HE WAS MY ANGEL

MAYA

The cold night air clung to my skin long after Edward ran from the room, leaving me alone in the dark. I sat on the edge of the bed, my legs pulled tightly against my chest, staring at the shattered glass scattered across the floor.

Philomena’s spirit is fighting against me, but she does not fight against Edward.

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears slipping down my cheeks as the truth sank in. Why should he be stopped from sleeping with me? He loved me. He wanted me. Every time he pulled me close, every time his hands touched my skin, it was filled with pure passion and longing. But the moment things became intimate, her ghost would rise up between us like a sharp wall, driving him mad with terror and pushing him away. She wasn't trying to protect him from me—she was keeping him from uniting with Maya. She wanted her own body back, or she wanted him to love only her memory.

"Why are you doing this to us?" I whispered to the empty room, my voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. "He is my husband now! We deserve to be happy!"

There was no answer, only the quiet rustle of the curtains in the wind.

I have had enough, and so I decided to go back to the grave and maybe see Orlando and explain to him.

Mr. Orlando was the only person who truly understood what happened to me. He was the one who oversaw my spiritual restoration after I lay in Philomena’s tomb. He knew the ancient spells, the secrets of the sacred earth, and how my soul was bound to this second life. If anyone could help me silence her spirit, suppress this chaotic magic, and restore peace to my marriage, it was him.

Without wasting another minute, I threw on a simple dark cloak, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and slipped out of the estate through the servant's entrance. The night was dark and quiet, but I didn't care about the danger. I walked for hours along the winding dirt path leading toward the hidden, ancient burial grounds deep in the misty hills beyond the pack territory.

By the time the horizon turned a faint, ghostly gray with the first light of dawn, I finally reached the iron gates of the old sanctuary. The stone cottage where Mr. Orlando lived was covered in thick green vines, its wooden door weathered and dark with age.

I rushed up the stone steps and knocked heavily on the wooden door. "Mr. Orlando! Please, open up! It’s Maya... I need your help!"

The door creaked open slowly, but it wasn't the tall, elderly man with wise, glowing eyes who answered.

Instead, a middle-aged woman wearing a faded woolen shawl looked out at me, her brow furrowed in deep suspicion and concern. "Who are you looking for, young lady?"

"Mr. Orlando," I said breathlessly, clutching my chest. "Please, I need to see him right away. It’s an emergency."

The woman stared at me as if I had lost my mind. She let out a heavy sigh and shook her head sadly. "Child, Mr. Orlando died many years ago."

My heart dropped straight into my stomach. My breath caught in my throat. "What? No... no, that’s impossible!"

"How long?" I asked, my voice cracking, my hands trembling violently. "How long ago did he die?"

"Fifty years ago," she said flatly.

"That's bullshit!" I burst out, stepping forward, my eyes wide with panic and anger. "In my scorecard, I just talked with him a few months ago! He cured me! He took care of me right in this sanctuary!"

The woman didn't get angry at my outburst. She just looked at me with deep pity in her tired eyes. "You're confusing reality with spirits, girl. Come with me. I'll show you."

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stepped off the porch, guiding me down a narrow, moss-covered stone path that led toward the private family cemetery nestled beneath the ancient willow trees.

My mind was spinning in absolute turmoil. Fifty years? How could he have been dead for fifty years when I sat with him, drank his herbal teas, and listened to his guidance just weeks after I woke up? Was I talking to a ghost the entire time? Was the restoration itself a product of the spirit world?

The woman stopped near a quiet clearing surrounded by high stone walls. She pointed her hand toward three ancient headstones sitting side by side under the shade of a massive, weeping willow.

"There he is," she whispered softly. "See for yourself."

I took a slow, hesitant step forward, the damp grass soaking through my leather boots. My eyes locked onto the headstone on the far left.

carved into the mossy stone were the words: ORLANDO VALENTINE Rest in Peace

My knees felt so weak I almost collapsed onto the cold earth right there. "He... he really is dead," I whispered, tears blurring my sight as I touched the cold stone marker with trembling fingers.

"His grave was close to Philomena's grave," the woman explained quietly, stepping up beside me, "and Philomena's grave was close to her father and mother's grave."

I looked up, my breath hitching as my eyes scanned the arrangement of the three tombstones sitting in a neat, symmetrical row beneath the sacred tree.

The headstone on the far left belonged to Mr. Orlando. The headstone on the far right belonged to a woman named Queen Seraphina.

And sitting right in the center, decorated with faded white marble flowers and weathered ancestral runes, was the main tomb—the very place where my body had rested for five days during my rebirth.

PRINCESS PHILOMENA VALENTINE

It means the grave in the center was Philomena's, and the two by the side are her parents.

The realization hit my brain like a violent bolt of lightning, shattering every piece of confusion that had haunted me since the day I woke up.

Mr. Orlando was Philomena's dad... my dad.

Tears spilled over my eyelashes in an unstoppable flood, burning down my cold cheeks as I stared at the central grave. The wise old man who had saved my soul, the caretaker who had nursed me back to health and guided me through thirty-six days of spiritual restoration... was my father’s spirit. He hadn't just been an ancient keeper of the tomb; he was my blood, watching over his daughter’s reincarnated soul from beyond the grave, protecting me until I was ready to walk back into the living world.

"He never left me," I sobbed quietly, dropping to my knees on the damp grass between the graves, pressing my forehead against the cool marble of the center tomb. "He was protecting his child the whole time..."

"He was a great man," the woman said softly from behind me. "He sacrificed everything to protect his family's bloodline before the dark times fell upon this land. Whatever brought you here, child, know that the ancestors of this dirt do not let their children wander alone."

Sitting there between the graves of my mother, my father, and my former self, the chaotic wind inside my chest finally began to settle.

I wasn't just Maya, a helpless maid caught in Maria’s wicked games. And I wasn't just a haunted shell being tormented by a ghost. I was Philomena, the true princess of this royal bloodline, backed by the sacred magic of my ancestors and the enduring love of my father.

The spirit fighting inside me wasn't trying to destroy my life—it was trying to wake me up completely. It was demanding that I stop hiding behind the identity of a timid maid and step fully into the power and authority that belonged to my lineage.

I wiped the tears from my face, placed my palm firmly over my father's headstone, and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Thank you, Father," I whispered into the quiet morning wind. "I understand now."

I stood up, pulled my cloak tight around my shoulders, and turned back toward the path leading to the pack estate. I was no longer afraid of the magic inside me, and I was no longer running from the truth. It was time to go home, reclaim my place beside Edward, and tear down Maria's dark web once and for all.