เข้าสู่ระบบRita's Point Of View The silence that followed my plea pressed down on me, crushing the very marrow in my bones. I remained there, slumped against the cold marble, my breath coming in short, pathetic hitches that made my chest ache. Each inhale felt like swallowing glass, sharp and unforgiving. Marcus's hands rested on my shoulders… firm, steady, the hands of an Alpha who believed he could still control the wreckage of our family. How desperately wrong he was. "Come, Rita," he murmured, his voice low as he tried to pull me toward the private wing. "You need to lie down. You're shaking. You will get sick if you stay on this cold floor." A jagged, watery laugh escaped my throat, dissolving into a cough that wracked my entire body. "Let me get sick," I spat, my voice raw and scraped, barely recognizable as my own. "Let me feel a fraction of the fever he endured when the wolfsbane rotted his system. Let me feel the chill he suffered in that pit." I pressed my palm against th
Rita's Point Of View The heavy doors of the throne room hadn't merely shut; they had severed something vital and irreparable. I stood alone in the hallway, hands pressed against my mouth as if I could physically hold back the scream building in my chest, watching the empty space where my son had just been. The air remained cold from his departure, still vibrating with echoes of his voice… the voice of a stranger wearing my child's face. I shattered. My knees gave out first, hitting the marble with a sickening thud I barely registered. The physical pain meant nothing, a pinprick compared to the jagged, rusted blade twisting deeper into my chest with each ragged breath. A sob tore through my throat, raw and ugly, the animalistic sound of a mother who had realized too late that she had hollowed out her own child, carved away everything tender until only hardness remained. It ached. My throat felt like I'd swallowed glass, each breath scraping against the wounds my own wo
The weight of the earth wasn't just physical. It was a living thing, a cold, heavy beast that pressed against my ribs until they felt like they'd snap like dry twigs. Every time I tried to draw a breath, I swallowed more grit, the dry taste of the "resilience pit" coating my throat until I was gagging in the dark. The darkness was absolute, suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of air. It was the kind of darkness that made you forget what light looked like, what warmth felt like.I was six. I was supposed to be reading about knights and their noble quests. Instead, I was becoming a ghost, a hollow thing buried beneath the indifference of those who should have protected me.I don't know how many hours passed. Time doesn't exist when you're buried under the soil of your own home. My lungs burned with each shallow, desperate attempt to breathe. My heart was a frantic, dying bird in my chest, slowing down as the oxygen ran out. The edges of my consciousness began t
Ronan's Point Of View I stood there in the hallway, the air between us vibrating with the force of my own confession. My mother’s face was a map of devastation, tears tracking through her expensive makeup, leaving grey streaks. "Please... please, son... please." Her voice cracked right in the middle, falling apart into something small and pathetic. "I want us to talk... I beg you." I stared at the carvings on the distant door, my pulse thudding in my neck. Each beat felt like a hammer hitting an anvil. "I'm not interested in your little talks," I muttered. I started to pull away, feeling the heavy friction of her silk dress against my skin, but she gripped harder. For a small woman, she had a hold like a trap. Like she could physically keep me from the life I’d built away from this mausoleum. "Son... please. Just a moment. Just give me a moment." "I said I'm not your son!" I turned then, the words tearing out of me, jagged and hot. She flinched as if I'd struck her. Her hands
Ronan's Point Of View The heavy doors of the throne room thudded shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gavel. Final. Cold. I leaned my back against the stone wall, the chill of it seeping through my shirt, and just... breathed. My lungs felt like they’d been filled with lead for the last hour. I let out a sharp, jagged exhale that turned into a smirk before I could stop it. That was one hell of an interrogation. I’d walked in there a sacrificial lamb and walked out the one holding the blade. I shook my head, a dry, humorless chuckle rattling in my throat. My old man’s face... the way his "authority" just crumbled into dust when I brought up the wolfsbane. It was almost worth the years of bullshit. Almost. I pushed off the wall, straightening my jacket. My boots clicked against the marble as I headed for the grand staircase. I just wanted out. I wanted the smell of this place... that scent of old paper, polished wood, and stagnant power off my skin. "Ronan." The voice was sof
Ronan's Point Of ViewMy father's voice cut through the air, sharp and instinctive, like a blade drawn without thought. "That's impossible." I released a slow breath, feeling something shift inside me as I did. This time… I smiled. Not from amusement. From something far darker. Something that had been coiling tight in my chest since the moment I crossed the threshold into this room, building with every second of his dismissive stares and practiced authority. "It's very much possible, father." The words left my mouth with deliberate calm. The composure in my voice made his frown deepen, carving fresh lines into his weathered face. He shook his head again, more firmly this time, as though repetition alone possessed the power to bend reality back into something he could control, something that fit neatly into his understanding of how the world worked. "No," he said, the word directed more to himself than to me, as if speaking it aloud would make it true. "Alpha Kurt wouldn't lie to m
Ash's Point Of ViewThe silence of the study pressed in on me like a physical weight, the air thick with the scent of old books and lingering whiskey. Lily’s perfume still clung to the space, cloying and sweet, a reminder of the performance I was expected to maintain. My fingers twitched at my side
Ash’s Point Of ViewThe study was dark, the only light coming from the crackling fire in the hearth, casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. The scent of aged whiskey and old leather filled the air, thick and suffocating, like the weight of expectation that had always pressed down on my shou
Zane's Point Of ViewThe librarian, a sharp-eyed woman with silver-streaked hair and a no-nonsense demeanor, barely glanced up as we approached her desk.She took the books from us with efficient hands, her fingers trailing over the spines as she checked them off against a list on her clipboard. "A
Ash’s Point Of ViewThe moment the door closed behind my father, the carefully constructed mask I’d worn for months, shattered.My knees hit the floor before I even realized I was falling, my body folding in on itself like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of its own lies. The fire stil







