4. I accept.

Camilla.

The leather interior of Grandfather’s private car smelled of aged oak and faint cigars, a quiet haven that felt light-years away from the cold, sterile cruelty of the hospital room.

Outside the tinted windows, the familiar pine trees of the Royal Pack territory blurred into streaks of green and shadow. I sat huddled in the backseat, wrapped in a thick wool blanket Grandfather had gently draped over my shoulders. 

My body still throbbed with a dull, persistent pain, but beneath the physical aches, something far more sinister was taking root inside me.

The tears had finally stopped drying on my face. The helpless, suffocating sorrow that had consumed me on that hospital floor was slowly twisting, hardening, crystallizing into a cold, lethal flame.

I loved him.

For three years, I had poured my heart into a black hole. I had endured the snide whispers of the pack, the bitter coldness in Ragnar’s eyes, and the quiet humiliation of being a Queen in name only. 

I had prayed for his affection, blamed myself for his distant nature, and carried the weight of a dying marriage on my frail shoulders. 

And how had he repaid me?

He had struck me. He had thrown divorce papers on my broken body. He had thrown me to the wolves—literally—for the sister who had cut my brakes and tried to murder me.

I rested my hand over my abdomen, feeling the faint, quiet warmth beneath my palm. 

‘They tried to kill us both,’ I thought, my jaw clenching so tight my teeth ached. ‘They wanted me broken. They wanted me dead so they could step over my corpse and take their grand throne.’

No.

I would not die quietly in the dark. I would not disappear into the night as a disgraced, forgotten ex-Luna while Pamela wore my crown and Ragnar celebrated his stolen happiness. 

They wanted a villain? 

They were going to get one. Every tear I shed, every drop of blood I spilled on that hospital floor, they would pay back tenfold.

"We are here, child," Grandfather’s gentle voice broke through the dark spiral of my thoughts.

The car had pulled up to the grand stone archway of Eric’s private estate—a secluded fortress nestled deep within the old territorial borders, far removed from the bustling royal compound where Ragnar reigned. 

It was an ancient, majestic sanctuary that commanded respect, built long before Ragnar ever dreamed of wearing the Alpha crown.

The driver opened my door, and Grandfather offered me his hand, supporting me as I slowly stepped out onto the cobblestone driveway. 

Every step sent a flare of pain through my ribs, but I forced my chin up. I refused to look weak. Not anymore.

"You will rest here, Camilla," Grandfather said softly, leading me toward the tall mahogany double doors. His eyes held a heavy sorrow as he looked at me. "My pack guards answer only to me. Ragnar has no authority on these grounds. You are safe."

"Thank you, Grandfather," I murmured, my voice raspy, stripped of its former softness, as It sounded harder now.

The massive front doors swung open, revealing a grand foyer lined with marble pillars and warm light. But as we stepped across the threshold, the quiet atmosphere of the estate was broken by the sound of firm, rhythmic footsteps echoing down the grand staircase.

I paused, shielding my eyes slightly against the chandelier light as a tall figure descended the stairs.

My breath caught in my throat.

The man stepping into the hall possessed the same striking, commanding presence as Ragnar—the broad shoulders, the lethal grace of a born Alpha—but where Ragnar was all icy storm clouds and sharp edges, this man was absolute, untamed shadows. He wore a dark leather jacket, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, and his sharp jaw was dusted with light stubble. His eyes were a piercing, golden amber that seemed to burn straight through the darkness.

It was Cassian.

Ragnar’s younger brother. The dark prince of the royal bloodline, who had abandoned the pack five years ago after a bitter falling out with Ragnar, vanishing into the lawless outer territories.

"Grandfather," Cassian’s deep, velvety baritone echoed through the hall. "I see the old place hasn't changed much."

"Cassian," Grandfather said, a rare flick of surprise passing over his aged face before settling into a warm nod. "You actually came back."

"I heard whispers that the royal compound was in chaos," Cassian said, stepping off the last stair. His golden eyes shifted away from Grandfather, locking onto me.

The moment his gaze landed on my face—on the dark, swollen bruise marring my cheek, the hospital gown beneath the blanket, and the sheer exhaustion etched into my posture—his sharp expression hardened. The effortless air about him vanished, replaced by an intoxicating, dangerous pressure that made the air in the foyer grow heavy.

"Camilla," he spoke my name slowly, the sound rich and deliberate. He crossed the marble floor in long, confident strides, stopping just a few feet away from us. "What happened to you?"

"Ragnar happened," Grandfather answered bitterly, his voice thick with disgust. "He divorced her. Struck her. Threw her out of the pack hospital like trash, all for that viper sister of hers"

A chilling silence settled over the hall. I watched Cassian’s face. He didn't look shocked; instead, a slow, terrifying shadow crossed his sharp features. His amber eyes burned with a dark, primal rage, locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

He stepped closer, reaching out a long, calloused hand. For a split second, I flinched—a habit born from Ragnar's brutal slap—but Cassian stopped instantly. His fingers hovered barely an inch from my bruised cheek, his touch feather-light, infinitely gentle, despite the deadly aura rolling off him.

"He laid his hands on you," Cassian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low whisper that vibrated through the air.

"He made his choice," I replied, my voice steadying, devoid of the pathetic begging I had displayed hours ago. "He thinks he took everything from me."

Cassian lowered his hand, his lips curving into a dark, wicked smirk that didn't reach his burning eyes.

"Ragnar always was a fool," Cassian murmured, his gaze sweeping over me with fierce protection. "He never knew what he had, and he thinks wearing that crown makes him invincible…he thinks he can crush people and walk away unscathed."

He took a step closer, towering over me, offering his hand openly—not as a superior, but as an ally.

"Stay here, Camilla," Cassian said softly, his voice lacing with an unyielding promise. "Let me protect you. Let Grandfather and me wrap this house around you until you are healed. Ragnar threw you away, but he forgot that I’ve been waiting in the shadows for five years.” He paused.  “Accept my protection. Let me be your shield."

It's true, Cassian had always wanted to marry me since our childhood. But I never took it seriously.

I stared at his outstretched hand.

A few hours ago, I would have shrunk away from such an offer, terrified of getting caught in the middle of a war between two royal brothers. I would have wanted peace. I would have wanted to hide away and nurse my broken heart in silence.

But as I looked into Cassian’s fierce, golden eyes, I didn't see a quiet escape. I saw a weapon.

Ragnar loved Pamela. He wanted his perfect queen, his immaculate victory, and his effortless reign. He thought I was a pathetic, weak girl who would crawl away into the dark and bleed out quietly.

‘He wants to be King?’ I thought, a bitter, lethal smile touching my lips inside my mind. ‘Then I will make his kingdom burn.’

If I accepted Cassian’s protection—if I aligned myself with the brother Ragnar feared most—I wouldn't just survive. I would position myself at the heart of his downfall. 

I would watch his perfect world shatter piece by piece. I would make him watch as the crown he so desperately cherished was dragged through the mud. I would make him regret the day he ever raised his hand to me. I would make him regret the day he chose Pamela over his child’s mother.

I lifted my chin, the last remnants of my weakness vanishing into the cold ether.

I placed my trembling hand into Cassian’s broad, warm palm. His fingers closed firmly around mine, anchoring me in a pact sealed in vengeance.

"I accept," I whispered, my voice clear, sharp, and dripping with venom. "But you must make him pay, Cassian.” I paused. “Make them both bleed.”