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Twenty seven

Author: Zara
last update Last Updated: 2024-12-31 06:43:17

Edward:

The temple air still lingered in my lungs, a mix of incense and the faint earthy undertone of old stone, but my thoughts were far from the ancient halls and the Alpha Kings I had entertained. My mind was with Lianna.

Seeing her earlier, draped in white and gold, had left an impression on me that even the most pressing discussions couldn’t erase. She’d always been a woman who carried herself with a quiet dignity, someone who knew how to command respect without raising her voice. Today, though, there was something different about her—a radiance that went beyond her outward beauty.

"Your Luna is quite the spectacle," one of the Alpha Kings’ wives had commented earlier, her voice thick with condescension.

"She’s a woman of strength," I had replied, my tone steady. "She’s been through more than you could ever imagine and come out stronger for it."

They hadn’t expected me to defend her. Their silence, though brief, was telling.

Lianna had never been a source of sha
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  • Revenge on my Alpha husband   Twenty eight

    Lianna: I woke to the soft morning light filtering through the heavy curtains, my mind still groggy from the events of the day before. My first thought was of the wedding—how surreal it had all felt, like watching someone else’s life play out from a distance. The vows, the people, Edward… It felt like a dream, albeit one I couldn't escape. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the Palace stirring to life. I turned my head slightly and stared at the empty space beside me. Of course, Edward wasn’t there. He had his own chambers, a luxury afforded to us only because we were in the Royal Wing, far from the prying eyes of others. I rolled out of bed, my silk robe brushing against my skin as I tied it loosely around my waist. Just as I reached for the door to grab a glass of water, a knock startled me. When I opened it, Ingrid stood there, a bright grin on her face and a plate of cake in her hands. “Good morning, Mrs. Alpha King,” she teased, stepping inside without w

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  • Revenge on my Alpha husband   Twenty nine

    Lianna: The morning sun streamed through the wide glass windows, casting a warm glow over the sprawling gardens just beyond the walls. I paced the length of the sitting room, my fingers gripping the edge of a clipboard filled with notes. My nerves were eating me alive, though I’d perfected the art of looking calm and composed over the years. Today would test that skill more than ever. The tea afternoon with the ladies of the Pack. The words alone felt heavy, loaded with expectations I wasn’t sure I could meet. For days, I’d been preparing for this event, fussing over every detail. And yet, with each passing hour, I felt less ready. The dining hall where the maids were setting up was bustling with activity. Tables draped in fine lace were adorned with delicate floral centerpieces—roses, lavender, and sprigs of baby’s breath arranged in porcelain vases. Trays of finger sandwiches, tarts, and cakes were being placed on tiered stands alongside ornate teapots. Everything looked pe

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    Lianna: The air was warm, and fragrant with the scent of flowers and freshly brewed tea, but I felt none of its charm. I sat stiffly among the women gathered in the garden, their laughter ringing hollow in my ears. The tea party was going well, by all accounts. The tables were immaculate, the food perfect, and the games entertaining enough for the guests. But no one seemed interested in speaking with me beyond faux polite acknowledgments. I sipped my tea, my fingers tight around the delicate porcelain cup, and glanced toward the far side of the garden where a group of women were deep in conversation. Their voices were low, their expressions animated, and their laughter seemed to mock me. I wished Ingrid were here. She always knew how to make me feel at ease, how to bridge the gap between me and others. But I couldn’t keep depending on her for everything. I had to stand on my own as Luna. The games began shortly after the tea had been served. A servant brought out a set of

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    Edward: Negotiations had been dragging for days, and I was no closer to an agreement with the Vampire King than when we started. Every proposal I presented was met with polite refusals, thinly veiled insults, or counteroffers so ludicrous they might as well have been jokes. Resources, territory, military alliances—I’d put everything on the table, carefully sidestepping the topic of marriage between my brother, Ethan, and the Vampire Princess. It wasn’t that I thought it was a bad idea in principle. Politically, it made sense. But Ethan wouldn’t go along with it willingly, and the thought of forcing his hand didn’t sit right with me. So I focused on other options, trying to find a way to satisfy the King without binding my brother to a loveless union. The idea that things were going to go bad weighed heavily on me as I returned to the Palace. The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows over the gardens where Lianna’s tea party was in full swing. My thoughts drifte

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    Lianna: "You look really glowy this afternoon," Ingrid said as she took off my dress. "Based on what you said about the women being rude to you, you don't even look that offended, or like your day was ruined." I sighed. "Well, uhm, I'm not going to let them get to me. I'll have to get used to it until they eventually decide that it is time for them to stop talking about me." She nodded. "That's really impressive. I'm glad you're starting to grow a tough skin for real. I hate how they dampen your spirits because honestly, you don't deserve that." She pressed a kiss on my cheek and dumped my dress into a laundry basket. "What I am glad for is that the tea party went absolutely well. The decorations and meals were on point. If anyone starts to spread rumours about anything negative, they would have the media team to answer to." I turned and looked at her with raised brows. "Why the media team though? What have they got to do with this?" She patted my arm, chuckling as she pull

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  • Revenge on my Alpha husband   One hundred and ninety four

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    Lianna: The morning light was shy, barely bleeding through the velvet curtains when I cracked my eyes open. I didn’t need a clock to know what day it was. My chest already felt like it was caving in. The air hung heavy, saturated with that stale chill that often preceded sorrow. A mourning fog rolled outside our window like some prophetic omen, brushing ghostlike tendrils across the glass. Edward hadn’t moved beside me. His breath rose and fell in shallow waves, his hand still loosely curled around mine like he feared I’d disappear in my sleep. I shifted slowly, brushing a thumb over his knuckles. We were going to banish his brother. I sat up and pulled the duvet around me, the fabric swishing softly against my bare skin. My toes hit the floor with a shiver, the marble tiles beneath me as merciless as the decisions we had to make today. My robe hung at the edge of the armchair, still draped from the night before. I sl

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    Freya: The night felt too loud for how quiet it was. Crickets whined in the grass like tiny, angry violins, and the wind kept slipping through the cracked wooden shutters, brushing cool air against my bare arms like an unwelcome ghost. I was lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers I’d been chasing in circles. My bed creaked with the slightest shift, the old mattress groaning beneath the weight of my body. I shouldn't have come back here. I shouldn’t have returned to this house. I shouldn’t have ever listened to her. My chest ached. That tight, slow burn of regret that started somewhere beneath my ribs and dragged itself up to my throat like it had claws. I reached up and rubbed the heel of my palm against my eyes, trying to stop the tears that had already found their way to my pillow. My face was warm, wet. I could taste salt. My breath shuddered on the exhale. “I didn’t want this,” I whispered into the room, voice barely audible over

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    Edward: The eggs Tarantino made were, as he warned me, an absolute disaster. But the bread was warm, and it was good enough to make me forget about the burnt rubber taste of the eggs. We ate in silence, only the scraping of silverware and the occasional sip of coffee filling the air. My mind wasn’t exactly on the food anyway; it was stuck on the conversation we’d had earlier. Tarantino was right, of course. Everything happens for a reason. I could hear the words repeating in my head, like a stubborn echo bouncing off the walls. But as much as I wanted to believe him, that sentiment did nothing to ease the weight in my chest. Nothing could change the fact that I was sending my brother into exile, to a life without the Pack, without me, without any of the privileges that came with being a royal. But I couldn’t just let the sorrow flood over me, not in front of Tarantino. Not in front of the only person who still seemed to see me for more than just my title. So I swallowe

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    Edward: The drive was long, and Harvey wouldn’t stop humming that off-key tune under his breath like he was trying to win some invisible award for irritation. I didn’t say anything because well, silence stretching between us felt safer than opening my mouth and letting all the tangled thoughts spill out. My jaw ached from clenching it too tight. My nails had dug half-moons into my palm by the time we pulled into the small, quiet Pack territory that felt like the world had forgotten it. “I remember this place being a dusty excuse of a town,” I muttered, eyes flicking over the paved roads and fresh buildings. “Now look at it. They have actual sidewalks. I should’ve sent Ethan here for humility training.” Harvey chuckled but didn’t comment. Smart choice. It’d been years since I last came here. I was just a boy, clinging to my father’s hand while he laughed and pointed at the bakery with the awful scones and the house with the broken weather vane that somehow never got

  • Revenge on my Alpha husband   One hundred and eighty nine

    Lianna: The palace had never been this quiet. Not even during the former Alpha's father’s funeral, when the halls were draped in black silk and everyone spoke in whispers like mourning had a volume limit. No. This silence was different. It hung in the air like a mist, curling around the columns, sliding under doors, seeping into my skin like cold. I sat on the balcony, elbows on the marble balustrade, chin resting against the back of my hand. My eyes drifted somewhere beyond the courtyard, past the rustling hedges and the guards stationed like statues, to a place I couldn’t name. The sky was pale and slow today, the clouds dragging their feet like even they couldn’t be bothered to hurry. A soft breeze combed through my hair, lifting strands across my face, and I didn’t bother to tuck them behind my ear. Ingrid was beside me, her legs propped up on the ornate table, scrolling through her phone like it held the cure to this numbness

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