Chapter 6: Framed and Broken

Lexy's POV

I opened the door to Mirabel’s room and my stomach turned before my eyes even fully took it in. Clothes were thrown across the floor like some violent storm had passed through—dresses ripped, shoes kicked over, broken furniture splintered, wine spilled across the carpet, bedsheets twisted and tangled as if they’d been thrown down in anger or lust. And then it hit me—the smell. Leo and sex. His scent thick in the air, taunting me, invading my senses, stabbing straight through my chest. My heart felt like it stopped for a moment, then tore itself apart. The pain was raw. Sharp. Unforgiving.

“My mate and I had a little fun yesterday,” Mirabel said, stepping out of the shower, her body wrapped in only a towel. Her voice casual, cruelly casual, like she was talking about the weather, not a sex with my fated mate. “I’m moving into his room, but I wanted this one clean first. I heard you’re… so good at cleaning. Actually, it’s the only thing you’re good at.”

The towel slipped. She didn’t even bother me standing there, didn’t even acknowledge that I existed. She smiled, a smile meant to cut me open, and began drying herself as if I were a ghost in the room. “I don’t mind your staring,” she said softly, mocking me. “You are flat as an iron board… at least you get to see a body with curves. A real woman’s body. Something you’ll never have.”

She moved toward her dresser, selecting a dress, naked. “Oh, Leo… he loves my body. Couldn’t get enough of me last night,” she said, giggling, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “And he knows how to please a woman… Ah, I forgot, you’ll never know.”

She slip on a short dress without any undergarments. Then, without warning, she was on me. Her wolf speed made her blur past my frozen state. Hands around my throat, squeezing. Hard. Pain shot up my arms, down my chest, straight into my head. “If you ever fucking dreamed you could have my mate… to be his mistress… keep dreaming,” she hissed, her teeth flashing in a cruel grin. “I do not share. Don’t even dare look at him. I will destroy you.”

Her eyes bore into mine like daggers. “Am I understood?” she demanded, releasing me with a shove that left me gasping for air, my knees weak, trembling.

I nodded, too choked to speak.

“Good,” she said, laughing, tossing the soiled bedsheets at my face. The smell hit me immediately. Leo. His scent, sticky and sharp. And the stains on sheets were proof of his betrayal, proof that I wasn’t enough for him. Mirabel laughed cruely and left the room.My face burned with shame. My stomach lurched, and I ran to the toilet, vomiting, tasting bile and the lingering ghost of his scent in my mouth. Everywhere. I could not escape him here. Not in this room. Not anywhere.

Hours passed. I scrubbed, wiped, cleaned, the room becoming a sterile, sparkling lie of perfection under my frantic hands. My hands ached. My arms burned. My back throbbed. And still, every surface, every corner, every crevice screamed of him, of what he’d done, of what I had lost.

Then she came back. Mirabel, smiling softly, holding a glass of orange juice like some innocent child. “Oh, my dear, such lovely work,” she purred. And then—then she poured it. Orange liquid soaked the freshly changed sheets, droplets spreading across the carpet. She laughed. Light, airy, cruel.

“I’m so clumsy,” she said, feigning innocence, throwing handfuls of soil across the room, smearing it into the polished floors with her shoes, leaving tracks, marking me.

“Sorry… again,” she said, smirking. “But you’re such a darling. I’m sure you’ll fix it quickly.” And then she left. Leaving me to the endless cycle of scrubbing, of erasing the proof of her destruction, of my own failure to protect anything from her cruelty.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I left the room, collapsing slightly as I reached the servant’s break room to fetch my bag. Relief washed over me in a small, shallow wave, and I allowed myself a breath. Maybe I could leave now. Maybe I could retreat to my little world, my paint, my brushes, the only place I felt like I existed.

But it wasn’t over.

Mirabel came back, this time with pack warriors behind her, eyes blazing, fingers pointing at me like weapons.

“She’s the only one who entered my room,” she hissed, voice tight, sharp, furious.

I froze. My chest tightened, a cold, heavy weight pressing down on me. “What… what are you saying?” I whispered, fear cracking my voice.

The team leader shook his head slowly, pitying me, maybe. “Lexy is humble, honest… she couldn’t—”

“Are you saying your Luna lies?” Mirabel screamed, and suddenly I was nothing, small, helpless, powerless. One of the warriors ripped open my bag, throwing everything onto the floor—phone, lipstick, crumpled notes, tissues… and something else.

A glitter caught the light. An earring, sharp and luxurious, large diamonds shinning bright. I had never seen it. Never.

Mirabel picked it up, turning to me, eyes burning holes into my chest. “I know you need money for school, but stealing? Even for you, that’s… low.”

I shook my head violently. “I didn’t take it! Someone… someone planted it in my bag! To frame me! Please, you have to believe me!” My voice was cracking, panic rising, tears threatening to spill.

She spat on the floor, venom dripping. “Liar. Thief.” She gestured to the warriors. “Take her to the dungeon.”

I screamed, begged, clawed at the air, but they seized me. Rough hands gripped me, dragged me through the halls, ignoring my thrashing, my screaming, my pleading. My stomach dropped. My chest tightened. My mind raced, trying to hold onto something, anything, that told me I wasn’t completely finished, completely broken.

But the dungeon walls trapped me, dark and cold, and I realized with a sick, sinking certainty that there was no one to save me. Not Leo, not my so-called family. Not anyone. And in that darkness, I understood the truth: I was stripped out of my dignity and alone, utterly, painfully, unforgivably alone.