Chapter 21

Lois resumed her work, carefully retouching the couple’s portrait she had outlined the day before at their home. Every brushstroke demanded her focus, every detail her patience. A painting of such magnitude would usually take an expert artist a month to complete, three months for a novice. Lois was nearly finished in just ten days. She had given her all to it, as if each stroke was a prayer whispered for her children’s future.

She finally packed the canvas away, covering it neatly with its board. She couldn’t risk lingering. She was supposed to be preparing for the King’s coronation. Missing it would mean trouble—serious trouble. She provided for her sextuplets with every coin she earned. If she lost this job, if she was punished, her little ones would be stranded. That was unthinkable.

Promotion loomed just ahead. With it, her pay would double, giving her the means to provide her children a life so complete they wouldn’t even dream of the father they longed for.

Her heart twisted. They asked often, as they grew, about their father. Lois never had the cruelty to tell them he was dead—not when he wasn’t. Neither could she bring herself to confess that their father was the Alpha King of Hale, ruler of the greatest werewolf kingdom in the world. No. Instead, she told them gently:

Your father is a warrior. He’s gone to war, fighting for his country. He brought you here so you would be safe. When the battles are done, when peace returns, he will call for you.

A lie. A soft one, but still a lie.

Lois knew the truth would one day surface. She promised herself that when her children were grown, when their bond was strong enough, she would tell them everything. And perhaps then, they would shield her. Shield her from the Alpha King who still loathed her.

And I loathe him too.

She hated him for never seeing her, for how he scarred her heart and soul, for denying her every right as his mate. For using her like property, for sneering that she was nothing but a sex slave, a chattel, a thing.

And yet… she also hated herself for the part of her that still wanted him back. For the way her heart still ached toward the bond she could not sever. She could never love another man—not truly. Not when her soul had been chained to his.

Why had he done it? Why had he rejected her and claimed her sister instead? That question was a thorn buried deep, festering still.

Tears threatened. Lois swallowed them down, wiping her cheek quickly before anyone could see. Her past had already carved her into a woman who lived alone, who kept her head bowed, who found sanctuary only in her art and her children.

She entered the workshop store, rummaging through the shelves for pigments—oil-based, strong ones she favored.

“Hey, witch!”

Lois stilled. That voice.

Sara.

She turned slightly, finding her colleague standing there with three others clustered behind her, smirks curling across their faces like knives. Sara was the ringleader, venomous and sharp-tongued.

Lois ignored them, continuing to search. She had never responded to their baiting. They had sabotaged her paintings before, altering them after weeks of work just to break her spirit. And yet she always began again, always painted something finer than before. Silence had been her only answer.

“Hey, whore. I’m talking to you.” Sara’s voice rang louder as she grabbed Lois’s arm, dragging her to face her.

Lois’s calm eyes met hers. “What do you want from me?” Her voice was steady, though her patience had been worn thin for years.

Sara sneered. “Why are you always so proud, bitch?”

Something snapped.

Lois’s eyes burned as her voice cut the air, sharp as glass. “Proud? I can’t remember doing a thing to threaten you. And if my very existence threatens you, then fix your own damn insecurities. You—” she stepped forward, her tone a growl, “—are not on my level.”

The words struck like lightning. Lois shoved past her, brushing her shoulder against Sara’s with deliberate force, leaving them frozen in shock.

Sara blinked, speechless. “Did… did she just talk back to us?”

Her friends exchanged looks, then one muttered, “Not us. She said you’re not on her level.”

Sara’s face twisted with rage. “That wench. I never knew she was slow poison. I’ll show her what level she belongs to.”

One of her companions lowered her voice. “There’s nothing you can do, Sara. She’s been chosen to paint the portrait of the most powerful Alpha King. Ever since she arrived, every man here looks at her. Even the Captain. Maybe that’s why he gave her the chance.”

Sara’s lips curled. “Her name—Lois—means ‘desirable.’ And that’s all she is. A witch who seduces everyone. Mark my words, she’ll try to charm the King himself.”

Another chimed nervously, “And what if she succeeds?”

Sara’s eyes glinted. “She won’t. I’ll make sure of it. Not only will she fail to stand before the King, she won’t even step foot in the hall where his portrait is to be painted.”

Her friends stiffened. “What are you planning?”

“You’ll see.”

Later, the department bustled with excitement. “The dresses have arrived!” a lady announced.

Everyone rushed to collect theirs—uniformed ensembles designed for the ceremony. Long skirts, fitted corsets, and lace aprons adorned with delicate floral embroidery. Tradition demanded uniformity, and the gowns were beautiful. Each was labeled, neatly arranged.

Lois quietly retrieved hers, slipping it into her locker without fuss. Then she left for the store to finish gathering her pigments.

Sara exchanged a glance with her friends, then spotted the janitor nearby. “Yuri!” she called sweetly.

He paused, wiping his hands.

“You know the store has been short on brushes lately? Some thief’s been sneaking them out for personal use. We’re all finished getting our supplies, so you’d better lock the store now before anyone else goes in.” Her voice was honey-laced, convincing.

Yuri nodded, unaware. “Of course.”

He shut the heavy door with a loud clack, turned the key, and walked away.

Inside, Lois remained bent over a shelf, still selecting pigments—unaware she had been locked in. The storeroom’s soundproof walls muffled everything, and the shelves concealed her presence completely.

The workshop outside emptied as the other artists hurried off for their makeovers. It was a special day, after all. Nobles would attend, and every woman hoped to catch a royal eye, perhaps even rise to the life of a concubine.

Sara smirked, satisfied.

“Sara, are you insane? That store won’t be unlocked until tomorrow!” one of her friends hissed.

“Exactly.” Sara’s smile widened. “That’s the plan.”