Aria’s POV
I woke up to the sound of birdsong and the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the large, intricately framed windows. For a moment, I wondered if this was the afterlife—if the end had led me to a place of peace. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the golden light. The bed beneath me was impossibly soft, draped in silken sheets that carried a faint scent of lavender. I turned my head slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room. This is definitely the afterlife. It was lavish, with high ceilings and ornate details on every surface. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and antique furniture gleamed with the sheen of polished wood. It felt too perfect, too elegant to be anything but heaven—or a dream. "Am I... dead?" I whispered, my voice raspy and weak. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced me back down. I closed my eyes, focusing on the rhythmic pounding of my heart. Was this what the afterlife felt like? Or was it just another cruel illusion? "You're awake," a deep voice said, startling me. I turned my head quickly, wincing at the ache that shot through me. Standing at the edge of the room was a man—a tall, commanding figure with silver-streaked hair and a face that held both wisdom and sadness. He was impeccably dressed in fine clothing that hinted at nobility, his posture regal yet approachable. He watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed. "Are you... here to take me to the afterlife?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, laced with confusion and fear. To my surprise, the man threw his head back and laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the room. "No, my dear," he said, his eyes softening as he looked at me. "You’re very much alive. And this—" he gestured around the opulent room—"is my private villa." I stared at him, my mind struggling to catch up. "I... don’t understand." He stepped closer, his expression turning solemn. "I found you on the ground, barely clinging to life. You were cold, pale—dying. I couldn’t leave you there. I brought you here and did what I could to help. Seeing you suffer... It reminded me of my daughter. She’s gone now, but you—there’s something about you." His voice cracked, and he paused, composing himself. "You have her spirit. Her strength." A lump formed in my throat. "You saved me?" I whispered. Someone actually saved me? Someone found me worthy to be saved? Why? “Who are you?” I asked, still shocked. “An angel?” He threw his head back in a hearty laugh. "My name is Richard Blackwood. I couldn’t bear to watch you die. I couldn’t let it happen." He hesitated, his gaze searching mine. “What is your name?” “Aria. Aria Carrington,” I muttered. “Tell me, Aria” he said softly, his voice raw with genuine curiosity. “Why would a young, promising girl like you ever think of ending her life?” My breath caught in my throat, tears stinging my eyes. I’d expected pity, scorn, maybe even more judgment. But the question, asked with such softness, broke something inside me. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen—not as a burden or a failure, but as a person with a story to tell. Then it all came crashing down. I spilled everything as though cleansing myself from the years of pain. “I didn’t want to keep living in a world that hated me,” I began, the words tumbling out like a flood I couldn’t control. “I’m worthless. I’m nothing. My parents, my pack—they treated me like I was less than dirt. My mother made sure I knew every day that I was a thorn in her flesh. She said… she told me to go and die far away. That she didn’t even want to see my dead body if I died.” Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I couldn’t hold them back. The weight of my past, of years spent enduring torment and rejection, pressed down on me until I felt like I’d suffocate. “My sister, Lila,” I continued, my voice shaking. “She was everything I wasn’t—powerful, beautiful, the pride of our family. And I was nothing. My parents doted on her, and they hated me for being a reminder of their ‘shame.’ I… I was rejected by the one person who should have stood by me, who should have seen me as his own. Lila made sure of it.” Richard's expression darkened, a flicker of confusion and something dangerous crossing his face. “I’m so sorry, Aria,” he whispered. He reached out, pulling me into a gentle embrace. His warmth was both foreign and comforting, a reminder of what I’d been denied for so long. “I’ll shield you,” he said, his voice low but filled with unshakable conviction. “You are not worthless. There is something in you—something strong and fierce. It reminds me of my daughter. She was taken from me months ago. I can’t… I can’t change what happened to her. But perhaps, I can help you, and we can help each other.” A quiet moment passed as his words sank in. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice trembling with hope and disbelief. He pulled back, meeting my gaze with solemn eyes. “I want you to be my daughter, truly. I have no one left, just as you don’t. Let us build something together. We’ll move back to the city where I’m based, and you’ll start a life—as my heir, as my daughter. Ivy Blackwood.” The sincerity in his words brought more tears. “Why… why would you do that?” “Because you deserve better. And maybe, in helping you, I can find a reason to keep moving forward myself.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, grounding me in a reality that still felt like a dream. Just then, a knock echoed through the room. Richard stood, his jaw tightening. “Stay here. I’ll return shortly.” He strode out, leaving me alone with a heart too full of emotions I’d long thought impossible—hope, fear, yearning. When he came back, his eyes were clear, a faint smile on his lips. “Just a minor issue. It’s resolved now.” He paused, studying me. “But there’s one thing I need to know.” His tone shifted, becoming serious, and I felt my pulse quicken. “Why do they hate you so much, Aria? What’s the real reason?” A chill ran down my spine. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Because…” I swallowed, the words clawing at my throat. “Because I killed my younger brother.”The dungeon reeked of blood and regret.Lila’s screams had long since turned hoarse—guttural gasps and broken whimpers echoing against cold stone. The floor beneath her was slick with blood from the severed hand, staining her pale skin like ink across parchment. Her breath came in short, desperate pants as her chains rattled softly with each shudder.And still, Connor watched her.No pity. No mercy.He crouched again, elbows on his knees, just inches from her. She tried to shrink away, but her chains yanked her back into the pain. He let the silence hang for a moment longer, letting the weight of her agony settle.Then he reached behind him.The iron branding rod he pulled out glowed faintly red, still hot from the forge.Lila’s eyes widened. “No… no, no—”He grabbed her by the jaw."You branded your sister as a murderer," he said coldly. "Now let me return the favor. But with truth."He slammed the glowing metal against the soft flesh of her collarbone.Her body arched.A scream—anim
Two days later;Connor stood at the window, staring down at the quiet courtyard.He had failed.Not just Ivy—but himself. His pack. Everything he was supposed to protect.And now, he was paying the price.He had rejected her back then. The one person who would have loved him more than any other. And now he has lost her completely. Nothing he said or did would bring her back.So he would live with that. The only thing he can do is to let her go, and carry the regret like a scar for the rest of his life.But he wouldn’t carry it alone.No.Lila would burn with him.She started the fire—he would make sure she felt every single flame.And it starts now.****The scent of rot was thicker on the east side of the dungeon.The damp, suffocating air clung to Connor’s skin like guilt, yet it was nothing compared to the rage simmering just beneath his surface. He’d contained his wolf. Barely. For two days, the beast within him had clawed at his insides, demanding blood, demanding vengeance.But
Ivy’s POVThere’s something about cocoa. The way it warms you from the inside out. How it makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—you’re safe.But safety is an illusion.The warmth doesn’t reach the cold that’s starting to creep up my spine.Because while Rosa hums softly in the kitchen, while the world is soft and full of light again, something inside me is unraveling.Thread by thread.Flash by flash.It starts small.A flicker of darkness.Then mold. Thick, black, suffocating. I can smell it.My stomach twists violently.Then the room—Small. Windowless. The kind of place that forgets sunlight exists. My breath shortens and I feel it in my bones before I even see it again: the cold.The air was wet and heavy. The walls wept with condensation and the ground was slick beneath me. I was barefoot. Bruised. There was a chain around my ankle. Tight. Rusted.I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t speak.But worse than the mold, the dark, the filth——was her.That humming.That terrifying, sing-song l
Ivy’s POVThe morning sun filters through the curtains like melted gold, soft and quiet against my skin.I stir beneath the blanket. My body aches with the kind of weariness that doesn’t come from physical strain—but from the weight of dreams that cut too close to bone.I blink up at the ceiling.The warmth beside me is gone. My father must’ve left sometime before dawn—the imprint of him still faint on the sheets.My father... The word still felt foreign on my tongue. Strange. Unfamiliar. It feels like I had spent my whole life not knowing where I came from, never imagining that I had a family out there.Before the man who claimed to be my blood brought me back here, everything I knew about myself came from Rosa—her stories, her love, her version of who I was.But I couldn’t explain the presence I felt inside me. Sometimes, a voice would whisper from within—saying things I couldn’t quite remember. Other times, it went silent, like it had been ever since we left Mr. Ryland’s home.And
Back in her room, Ivy slept.Peacefully at first.The kind of peace that felt stolen—borrowed from another life. The air held the scent of something warm and nostalgic, like old gardenias beneath a summer rain. Her pillow cradled her cheek with strange tenderness, and the darkness behind her eyes wasn't oppressive for once.It was… quiet.But then something shifted.A chill. A breath too cold.And her body—her spirit—began to remember.The walls of her mind warped, melting like wax, reforming into stone. Rough and ancient. Ivy stirred, limbs twitching under the sheets as her breath hitched.Stone walls rose around her.Chains clinked.The floor beneath her was wet with something thick. Her wrists were shackled above her head, metal biting into her skin, and before her… black roses.Hundreds. No, thousands.They sprouted from cracks in the walls like a living mockery. They pulsed, almost breathing, their petals sharp, curling, laughing. She could hear them whispering in a language she
Blackwood Estate — Just After MidnightRichard moved quickly through the house, the weight of the last few days sharpening every edge of his thoughts. He mounted the stairs two at a time and turned left toward Marcus’s room, pausing only to listen for any more movement outside. Nothing. But the air felt… wrong. Unsettled. As though the walls themselves were holding their breath.He knocked once, sharply. “Marcus,” he called.There was a rustle, then the door creaked open. Marcus stood there in sweatpants and a black shirt, eyes half-lidded and groggy.“Something’s not right,” Richard said quietly. “Get dressed. I need you to come downstairs.”Marcus stiffened at the tone. He didn’t ask questions. He nodded and turned to grab his boots.By the time Richard descended the stairs again, Marcus was beside him, alert and armed. The hallway lights cast long, twitching shadows as Richard moved toward the main living area and barked toward the guards’ quarters near the side exit.“Full perimet