Beta's Surprise Mate

The storm came suddenly, tearing across the countryside like a beast that had broken free. Rain lashed against the small Ashcroft home, and thunder shook the windows in their frames. Inside, twelve-year-old Elara Ashcroft sat curled up on the couch with her younger brother, Thomas, who had fallen asleep with his head in her lap. Her parents talked softly across the room, their voices blending with the steady rhythm of the rain.

It should have been an ordinary night. It was supposed to be just another evening of warmth, laughter, and safety. But ordinary nights have a cruel way of becoming extraordinary in the worst possible ways.

A knock came at the door.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was sharp, forceful, and filled with intent.

Elara’s father, David Ashcroft, looked toward the door with a frown. “Who could that be at this hour?” he murmured, already rising.

Her mother, Lydia, touched his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Something feels wrong.”

But David shook his head. “It’s probably just someone caught in the storm.”

Elara shifted uneasily. Even at her age, she could feel it—the weight of something unnatural pressing down on the house. She gathered her brother closer, whispering in his ear to stay asleep, though her own heart was pounding.

The knock came again, louder this time.

“Elara,” her mother said in a low voice, “take Thomas upstairs.”

Elara wanted to argue, wanted to demand to know who was at the door, but something in her mother’s eyes stopped her. She obeyed, carrying her little brother up the narrow staircase, her steps slow and reluctant. Halfway up, she turned back. Her father was reaching for the door.

The storm wailed as he opened it.

A man stood there. His face was hidden beneath the brim of a hat, his figure cloaked in darkness. He stepped inside without invitation, his boots leaving muddy prints across the floor. The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

David’s voice was steady but cautious. “Can I help you?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, his hand slid beneath his coat.

Elara froze on the stairs. Her mother gasped.

The first shot rang out, shattering the fragile normalcy of their home. David fell backward, blood spreading across his shirt. Lydia screamed, rushing toward him, but another shot silenced her mid-step.

Elara’s vision blurred. She clutched Thomas tightly, her body trembling, her mind refusing to accept what she was seeing.

The man moved with purpose, his gun steady, his steps deliberate. He didn’t speak a word. To him, this was not chaos—it was execution.

Thomas stirred in her arms, letting out a frightened whimper. Elara slapped her hand over his mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Shh,” she begged in silence.

The man paused. Slowly, he lifted his head.

His eyes met hers.

They were the coldest eyes she had ever seen—icy, merciless, and ancient in their emptiness. For a moment, she thought he would raise his gun, finish what he had started. But instead, he held her gaze, as though marking her, before turning away.

He walked out into the storm, vanishing into the darkness.

Elara remained frozen on the stairs until the acrid smell of smoke reached her nose. Fire. She didn’t know how it had started—whether it was the storm, the gunfire, or deliberate—but flames were already licking at the walls.

She tried to move, tried to save her brother, but when she looked down, she saw the blood. A stray bullet had struck Thomas without her realizing. His small body lay limp in her arms.

Her scream was silent, swallowed by the roar of the flames.

By the time the neighbors arrived, the house was collapsing. They found Elara outside, half-conscious, clutching her brother’s lifeless body, her parents already gone.

The Ashcroft family was dead. All except her.

Elara never forgot those eyes.

Through every restless night in foster homes, through every whisper of pity from strangers, through every hollow attempt at comfort, those eyes followed her. They were carved into her memory like a curse.

The world tried to tell her it was over. The case was closed with no suspects. “A robbery gone wrong,” they said. “No use reopening old wounds.”

But Elara knew the truth.

Her family hadn’t died by accident. They had been murdered. And one day, when she was strong enough, she would find the man with the cold eyes and make him pay.