Elizabeth’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body slack against the cruel embrace of the experimental chair. Straps bit into her raw skin, long since chafed and torn, yet she no longer felt the pain. Her nerves had dulled, her senses numbed. She was more spirit than flesh now, drifting between worlds, untethered.Her head lolled to one side, dark strands of matted hair clinging to her sweat-soaked skin. Her once vibrant eyes, those fiery defiant eyes that had once shown with life and love, now stared at the ceiling—glassy, distant, the fight flickering out like the last glow of an oil lamp. There was no screaming anymore, no struggling. They had taken everything from her—her strength, her dignity, her voice.Yet within the silence, her mind slipped somewhere far from the sterile hell around her.She was eight again.The scent of wildflowers filled her nose, and golden sunlight poured through the trees of the glen behind her childhood home. Her mother laughed—a light, airy sound that
The first thing Daniella remembered was warmth.After weeks—perhaps months, she couldn’t be sure—of cold stone, rough rope, hunger, and fear so constant it felt like a part of her skin, the heat of the blanket around her was a shock. Her eyelids fluttered as light seeped through, soft and golden, nothing like the oppressive dimness of the place she’d been held. For a moment, she didn’t move. She was afraid that if she opened her eyes, the illusion would shatter and she would find herself back in that place again, chained to fear.But then came the sound of gentle voices—real voices, not threats or barked orders. The lilt of care, the rhythm of kindness. And something else… laughter. Childish, light, and echoing through walls that didn’t drip with damp or desperation.Daniella's eyes snapped open.She sat up too quickly, and her ribs protested with a sharp ache. The pain was grounding, almost reassuring. She was real. Alive.The room was simple, but clean and cozy. Pale cream walls, a
FIVE YEARS AFTER HIS LOSSAlpha Czar stood at the edge of the valley with his hands clasped behind his back. The scent of pine and frost filled his lungs, but it brought no comfort—not tonight. Not after all this time.He had come here on the same night every year for the past five years. A ritual of sorts. A silent vigil in the hope that the wind would change, that the earth would stir and return what had been stolen from him.His mate. His daughter.The memory still struck him with sharp, unforgiving clarity. One moment he had held her in his arms, his tiny daughter wrapped in her mother’s scent, warm and cooing softly against his chest. The next, there had been chaos—blood everywhere, screams in the darkness, and an aching silence that had never truly left him.He had searched every region, crossed every territory, called in every favour he was owed. Elders, seers, witches—he had begged them all. But each trail ran cold. And now… he was done.“I can’t do this anymore,” Czar murmure
Alpha Czar sat in his high-backed leather chair, a sealed ivory envelope resting in his palm. His fingers traced the wax seal embossed with the sigil of the Riverdale Pack—a howling wolf curled beneath a crescent moon. The letter had arrived just before dawn, hand-delivered by a warrior.Curiosity had flickered in his chest when he first opened it. Now, as his eyes scanned the invitation again, something strange unfurled in his chest—something old and aching.Together with their families, Alpha Dalton of the Riverdale Pack and Daniella Thornhill cordially invite Alpha Czar of the Emerald Pack to celebrate their union in marriage. The ceremony will be held under the full moon on the 14th of August, at twilight, in the sacred glade of Riverdale. A reception will follow under the stars. Your presence would honor us.Czar read it twice. Then a third time. He had received a personal invite, out of respect and a longstanding alliance with Alpha Reid, Dalton’s father.As his eyes
PRESENT TIME (SOPHIE AND DANIELLA)Life didn’t snap back to normal the moment they walked through the front door, but little by little, Sophie and Daniella found their rhythm again.The mornings, once quiet and still, began with the familiar hum of the kettle and the comforting scent of chamomile and cinnamon. Daniella would wake before Sophie, padding through the house in her slippers, letting the silence settle around her. It helped her breathe—helped her remind herself that they were safe now.Sophie, once hesitant to leave her mother’s side even for a minute, slowly began venturing back into her own room, her laughter gradually returning. At first, she trailed behind Daniella like a shadow—silent, watchful—but eventually, she returned to her books, her sketches, the odd habit of humming while brushing her hair.They kept things simple in those first few weeks. Grocery runs were done together, hand in hand. They cooked meals with music playing in the background—sometimes jazz, some
Daniella’s Point of View Liam is my mate. But I wasn’t his. The thought had carved itself into my mind like a wound that refused to heal, raw and stinging no matter how many years passed. Ten years. Ten years of loving him in silence, enduring his indifference and callousness. Ten years of my heart beating for a man who would never truly be mine, of chasing shadows, holding onto fleeting moments, and pretending it didn't hurt every time I saw him smile at someone else.After a stroke of faith, I got a job as Liam's secretary, and for seven years, I became a shadow at his side, his ever-loyal secretary, his secret lover when he felt like it. **************The morning air was crisp as I stepped into the Garvalle Holdings towering headquarters, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The receptionist gave me a quick, pitying glance—an expression I had grown used to. They all knew. Everyone in this building had seen how Liam treated me. I tugged at the hem of my blous
Chapter 2 Daniella’s POV I stood frozen for what seemed like a lifetime before Matilda's syrupy voice filled the air. “Ah, the coffee,” she purred. “How thoughtful.” her gaze never left me, her eyes glinted with something venomous beneath the veil of a practiced smileI ignored her tone and placed the tray on the table beside her. My hand had barely left the cup when Matilda suddenly stood, her chair screeching backward. Her foot wobbled theatrically, and the next moment, her shriek pierced the air.The tray tilted, spilling its contents. Most of the hot coffee splashed onto my leg, the searing pain making my breath catch. But Matilda clutched her arm “Oh!” she yelped, stumbling into me, blinking rapidly as if on the verge of tears. “I know you don’t like me, but this is too much. Bullying me like this?” her eyes wide with feigned innocence. My lips parted, words of protest bubbling up, but Liam’s head snapped up from his phone. His eyes zeroed in on Matilda’s reddened hand, a
#Chapter 3Daniella’s Point of ViewThe morning rain only dampened my spirit and made me want to stay in bed and nurse my wounds. My stomach churned, a deep, uneasy ache that hadn’t left me for days. I sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether to call in sick. I could barely stand the thought of facing Liam today—or his sister, Jessica, who always seemed to be lurking nearby.But calling out wasn’t an option. Liam wouldn’t understand. He’d see it as a weakness, an inconvenience. The idea of his disapproval made my stomach twist even more. I couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not when I had so much to lose. It was at times like this that I yearned for a family, being an orphan and alone in this world had never been so gut-wrenching as it was lately, I feel lost, alone, and afraid.When I arrived at the office, the air felt off, heavier than usual. Conversations stopped abruptly as I walked past, eyes darting away too quickly, as though they were caught red-handed. My instincts were alarmed,
PRESENT TIME (SOPHIE AND DANIELLA)Life didn’t snap back to normal the moment they walked through the front door, but little by little, Sophie and Daniella found their rhythm again.The mornings, once quiet and still, began with the familiar hum of the kettle and the comforting scent of chamomile and cinnamon. Daniella would wake before Sophie, padding through the house in her slippers, letting the silence settle around her. It helped her breathe—helped her remind herself that they were safe now.Sophie, once hesitant to leave her mother’s side even for a minute, slowly began venturing back into her own room, her laughter gradually returning. At first, she trailed behind Daniella like a shadow—silent, watchful—but eventually, she returned to her books, her sketches, the odd habit of humming while brushing her hair.They kept things simple in those first few weeks. Grocery runs were done together, hand in hand. They cooked meals with music playing in the background—sometimes jazz, some
Alpha Czar sat in his high-backed leather chair, a sealed ivory envelope resting in his palm. His fingers traced the wax seal embossed with the sigil of the Riverdale Pack—a howling wolf curled beneath a crescent moon. The letter had arrived just before dawn, hand-delivered by a warrior.Curiosity had flickered in his chest when he first opened it. Now, as his eyes scanned the invitation again, something strange unfurled in his chest—something old and aching.Together with their families, Alpha Dalton of the Riverdale Pack and Daniella Thornhill cordially invite Alpha Czar of the Emerald Pack to celebrate their union in marriage. The ceremony will be held under the full moon on the 14th of August, at twilight, in the sacred glade of Riverdale. A reception will follow under the stars. Your presence would honor us.Czar read it twice. Then a third time. He had received a personal invite, out of respect and a longstanding alliance with Alpha Reid, Dalton’s father.As his eyes
FIVE YEARS AFTER HIS LOSSAlpha Czar stood at the edge of the valley with his hands clasped behind his back. The scent of pine and frost filled his lungs, but it brought no comfort—not tonight. Not after all this time.He had come here on the same night every year for the past five years. A ritual of sorts. A silent vigil in the hope that the wind would change, that the earth would stir and return what had been stolen from him.His mate. His daughter.The memory still struck him with sharp, unforgiving clarity. One moment he had held her in his arms, his tiny daughter wrapped in her mother’s scent, warm and cooing softly against his chest. The next, there had been chaos—blood everywhere, screams in the darkness, and an aching silence that had never truly left him.He had searched every region, crossed every territory, called in every favour he was owed. Elders, seers, witches—he had begged them all. But each trail ran cold. And now… he was done.“I can’t do this anymore,” Czar murmure
The first thing Daniella remembered was warmth.After weeks—perhaps months, she couldn’t be sure—of cold stone, rough rope, hunger, and fear so constant it felt like a part of her skin, the heat of the blanket around her was a shock. Her eyelids fluttered as light seeped through, soft and golden, nothing like the oppressive dimness of the place she’d been held. For a moment, she didn’t move. She was afraid that if she opened her eyes, the illusion would shatter and she would find herself back in that place again, chained to fear.But then came the sound of gentle voices—real voices, not threats or barked orders. The lilt of care, the rhythm of kindness. And something else… laughter. Childish, light, and echoing through walls that didn’t drip with damp or desperation.Daniella's eyes snapped open.She sat up too quickly, and her ribs protested with a sharp ache. The pain was grounding, almost reassuring. She was real. Alive.The room was simple, but clean and cozy. Pale cream walls, a
Elizabeth’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body slack against the cruel embrace of the experimental chair. Straps bit into her raw skin, long since chafed and torn, yet she no longer felt the pain. Her nerves had dulled, her senses numbed. She was more spirit than flesh now, drifting between worlds, untethered.Her head lolled to one side, dark strands of matted hair clinging to her sweat-soaked skin. Her once vibrant eyes, those fiery defiant eyes that had once shown with life and love, now stared at the ceiling—glassy, distant, the fight flickering out like the last glow of an oil lamp. There was no screaming anymore, no struggling. They had taken everything from her—her strength, her dignity, her voice.Yet within the silence, her mind slipped somewhere far from the sterile hell around her.She was eight again.The scent of wildflowers filled her nose, and golden sunlight poured through the trees of the glen behind her childhood home. Her mother laughed—a light, airy sound that
The cell was always cold.No matter how long Elizabeth stayed there—days, weeks, years perhaps—her bones never grew used to the damp chill that seemed to cling to her skin like a second layer. The air was thick with mildew and rot, and the stone walls wept with condensation. The silence, when it fell, was almost worse than the screams that came before.She heard the iron door screech open again, and her blood ran colder.“No,” she whispered, her body trembling already from the day before. “Please—please not again.”Heavy boots approached. A gloved hand reached down and grabbed her by the arm—an arm so bruised and battered it barely felt like her own anymore—and dragged her out. She cried out as her knees scraped the rough stone floor.The guards always ignored her pleas.Elizabeth was hauled into the chamber again—the room that smelled of blood, fire, and wet leather. Chains hung from the ceiling like spiders waiting to pounce. A rusted grate in the floor whispered of what had already
The cell door creaked open with a groan that echoed through the narrow corridor, the iron hinges protesting the movement. Arya stepped out, her heeled boots clicking sharply against the damp stone floor. Her posture was elegant, commanding—her chin tilted ever so slightly upwards in that familiar way that made her seem like royalty in a place that reeked of rot and fear.She turned to the guards, her lips curling into a tight smile.“Lock the cell,” she ordered coolly without glancing back. “I don’t want any accidents.”The guards nodded silently and pushed the thick iron door shut with a deep metallic clang. One of them turned the key with a rough twist, and the deadbolt snapped into place with finality. Arya stood still for a moment, watching them with feigned patience, her hands clasped lightly behind her back.“The trial is scheduled, correct?” Arya asked in a silk-smooth tone, as if she were inquiring about afternoon tea, not the brutal torment of another living being.“Yes, my
“Arya…” Elizabeth’s voice rang out, quiet but clear, halting Arya’s retreat.Arya stilled, her hand on the door’s iron handle. “What?”Elizabeth swallowed hard, her voice cracking beneath the weight of pain and disbelief. “Why?”Arya paused mid-step. Her fingers curled around the keys at her hip. She did not turn.“Why what?” Arya asked, her voice smooth and clipped, though it carried an edge.“Why go to such desperate measures to get rid of us?” Elizabeth’s voice trembled with hurt and confusion. “Do you hate us that much? Why pretend? Why go so far? Was all of it a lie?”Arya stood still, her back to the bars. For a moment, Elizabeth thought she might walk away, might ignore the question entirely. But then Arya turned slowly, her brown eyes glowing faintly in the dim torchlight.There was a sneer on her face, cruel and cold, but beneath it, Elizabeth saw something else—bitterness, long-nurtured pain, and something dangerously close to heartbreak.“You really want to know?” Arya aske
The damp chill of the underground cell gnawed through Elizabeth’s thin, torn tunic, and the stench of mold and decay lingered in the air like a curse that refused to be lifted.Chains rattled faintly with her every movement, and little Habibah lay curled in her mother’s lap, her breath warm against Elizabeth’s bruised skin. Elizabeth’s fingers ran slowly through her daughter’s tangled curls, each strand a small comfort against the storm of fear in her chest. For a brief, aching moment, there was silence. Suddenly, the silence broke. The sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor—slow, deliberate, merciless. Elizabeth stiffened, her hand tightening around Habibah. The child whimpered.A cruel laugh drifted through the air, low and mocking, bouncing off the cold walls like a specter.“No,” Elizabeth whispered, eyes lifting toward the cell bars. “Please, not again.”The shadows moved, shaped themselves into a familiar figure. A woman stepped into the dim torchlight, flanked by three