REVENGE IS THE MISSION

MAYA

Discovering that Orlando was my dad made me happy and at the same time angry.

I stood in the middle of the quiet cemetery, staring at his mossy headstone with a storm of emotions raging in my chest. I was angry because he should have told me the truth during those thirty-six days of my restoration. He had sat across from me, handed me the book and watched me cry, yet he kept his identity a secret. But at the same time, I was happy—deeply, overwhelmingly happy—that he loved me enough to cross the boundary between life and death just to save my soul and give me a second chance.

I turned my head toward the woman standing beside me, my voice barely a whisper against the cool morning wind. "Does it mean the dead can see us?" I asked the woman at the grave.

She looked at me with gentle, wise eyes, her woolen shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. "The dead do not just see us, my child," she replied softly. "Those who loved us in life remain as shadows and whispers around our steps. They guard us when we are weak, and they rage when we are wronged."

Her words echoed in my mind all the way back to the pack estate.

When I got home that day, I felt I now had a solution to my problem. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place. Philomena’s spirit was not fighting against me out of malice or jealousy over Edward. She was not happy with me because I was handling things all wrong. I had been weak. I had been playing the victim, crying over lost love, sex, and kisses while the woman who destroyed our family walked freely around the estate, scheming and spreading poison.

My spirit was on a revenge mission, not here to fight over romantic crumbs! Philomena had been murdered in cold blood. Her father had been destroyed, her throne stolen, and her husband manipulated into a living nightmare. She didn't want me lounging in silk sheets enjoying intimacy—she wanted justice. She wanted blood.

I made up my mind to be wicked to Maria, just maybe Philomena will be happy. But hey, I am Philomena...

A cold, sharp smile touched my lips as I stepped through the front doors of the palace. The timid maid who cowered in the shadows was gone. I was the Princess of this royal bloodline, and it was time Maria learned what happens when you push a queen too far.

That evening, I walked into Alpha Edward’s private study without knocking. He was sitting behind his mahogany desk, looking tired and pale, his amber eyes lifting to meet mine with that familiar, cautious longing.

"Maya?" he asked, his voice rough. "Where have you been all morning? I was worried."

"I am fine, Edward," I said, walking right up to his desk with a firm, confident stride. I leaned my hands against the polished wood, looking straight into his eyes. "I came here because I want you to change Maria's punishment."

Edward blinked, caught off guard by the sharp authority in my tone. "Her punishment? She is already sweeping the pack roads, Maya."

"It is not enough," I said coldly, stepping closer. "I want you to extend her punishment days. She should sweep for two full weeks instead of three days. And I want her to cover more fields and the outer village streets—all of them, alone, with no guards helping her."

Edward stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "Two weeks? Maya, the outer fields are miles long. That is grueling physical labor for a noblewoman."

"She tried to have four armed men drag me out of my bed and break my legs in the middle of the night, Edward," I reminded him, my voice dropping into a hard, unyielding register. "She deserves worse. If you truly consider me your Luna, you will enforce this."

Edward looked at me for a long moment. He didn't see the meek maid he usually felt the need to protect; he saw a fierce, commanding woman who refused to be stepped on. A spark of deep respect flickered in his amber eyes.

"Very well," Edward agreed, reaching for a parchment scroll and signing his official Alpha seal onto it. "Consider it done."

When the new decree was delivered to Maria, she flew into a furious rage. She shrieked, threw a crystal vase against the wall, and swore she would rather die than sweep the muddy outer fields. Maria refused, but somehow, under the heavy glare of the pack guards and the absolute authority of the Alpha's order, she had no choice.

She spent the entire day under the scorching sun and bitingly cold wind, dragging a heavy straw broom across miles of dirt, mud, and gravel. The common villagers stood by the roadsides, watching and whispering as the arrogant woman who once looked down on them was forced to clean their garbage.

She came back to the palace very late at night, completely exhausted. Her hands were blistered and bleeding, her hair was a tangled mess, and her expensive dress was torn and covered in dried mud. She could barely lift her feet as she dragged herself into the grand dining hall, where Edward and I were sitting at the long oak table, enjoying a quiet, warm dinner.

As Maria limped toward the table, reaching for a chair to collapse into, I set my silver fork down with a loud clink against my porcelain plate.

I looked up at her, my face completely devoid of mercy, a cold scoff escaping my lips.

"You are not going to join us at the table while cleaning the streets because you are more like a maid," I said to her with a scoff as she was about to come with us. "Maids do not sit on the same table with royalties."

The entire dining hall fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

Maria froze, her hands trembling against the back of the wooden chair. She lifted her head, staring at me with a mixture of pure shock, humiliation, and deep-seated hatred. The very words she had used to humiliate me for months were now being thrown right back into her face, cutting her deeper than any blade ever could.

"You..." Maria choked out, her voice cracking with raw embarrassment. She looked at Edward, hoping he would reprimand me, but Edward just sat quietly, cutting his meat, offering her not a single shred of sympathy.

I watched her closely, feeling a strange, dark warmth swell inside my chest. I could see the tears drop from her eyes, rolling down her dirty, tear-stained cheeks before she turned on her heel and sobbed quietly, limping out of the dining room toward the servant's quarters.

And I have never been happier.

For the first time in months, the heavy, suffocating pressure in my chest vanished. The cold, ghost-like frost that always lingered in the back of my mind melted away, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction and peace. Philomena’s spirit wasn't thrashing against my ribs anymore. She was calm. She was pleased.

"Thank you, Philomena," I said under my breath, leaning back against my chair with a soft smile.

It was supposed to be a quiet whisper, a private thought shared between my soul and the ghost resting inside me.

I had forgotten how sharp an Alpha's hearing truly was.

Beside me, Edward froze instantly. His silver fork dropped from his hand, clattering loudly against his plate. The warm atmosphere in the room evaporated, replaced by an icy, suffocating stillness.

Slowly, very slowly, Edward turned his head toward me. His face was completely pale, his jaw clenched tight, his amber eyes burning with a wild, terrifying mix of shock and disbelief.

"What did you just say?" he asked.