldn't be alone. Other times, she’d claim I’d lost a fortune gambling and was a wreck. She even said I was having an abortion and she needed to be there for me. If Desmond hadn't shown up at my door in my previous life, his face a mask of rage as he listed every "sin" I'd committed, I might never have known how twisted my life sounded coming from someone else. Just then, Desmond's call came through. The second I answered, he was yelling. "Beatrice, do you have any idea what time it is? Why is Helena still at your place?" "I've had it with you. Grow up. The world doesn't revolve around you." "Helena is a married, pregnant woman. Stop clinging to her. Do you have any idea how pathetic you look?" "Or is this just you holding a grudge because I broke up with you? Are you trying to wreck my marriage? Helena is innocent in all this. If you keep using her, I'm done being nice. Send her home. *Now*." His voice was loud, his anger a raw, physical force. I could hear it in his tone—he was at the end of his rope. Back when I dated Desmond, I had always thought he was gentle. But Helena always said men were master actors, that they'd put on a show until you bought it. Whenever Desmond was a little kinder to me, Helena would insist he must have done something to feel guilty about. Later, Desmond and I hit a rough patch. Helena used that time to get close to him, filling his head with "stories" about me. With her poisoning the well, Desmond and I fell apart. If I hadn't once walked in on Helena twining her stockinged leg around Desmond's calf, I might have actually believed she was just helping me see him for the jerk he was. Not long after that, they were married. From then on, I made a point of keeping my distance from them both. But Desmond clearly didn't see it that way. He still called, frequently, to interrogate me. My life had been reduced to two functions: going to work and covering for Helena. The problem was, I never had any idea where she was or what she was doing. All I could do was parrot the lines she fed me. Until that day in my last life, when Desmond stormed into my apartment, screaming obscenities before he threw a bag over my head, shoved me into a car, and drove me to that warehouse. Only then did I finally understand that I was just the shield she used to protect herself. Thinking of how my last life had ended, a cold fury ignited inside me. Desmond DeLuca, tonight, you're going to be the one to rip your own perfect family apart. I said calmly into the phone, "Helena said she's playing cards and is on a winning streak. She doesn't want to come home. If you're that worried, you can pick her up yourself. She's at the hotel—......

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