The doctor arrived swift and efficient after Silvia’s urgent call—her aunt, Dr.
Elena, a formidable alpha woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair pinned back in an elegant chignon and sharp green eyes peering through thin wire-rimmed frames.
She dressed impeccably in a tailored white coat draped over fitted navy slacks and low heels that clicked authoritative across the marble floors.
Her black medical kit swung from one hand like a trusted weapon honed from decades of practice.
She knelt gracefully by Lyra’s bedside where the poor girl sobbed ragged and weak, curled up tight under a pile of fresh cotton sheets that did little to hide her trembling.
Lyra’s body burned with a scorching fever that radiated through the air; her forehead blazed hot under Elena’s steady palm as she checked vitals with precise and practiced efficiency.
The digital thermometer beeping shrill at 103°F under her tongue, pulse racing erratic at 110 bpm on the monitor, skin clammy pale despite the deep flush spreading across her porcelain cheeks.
The cold stethoscope pressed firm against Lyra’s heaving chest and caught shallow wheezes rattling faint in her lungs; blood pressure cuff squeezed tight around her thin arm, reading dangerously low at 90/60 from severe dehydration and exhaustion.
IV fluids prepped quick from the kit with sterile snaps, saline drip starting steady into her vein through a needle prick that barely registered amid sobs.
Elena stood up sharp and resolute after the full and thorough examination, turning to face Silvia with fire blazing fierce in her eyes.
Crack—the sound echoed sharp through the quiet bedroom as her open hand slapped Silvia’s cheek hard and deliberate.
A red mark bloomed instant angry on Silvia’s smooth skin, stinging hot under the sudden impact.
Silvia stood there completely stunned but utterly silent, rubbing her slapped cheek slow with tentative fingers.
She held a bond closer to Aunt Elena than to her own distant parents, a relationship forged in quiet mentorship that she never dared challenge or retort against—family loyalty ran deeper than any blood tie.
“Silvia, this situation is beyond disappointing and frankly shocking,” Elena said with stern authority, her voice rolling low like distant thunder building strength.
“Did you deliberately keep her starved for over 24 hours straight?”
“What…?”
“Just look at her condition—emaciated frame, fever spiked dangerously from total exhaustion and malnutrition eating her from inside.”
Silvia blinked in genuine shock, her red eyes widening just a fraction as realization dawned slow.
It had never crossed her mind once that Lyra wouldn’t simply scavenge the pantry or fridge after the breakfast denial.
She assumed the omega would fend for herself basic like any adult.
“I am truly sorry, Aunt.
Honestly speaking, I never thought she wouldn’t eat anything else at all after I refused to share.
I assumed she’d handle something basic on her own without issue.”
“Silvia!” Elena snapped with sharp exasperation, planting both hands firm on her hips in classic disapproval stance.
“You’ve done something terribly wrong here without question—pushed her far too far without a single thought for consequences.”
“I know that now…
“You had a plan to divorce her, and that’s fine if that’s your choice—but not through cruelty like this neglect.
Your original scheme was to prove she’s unfit for you long-term, show your parents her endless flaws up close.
But you’re failing spectacularly at it—turning yourself into the villain of the story instead.”
“I can’t just throw her away on some random whim without fallout, can I?” Silvia asked, her voice edged defensive but cracking ever so slight with uncertainty.
“Your parents would never allow such a reckless move—they forced this entire marriage for the love of Lyra’s parents, who are no longer in this world.
But that doesn’t give you any license whatsoever to torture her half to death with starvation and overwork!”
Silvia frowned deep lines etching her smooth forehead.
“Torture her on purpose?
Aunt, all I did was order some reasonable cleaning and deny one single meal that I cooked for me—not put her in chains or anything dramatic.” Lyra could have eaten something by herself!
“Silvia, let’s be real—we both don’t want her as your wife in the long run.
She’s too soft, too utterly incompetent for the high-stakes world you command.
But if divorce is truly the goal here, at least torture her in a much smarter, more calculated way.”
“Torture her intentionally and systematically?” Silvia echoed slow, her alpha instincts bristling instinctive but intrigue sparking curious beneath.
“You want her to beg for the divorce first herself, right?
Sign the papers willingly without your parents intervening?”
“Yes, exactly, Aunt.
Make her run away begging on her own terms.”
“Then do it far better from here on—subtle and psychological only.
Overload her with impossible schedules, expose her flaws, let the pressure crack her spirit without ever breaking her physical body like this.”
“You’re a respected doctor now preaching methods of torture?” Silvia shot back with wry sarcasm, her slapped cheek still stinging warm.
Elena softened her expression just a fraction then, eyes warming with underlying steel resolve.
“You are like my own precious child to me, Silvia—practically raised you myself when your parents stayed buried endless in their work.
I don’t ever want to see you sad, trapped, or miserable in this farce.”
“If only my own parents thought and felt the exact same way about me,” Silvia muttered with deep bitterness, her gaze drifting to the IV drip beeping steady rhythmic beside the bed.
“They would come around and understand your side eventually, trust that.
“Understood.”
“Build airtight cases for incompatibility instead.
She’ll file for divorce first herself, giving you a clean and uncontested exit.
But at the end, you will have to use your own brain.”
Silvia nodded slow and contemplative, her ice facade thawing reluctant inch by inch.
“Fine then…
a smarter path forward.
No more extreme maid duties—for the moment at least.
But for the future?
It’s uncertain.”
Elena squeezed her shoulder firm and reassuring, alpha strength conveying support.
“Good choice, Silvia.
Hydrate her well, monitor that fever closely every hour.
I’ll prescribe full rest, nutrient supplements, and follow-up meds.”
“Thank you for helping me out.”
“And one last thing?
Under all that ice you carry, she’s more fragile than she seems—don’t shatter her completely beyond repair.
You want her out of your life…
so, keep it that way only.”
Silvia watched her aunt pack the medical kit methodically with efficient snaps, her gaze lingering thoughtful on Lyra’s tear-streaked sleeping face.
“Noted, Aunt.
Understood fully.”
The door clicked shut soft behind Elena’s exit.
Left alone in the quiet room, Silvia sat down hesitant on the bedside chair.
“Sleep it off, you idiot.
That’s a direct order from the doctor.”
Her voice came out gruff and rough-edged as always, but her hand reached out to adjust the blanket gentle and careful over Lyra’s shivering form—first subtle crack shown in the unyielding ice.