EVERY CORNER

MAYA

The sun rose over the jagged peaks surrounding the pack territory, casting a sickly, pale light through the tall stained-glass windows of the estate. But no amount of daylight could warm the chilling cold settled deep inside my bones.

Something is definitely wrong somewhere.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands locked tightly in my lap to stop them from shaking. I had tried to convince myself that the vision from last night was just a phantom born of exhaustion, a trick played by my lingering grief and overactive mind. But as the days bled into one another, the reality of my nightmare became impossible to deny. I didn't know what kind of dark magic had taken root in this house, or why my soul was fragmenting before my very eyes, but I had no idea what that was or how to fix it.

I began to see Philomena at every corner of the house.

It started in the long, stone corridors near the library. I would be walking quietly, carrying a stack of fresh linens, and there she would be—standing near the arched pillars, wearing that soiled white dress, her pale face half-hidden behind her dark, cascading hair.

"You..." I would whisper, my heart leaping into my throat, dropping whatever was in my hands.

And in a minute, she would disappear.

No sound, no trace, just empty air where a ghost had been standing a second prior.

Then I saw her by the grand staircase, peering down at me through the wooden balusters with those hollow, tear-stained eyes. I saw her reflecting in the dark glass of the dining hall windows at dusk. I saw her standing in the shadow of the rose bushes in the garden, her lips moving in silent, agonized weeping. Every time I turned a corner, my breath hitched in anticipation of her spectral presence.

I thought I could manage this in silence. I thought if I prayed harder, if I held my tongue, if I focused entirely on rebuilding my life with Edward, the haunting would eventually fade. But it was getting too much. The constant terror was eating away at my sanity, turning my days into a waking nightmare and my nights into a sleepless torture chamber.

And then again, there was Alpha Edward.

He was losing his mind just as fast as I was. The passion between us hadn't died, but it had turned into something dark, desperate, and agonizing. He tried so many times to sleep with me. He would pull me into his arms in the dead of night, his strong hands trembling, his lips seeking mine with a raw, ravenous hunger that spoke of his overwhelming need to feel connected to me.

We would fall onto the sheets, the fire of our mate bond igniting instantly. But the moment the intimacy reached its peak, the moment our bodies moved together in raw rhythm, Edward’s eyes would flash that terrifying, glowing crimson. His breathing would turn ragged, his hands would lock around my wrists, and he would violently push me away, tumbling backward onto the mattress as if he had just touched burning coals.

"Philomena..." he would gasp, clutching his head, his face twisted in absolute torment. "Get away from me! Philomena... why are you doing this to me?!"

He was calling me Philomena—not with love, but with a deep, terrified grief that shattered my heart into a thousand bloody pieces every single time. He couldn't touch me without seeing her. He couldn't love me without smelling her scent on my skin and hearing her voice echoing through my cries. I was being haunted by my own past self, and it was driving a wedge so deep between us that not even our mate bond could bridge the gap.

To make matters worse, Maria was feeding on our misery like a vulture circling a dying animal.

She noticed the growing distance, the dark circles under our eyes, and the abrupt, violent sounds echoing from our bedroom late at night. One morning, as I walked down the grand hallway carrying a tray of untouched tea, Maria stepped out from her parlor, a triumphant, sickening smile stretching across her face.

"I am happy you can now see what I have been saying about the maid," she said happily, her voice dripping with venomous delight as she looked past me toward Edward’s locked study doors.

She glided closer, her expensive silk dress rustling against the polished floor, her dark eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.

"I told him from the very beginning," Maria sneered, leaning in so close I could smell her sweet, suffocating perfume. "You are cursed, Maya. You are nothing but an ill omen brought into this house to drive him mad. He doesn't love you. He is losing his mind because every time he looks at your plain, pathetic face, he remembers the real woman he lost. You are just a hollow shell, a cheap substitute that makes his stomach turn."

I clamped my jaw shut, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. But inside, her words landed like heavy iron hammers against my bruised ribs.

She was right about one thing: Edward was losing his mind, and my presence was the trigger. The house was toxic. The air was poisoned with ghosts, dark magic, and secrets that were slowly choking the life out of the man I loved. If I stayed here, trapped in this endless cycle of terror and rejection, both of us would end up completely destroyed before we ever had a chance to expose Maria.

I need to do something about this.

I couldn't stay here as a helpless victim anymore. I couldn't watch Edward tear himself apart every night in my arms. I needed answers—real answers about who was projecting Philomena’s ghost, where my sacred grimoire had vanished to, and how to cleanse the dark magic infesting this territory once and for all. And to find those answers, I needed space. I needed to step out of the eye of the storm.

I marched straight back to my quarters. My heart was heavy as lead, but my hands were steady.

I pulled my old, worn leather travelling bag out from beneath the wardrobe. I didn't have much to pack. A few simple cotton dresses, a warm cloak, and the small silver pendant Edward had given me during our brief moments of peace. I folded the clothes neatly, forcing down the lump rising in my throat as tears blurred my vision.

I am not running away out of weakness, I reminded myself, zipping the bag shut with a sharp pull. I am leaving to save us both.

Carrying my bag, I walked down the central corridor toward the Alpha's formal study. Every step felt like walking toward an executioner's block, but I held my head high.

I didn't bother to knock. I pushed the heavy mahogany doors open.

The study was dim, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut against the morning sun. The room smelled strongly of aged oak, dark whiskey, and the sharp, bitter scent of Edward’s distressed distress-pacing.

Edward was sitting behind his massive carved desk, his head resting in his hands, his dark hair a messy, dishevelled ruin. Empty crystal glasses littered the desk alongside scattered pack reports he clearly hadn't read. When the heavy door creaked open, his head snapped up.

His eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark, bruised circles. He looked exhausted, haunted, and broken beyond recognition.

"Maya?" he rasped, his voice rough and dry as sandpaper. He began to stand up, his hands pressing against the dark wood of the desk. "What... what are you doing?"

Then his eyes drifted down, locking onto the heavy leather bag gripped tightly in my right hand.

The color instantly drained from his face. The exhaustion in his posture vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic wave of panic that made his hands tremble against the desk.

"What is that?" Edward demanded, his voice cracking as he stepped around the massive desk, moving toward me with fast, unsteady strides. "Maya, why do you have a bag?"

I took a small step back, keeping a firm distance between us. Looking at him took every ounce of strength I possessed. The pain in his eyes mirrored the bleeding wound in my own soul.

"I came to tell you something, Edward," I said quietly. My voice was simple, natural, but completely devoid of the hesitation that usually guarded my words.

"Tell me what?" he asked, reaching out a trembling hand as if to touch my shoulder, but stopping himself inches away, his fingers curling into a tight fist in mid-air. "Maya, please. Talk to me. Is it about last night? I... I am sorry. God, I am so sorry! I don't know what comes over me! It’s like a fog fills my head and—"

"I packed my bags," I cut him off softly, looking directly into his tortured amber eyes.

The room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. The faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a ringing bell in the quiet space between us.

Edward blinked slowly, as if his brain was refusing to process the words coming out of my mouth. "You... what?"

"I packed my bags," I repeated, my voice rising slightly as I looked at the Alpha standing before me. "And I am announcing to the Alpha that I want to leave the pack."