26

I kept my mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me complain. I slowly sank down to my knees on the cold floorboards, resting the metal trash bin right beside me. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out toward the wide pile of shattered crystal and dark wine stains.

Some of the broken pieces were large, jagged slabs with lethal edges, while others were tiny, razor-sharp splinters scattered across the blue rug. I took a deep, steadying breath, carefully pinching the flat side of a heavy glass shard between my thumb and index finger. I lifted it slowly, dropping it into the metal bin with a loud, ringing clink.

Piece by piece, I kept picking them up. I moved with extreme caution, double-checking every angle before placing my bare skin against the jagged edges. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird, every instinct screaming at me to stop before I cut myself to ribbons, but I gritted my teeth and kept working, filling the bottom of the bin one sharp fragment at a time.

As I knelt there in the quiet chamber, a hot drop of moisture suddenly spilled over my eyelashes and splashed onto the back of my hand.

I blinked rapidly, my breath hitching in my chest as tears began to stream down my cheeks in silent, unstoppable waves. I couldn't even tell which day was truly the worst day of my life anymore—was it the terrifying afternoon my own flesh and blood father sentenced me to die, or was it today, kneeling at the feet of a monster, picking up broken glass with my bare hands?

The agonizing realization hit me like a heavy iron fist: the terror was far from over. Much worse was guaranteed to come in this brutal fortress.

Back home, my life had certainly been far from perfect. My stepmother had hated my very existence, constantly eyeing me with bitter resentment and searching for the smallest excuse to punish me or find fault in every single thing I did. But despite her endless cruelty, I had still been a princess. I had a soft bed to sleep in, clean clothes to wear, and fresh food on my table every morning. It had been hard, but it had never been anything as terrifying or degrading as this nightmare.

A heavy, aching lump formed in my throat as the crushing truth settled deep into my soul. I had actually possessed a good life back then—a peaceful, comfortable life—and I had never even realized or valued it until it was ripped away from me. I had jumped straight out of the frying pan and into a roaring fire. I had fallen all the way from grace to the absolute dirt.

Hot, bitter anger flared up beneath the heavy grief in my chest. Why did my stepmother have to be so utterly wicked toward me? Why did she and Angela hate me with such deep, unprovoked poison? Everything happening to me right now—every single tear, every drop of blood, every insult from Alpha Lucien—was completely because of them.

I clamped my jaw shut so tight my teeth ached, my eyes narrowing through the blur of my tears. I was never the type of person to let things go, nor was I someone who easily forgave those who wronged me. They had ruined my life with their eyes wide open, acting out of pure, calculated malice.

I swore a silent, binding vow to the Moon Goddess right then and there: I would never, ever forgive them for what they had done to me. If I somehow managed to escape this psychotic Alpha, survive this nightmare, and regain my freedom, I swore I would hunt them down. I would make my stepmother and Angela feel pain—a dark, unbearable pain far worse than anything they had forced me to suffer.

And my father would not be spared either. He would pay for every single bit of this betrayal. How could a father punish his own biological daughter so heartlessly, throwing her directly into brutal hardship and handing her over to a monster just to die? I hated him with every fiber of my being, and I vowed that one day, I would make him answer for his cowardice.

A fresh tear slipped down my cheek, threatening to drop onto the floorboards where Alpha Lucien could see it. I quickly raised the shoulder of my dress, wiping my wet face clean against the fabric as fast as I could. I swallowed down my sobs, refusing to let him witness my weakness, and forced my shaking fingers to keep picking up the sharp pieces of glass.

I picked up fragment after fragment, my arms growing heavy and exhausted as the pile slowly shrank.

Then, as I reached blindly under the edge of the mahogany table for a hidden piece, my thumb accidentally brushed hard against a long, razor-sharp edge.

Slice.

A sudden, sharp gasp of agony burst from my lips. I jerked my hand back instantly, clutching my wrist as a deep, severe gash opened up across the meat of my thumb. Crimson blood immediately welled up from the split skin, overflowing in seconds and dripping heavily down my palm and fingers.