I lowered my head until my forehead pressed against the freezing slate floorboards, completely unable to bear the weight of their gazes—or rather, the chilling absence of them.
My shoulders collapsed downward as an icy, suffocating shadow crept over my heart.
One by one, every single person in that luxurious suite turned away from me.
Not with a second of hesitation.
Not with a flicker of guilt.
They simply…
turned their backs.
Heavy leather boots shuffled against the floor, silk gowns rustled soft and rhythmic, and the heavy chamber door swung open and shut in a steady, relentless cadence—a brutal countdown marking the exact speed with which they discarded me.
They didn’t exchange a word.
They didn’t cast a single glance over their shoulders.
They filed out into the dark corridor in a pristine, orderly line, as if they had practiced this cruel ritual a hundred times, as if stepping over my broken body was the most natural thing in the world.
And when the last footsteps faded into the distance and the iron latch clicked into place, an absolute, crushing silence swallowed the room whole.
That was it.
Fate had thrown me into the pit once again.
It shouldn’t have cut me this deep—not after the lashes, not after the forced kiss, not after the public humiliation—but the cold abandonment pierced deeper than any leather whip ever could.
If they worshipped my sister so fiercely…
if she was the undisputed queen of their hearts, their loyalty, and their futures…
if she was officially betrothed to all three Alphas, then why…
why couldn’t they give me the single act of mercy I begged for?
Reject me.
Cast me into the cold.
Settle the score and sever this suffocating, cursed bond once and for all.
I would have welcomed the agony of a broken mate-bond with open arms.
It would have been a clean wound.
A final, decisive strike.
A pain with an ending—something I could bleed out from, survive, and eventually rebuild from.
But no.
They held onto the bond just tightly enough to keep me tethered to their shadows, forcing me to drown slowly without ever granting me the relief of hitting the bottom.
“I am giving you your chance,” I whispered into the quiet dark of my own mind, though there wasn’t a soul left to hear it.
“I’m done fighting.
I’m done caring.”
I had zero desire left to seek their warmth.
No wish to try, no tiny flame of hope to nurse, no foolish dreams of a morning where the hollow ache in my chest wouldn’t burn.
Something deep within my spirit snapped—a thin, hairline fracture that raced through my soul, shattering the last pillars of my resilience.
Before I could clamp my jaw shut, a fresh deluge of tears erupted.
Hot.
Violent.
Unstoppable.
They poured down my cheeks in scalding rivers, soaking my chin, dripping off my jawline, and pooling on the dark stone beneath my knees.
Every shred of pride had been beaten out of me, leaving behind only the bitter, poisonous regret of ever being born at all.
I regretted the day I drew my first breath.
Regretted the blood in my veins.
Regretted being bound by sacred fate to men who viewed my existence as a stain upon their floor.
For a long time, my body refused to move.
I simply remained on my knees in the empty chamber, letting the silent walls witness my complete, unmitigated ruin.
Eventually, my legs trembled violently, and I forced my trembling arms to push me upward.
Slow.
Heavy.
Every tiny movement pulled at the twenty-seven open lacerations on my back, making me feel as though I were dragging heavy iron anchor chains behind me.
I raised a shaky hand to wipe my eyes half-heartedly, but fresh tears instantly blurred my vision again.
I turned my back on the empty room—my execution chamber, my permanent reminder—and shuffled out into the hall.
The long corridor was freezing and dim, illuminated only by a few flickering sconces.
My hollow footsteps echoed sharply off the stone, the only sound breaking the suffocating silence of the upper floor.
I wrapped my arms tightly around my ribs, trying to physically hold my lungs together as they struggled to draw air.
The ceiling felt like it was pressing down on me; the air was thick as sap.
I dragged my bare feet down the long hallway and up the narrow rear stairs, willing my legs not to buckle before I reached the only dark corner where I could hide.
My small servant’s room waited at the absolute end of the passage—a prison by decree, but my only refuge by default.
When my hand finally found the brass latch and pushed the door inward, the rusted hinges let out a soft groan.
The second I crossed the threshold, Lily bolted upright from her seat at the foot of my narrow cot.
Her eyes widened in immediate horror.
“Lyra…
Goddess, why are you so pale?”
She didn’t ask permission.
She crossed the small room in two fast strides, reaching up to gently cup my face in her warm, calloused palms.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she used her thumbs to wipe away the blood and tear tracks drying against my skin.
“What did they do to you?” she rasped, her voice trembling with urgent, desperate fear, her eyes frantically searching my face for the nightmare I couldn’t find words to describe.
And just like that—triggered by something as tiny, warm, and human as genuine care—every dam I had built, every lock I had slammed shut over my heart, buckled under the pressure.
My chest constricted into a tight knot.
My swollen lips trembled, and before I could steel my spine or force the sobs back down into my throat, my composure shattered into a million pieces.
I lost complete control of myself.
I broke—right there in the middle of my cramped room, right in front of Lily, stripping away every ounce of restraint, dignity, and pride.
Raw, hideous sobs tore out of my lungs, messy and unrefined.
I wept uncontrollably like a abandoned child lost in the dark, desperate for a gentle touch, desperate for a single soul to promise that the universe wasn’t entirely made of hate and iron.
The tears fell in torrential waves, hot, fast, and relentless.
My breath hitched in my throat over and over, my chest heaving violently as my lungs fought to keep up with the agony pouring out of me.
Uncontrollable tremors wracked my body from head to toe, and I clamped my arms over my chest, squeezing as hard as I could, terrified that if I let go, my flesh would literally fall apart.
Lily slid her arm around my trembling waist, pressing her other palm flat between my bruised shoulder blades.
She began to pat my back in slow, rhythmic, patient strokes—soothing me as if I were a frightened, wounded pup rather than a girl destined to be marked by three Alphas.
“Shh, it’s okay, little one,” she whispered repeatedly, her voice an anchor of gentle calm while the storm raged inside me.
“Let it out…
I’ve got you…
let it all out…”
Her soft words only made the dam break wider.
I wept until my tear ducts ran completely dry, until my body slumped weakly against her shoulder from sheer physical exhaustion, until the agonizing sobs faded into ragged, shuddering gasps and soft, pathetic hiccups.
It was as if every single insult I had swallowed, every lash I had endured, every betrayal from my blood, and every cold rejection from my mates had finally coalesced into a single debt that my body had to pay in tears.
When the last violent shudder passed, I lifted my heavy head and looked into her eyes.
My eyelids were swollen, hot, and raw, my skin blotchy and stained with dried blood, but beneath the exhaustion, a new, dangerous flame flickered in the dark.
“Lily,” I rasped, my voice barely more than a dry, broken whisper, “do you think…
do you think I should run?”
Her entire body went rigid.
“What?” Her breath hitched.
In one blindingly fast motion, she snapped her head toward the wooden door, her eyes wide with sudden, absolute panic.
She practically sprinted the three steps to the door, pressing her ear to the wood and verifying that the heavy iron bolt was thrown tight.
Only when she was certain the hallway was empty did she spin back to me, her face pale as milk.
“Don’t you ever say those words aloud,” she hissed in a harsh, terrified whisper—not out of anger toward me, but out of absolute, bone-chilling dread for my life.
“Don’t you dare even think it, Lyra.”
She rushed back, grabbing both of my wrists, her grip so fierce and desperate it almost bruised my skin.
Her eyes burned with a terrifying, wild intensity.
“You are broken, you are bleeding, and they have been monsters to you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with a dangerous mix of fierce love and paralyzing fear.
“But a rogue’s death in the woods is what they want!
Running away solves nothing!
It gives them the excuse to hunt you down like an animal and put a spike through your heart!”
Her voice cracked on the last word, choked by the terrifying reality of what happened to runaway mates.
And though I could hear the love in her warnings, though I knew she was trying to save my life…
The quiet flame in my bones didn’t go out.
The urge to flee—to run until my lungs burst, to escape this gilded hell even if the woods claimed me—was the only thing left inside me that felt like freedom.