I gasp, surprised and he leans towards me. I catch the scent of his cologne and the faint scent of the cigarette smoke, lingering around him. But underneath it, there’s the scent of earth and rain. I see his muscles flexing under the thin linen of the shirt. I also notice the outlines of a scar, running down his forearm. I imagine his hands on me, his lips on mine. What is happening… Why am I thinking this? “Oh, don’t worry, Lily. “ his smile is canine, the words that come out of his mouth are a snarl, “I won’t touch you. I don’t want to. “ When her mother got sick, Lily had no choice but to marry a man she never met. At that time she didn’t know Arthur Stark was not only beautiful but as cruel as the rumours said. Her husband is a cold billionaire involved with the mafia. He never touches anyone. Not even his own mate.
View MoreLily
The doctor removes his glasses and sighs. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice steady but heavy. "We're doing everything we can. But your mother... her condition is critical. She's dying."
No.
The word echoes in my mind, sharp and suffocating. My legs threaten to give out beneath me. I bite down hard on my lip, fighting back the tears that burn behind my eyes.
"We'll keep monitoring her," he continues, "but in cases like this... our options are limited."
His tone is calm, professional—the kind of voice doctors use when they’ve delivered this news too many times before. When all they can offer is a front-row seat to the inevitable. This man is one of the top specialists in the country, in one of the best hospitals, and yet
"But..." My voice cracks, raw and desperate. The tears are coming now, no matter how hard I try to hold them back.
The doctor hesitates, then exhales. "Unless you can secure the funds for another surgery... I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do."
My stomach twists. This is the question I’ve been dreading since they admitted her again. The one I already know the answer to.
.
“How much is it going to cost?”
The man exhales.
“Approximately half a million. “
My heart shatters and before I can say anything, the doctor turns his back on me and leaves me in the middle of the brightly lit corridor.
Half a million…This can’t be happening.
My eyes flicker to the tall, dark figure, leaning against the wall. A few of the nurses in the hospital steal glances at him as they pass by. I’ve noticed women always look at him despite who he is. One of the nurses blushes and puts a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she approaches him.
But he doesn’t notice any of this.
Because he is watching me. Arthur Stark - the future young heir of the Stark Company and one of the richest men in the world. At the age of just 28, he has what most people would never dream of. On top of it, he is strong, really smart and intimidating. This is wrapped in a muscled body and piercing eyes. Arthur Stark rarely smiles and when he does, the mood of the room changes entiely. Cold beauty and power.
He is also my husband.
My heart picks up its pace as I walk towards him. I have to do this. He is my only option right now.
His dark, piercing eyes fix on me and I tremble.
“Arthur , “ I begin, lifting my gaze to meet his “I am begging you- you heard the doctor. My mother is dying and you are the only one who can help me pay for the operation. “
His eyes linger on me. Arthur is dressed in an entirely black suit which makes him even more intimidating. He is a predator and I am the small, helpless prey he is about to devour.
“Please, “ I keep begging nevertheless, despite the overwhelming fear. “Help me. “
Then something shifts in his eyes.
It’s as if the black in his eyes changes into a different colour and I blink, the feeling of fear growing inside me. My mind's playing tricks on me, so I shake my head.
In moments like those, I fear Arthur is not just any man. Not even a… human.
Arthur Narrows his eyes and pushes away from the wall. He takes a threatening step towards me. My back hits the wall behind and I have nowhere to run. He is much taller than me, powerful. My hands close into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
“Help?“ he growls out the words deliberately and slowly, the tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. “You are asking me to help you? “
My nails dig harder into my palms when he closes his hand around my forearm and forces me to keep looking at him.
His jet-black hair is falling over his forehead, hiding his eyes. My husband leans forward, his breath is on my face.
“You are just another w***e, Lily , “ Arthur’ voice is lowered, and his hand closes tighter in my flesh. “Why would I help you save your mother? “
“I…” my vision blurs and I can no longer fight the tears. “I am still your wife. “
Arthurshorts, shaking his head.
“If you were my wife you wouldn’t be carrying someone else’s child. “
Then he closes the distance between us entirely, moving his lips to my ear.
“You are no one, Lily . “ he says and the cold, controlled tone in his voice is what scares me the most.
“I am so sorry “ I plead, “Please, I swear I will do anything, just….”
I am sobbing, lowering my eyes to the white, hospital floor. Even now I don’t want Arthurto look at me when I am crying. That will give him another reason to mock me.
“You have no right to be asking me for anything. “ Arthur snarls.
Two months ago my mother got seriously ill. At that time my father and mom were already divorced. My father left us - me, my sister and my mother- for a younger woman.
On top of it, he had his own business but he was swimming in debt by the time our mother got ill. When I called Father for help he offered me a deal- sell me as a bride to one of the businessmen he was working for in exchange for the money for my mother’s operation.
At that time I had no idea I was to marry Arthur Stark- the notorious cold and ruthless heir of the biggest business empire.
I knew nothing about Arthur, besides one thing - no one wanted to go near him. All kinds of rumors were flooding the press and later I learned most of them were true. He was a ruthless monster. I was the scapegoat.
And I had to say yes if I wanted my mother to live.
But the night before my marriage with Arthur, I did what anyone in my place would do- I got drunk and spent one last - and first- night with the only person I’ve ever liked - Michael Baker.
Mike is the owner of another small company that’s growing rapidly and I’d always liked him. I never dared to tell him, but that night I was very drunk and things happened.
After that I did my part- I married Arthur, not knowing about the baby. My father disappeared and I never heard from him again. No money for my mother’s operation either.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory when Arthur’s deep voice reminds me of the present.
“Get rid of this f*****g nuisance and I might consider listening to you. “
Arthur Releases his iron hold and pulls away from me. Then he strides off.
I slide to the floor, hugging my knees and letting the tears flow. I am all alone. I don’t know what to do. But I don't have time for this, my time is running out.
I get back on my feet and stride out of the hospital into the cold November morning. I hug myself in my coat and pick up my phone. I called my sister. She picks up after the fifth ring.
“Claire?” I say, “I am calling about Mother. “
“Oh…” she gasps, then I hear rustling. “What is it?”
“We need to gather the money urgently. And...”
I hear more rustling and voices around her.
“Maybe now is not a good time to talk, “ I say, “I can come by your place and tell you everything?”
“Uh… yeah, sure. " Claire says distractedly, “Anyway, let’s talk later, okay?”
Then she hangs up.
Strange…
Claire is not usually like this. My sister is normally at home on Wednesdays so I decided to go directly to her place and tell her what happened.
As soon as I get to her house, I press the doorbell. No response. I press the handle of the door and discover it’s not locked. She is definitely here. I dial her number but she doesn’t pick up. However, I hear her phone ringing from upstairs.
I come into the house and head to the second floor when her voice reaches me. Claire is laughing. Then her laughter turns into a moan of pleasure.
“Yes!” she moans again.
“I know you want this, “ a man says. And I recognize the voice. My heart starts beating painfully fast.
“Mike, “my sister gasps, “You are too rough, wait. I am so close…“
The pressure is… everywhere. Inside. Outside. Me. The fused agony of the Unraveler vibrates through every atom, a constant, silent scream vibrating in the roots of the black aster deep in its heart. A counterpoint: the Wild Gardener’s furious thrashing. It tears at the merged Gardens within me, fractal thorns ripping through weeping memory-vines, supernova eyes blazing hatred at the very walls of its existence. My realm-body groans, mountains cracking like eggshells, rivers of ichor and sterile coolant boiling into steam. A cosmic powder keg. And I am the fuse, the casing, the explosion waiting.Can’t hold. Can’t hold. CAN’T HOLD!The plea isn't spoken. It radiates. A psychic shriek tearing from my fracturing consciousness, aimed at the only anchor left. The Child. Diminished, aged, a flickering ember of starlight standing on the shuddering observation deck – the last stable point in my dissolving self. Their face, lined with cosmic aeons and recent sorrow, is a mask of impossible wei
The last tether. My grandmother’s voice whispered "Endure, little star," as she pressed the seed into my child-hand. The only memory that hasn’t bled away or been devoured. The anchor point of Lily, not just the realm.Thorns as long as starships slam into the cliff face. The Wild Gardener. Our monstrous child. Savage beauty woven from fractal leaves and supernova eyes. It doesn’t hate me. It hates the anchor. The fixed point. The symbol of order, of origin, of human limitation holding back the pure, chaotic potential of the merged Gardens. Its thorned fingers, roots like knotted muscle, claw at the rock, shattering granite like glass. Hunting the root system. Hunting me.NO! The denial is pure instinct, a flare of terror brighter than the Gardener’s eyes. But my consciousness… it’s fraying. Splintering like old wood under an axe. I am the cliff crumbling. I am the roots screaming as they’re ripped from bedrock. I am the distant, icy laughter vibrating up from the deepest pit within m
A Garden. My Garden. But… wrong. So terribly wrong. The vibrant, weeping chaos of my wild growth is mirrored here in razor-sharp order. Crystal trees grow in mathematically precise grids, leaves like shards of stained glass catching sterile light. Rivers flow in straight lines, bubbling with engineered nutrients, devoid of sentient fish or whispering currents. Vines snake with predatory efficiency, thorns gleaming like surgical steel. It’s a Null Garden. Cloned. Grown from the tissue they scraped off me during a hundred captures, a thousand experiments. My stolen flesh, twisted into this… this parasite.The pull intensifies. A grinding suction deep in my cosmic gut. It’s not just draining. It’s claiming. Recognizing its source material. Seeing me as… fuel. A component to be assimilated. My realm shudders. Mountains groan as if roots are being pulled. Rivers slow, their waters pulled towards the geometric horror looming in the void. Failure isn't death. It's becoming lunch for my own r
Kieran, not on the marble floor, but somewhere… else. Cold starlight on desperate eyes. Not facing Arthur. Facing… . The nascent Devourer. A swirling maw of hunger and static, older than stars. He’s bargaining. Not for power. For time. "Take me. All of me. But give her… give her more time. Just a little more time to get clear." His voice raw, stripped bare. The Devourer’s presence, a chilling amusement. A pulse of dark energy. A pact sealed. Then, the echo shifts. Kieran turning, walking back towards the penthouse, towards Arthur, towards me, his face a mask of terrible resignation. To play the betrayer. To buy minutes with his soul.The foundation cracks. Not the realm. Me. The bedrock of my pain, my rage, my shattered self… it was wrong. He didn't choose Arthur. He chose the knife in the back to stall the Devourer. To give me a chance. The betrayal wasn't betrayal. It was… sacrifice. A different kind of damnation.My knees buckle. The deck rushes up. Cold metal against my cheek. Can
"He never loved you, Lily. Just the power he sensed. Kieran was always mine."My heart jackhammers, just like then. Betrayal, hot and sour, floods my mouth. I spin, reaching for the energy dagger hidden in my boot sheath – the one I used last time, the time before, the time before that. But my fingers brush empty leather. Where—?The scene flickers. Not the penthouse. The sterile white lab. Arthur, eyes cold and alien, holding the neural inhibitor. "This will make you pliable, my dear. Necessary sacrifices." The prick on my neck. The terrifying numbness spreading. I lash out with a psychic scream, just like last loop—Flicker. Dissolution. The deck plates cold. My hand… blurring. Dissolving into void-motes. The Child’s distant, horrified gaze. The crushing loneliness. I try to hold onto me, just like before—Snap.Back to the marble. Arthur’s smug smile. Kieran’s face, pale and agonized in the doorway behind him, trapped, mouthing ‘Run!’ like always. The loop resets. The trap closes.
Billions upon billions of lives. Gone. Not destroyed. Blotted. As if a cosmic thumb pressed down on wet ink.And I feel it.I am the boundary. The membrane. The shockwave hits me like a physical blow to the soul. I am Veridia Prime’s final sunset, crimson bleeding into unnatural twilight as the star winks out. I am the desperate, choked transmission from Harmony’s Resolve, cut mid-prayer. I am the gasp of atmosphere freezing solid over New Thessia’s domes, the silent scream trapped in crystalizing lungs. I am the mother clutching her child on a balcony watching the sky die, the warmth leaching from their bodies into the sudden, absolute cold. Billions of final heartbeats, stuttering, stopping. A symphony of silence crashing through my nerves.Too much. It’s too much. Agony isn’t the word. It’s annihilation. I convulse. The realm itself spasms – mountains groan, rivers run backwards, the sky weeps ichor again. My consciousness fractures further, shards slicing into the echoes of dying
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