001.

Amelia's POV

“Amelia?”

The voice was a distant, tiny, fuzzy mosquito buzzing somewhere in the fog of my brain.

I was underwater and the doctor’s words were stones sinking past me, too heavy and dark to grab onto.

“Amelia, are you still with me?”

Boom…! The surface broke. The sound of his voice snapped into a sharp horrifying focus.

My vision cleared and I was back in the stupidly cheerful room, staring at Doctor Evans.

“Sorry,” I croaked. “My brain just… took a vacation for a second. What was that last part? Something about a… tourist?”

“A tumor,” he corrected gently, and oh yeah, that was way worse. “I’m sorry, Amelia. The scans show a glioblastoma. It’s… it’s very aggressive. Located in a precarious spot.”

I just blinked.

This had to be a joke.. a really really bad one. I half-expected my stepsister Gabriella to pop out from behind the anatomical chart yelling, “Surprise, bitch!” That would be more her style.

“Okay,” I said, drawing the word out. “Aggressive. Precarious. So… what’s the plan? Scoop it out? Zap it with lasers?”

Doctor Evans looked down at his clipboard like it had personally offended him.

“Surgery isn’t an option. The risks of catastrophic damage are far too high. We’re looking at palliative care to manage the symptoms as they progress.”

“Palliative care,” I repeated.

That’s the fancy term for ‘make you comfortable while you die.’

“Right. So, symptoms. What are we talking? Headaches? I already get those.”

“Headaches, yes. Then nausea, dizziness, potential loss of motor function, vision problems…” he listed them off like he was reading a grocery list.

He finally met my eyes.

“With intensive treatment, we might be able to extend it… but realistically, Amelia, you have about three months. Unless a miracle happens.”

I scoffed, my chest tightening.

A miracle? Oh, please… My luck was so bad, if I fell into a barrel of tits, I’d come out sucking my own thumb..!

“Can I… can I just have a minute?” I asked, my voice suddenly small.

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” He gave me one last pitying look and slipped out, closing the door with a soft click.

I dropped my face into my hands, my elbows digging into my knees. My eyes welled up with tears but I blinked them back. I badly wanted to cry, and I didn't know if it was because I'm dying or the fact that I knew deep down that no one would give a damn whatever happened to me.

But crying doesn't change a damn thing. So I didn’t cry.. I just rubbed my temples hard and violently like I could scrub the news right out of my skull.

My traitorous mind decided now was the perfect time for a highlight reel of my greatest failures.

Mistake Number One was Damian Ashford. God, I poured everything into that man! Every ounce of love, every shred of hope. Damian, with his billionaire tech empire. Handsome as hell, sure. But such a dick!

What no one else knew... what I’d been forced to learn after we said “I do”... was that his biggest empire wasn’t the one he portrayed. It was fur and fangs.

The man was the Alpha of his pack and I, the useless human wife, was just the placeholder.. the duty. His heart was always elsewhere, with his pack, his status and his… other appetites.

Which led me straight to Mistake Number Two… taking the shit.

For years.. I tolerated the freezing silences, the missed anniversaries, the way he’d look right through me like I was a ghost and his parents? Victor and Elena Ashford? Don’t even get me started. They never missed a chance to remind me I was a charity case.

“A human of such… modest means,” Elena would purr, her smile as sharp as a knife.

“So brave of our Damian to elevate you.”

They’d wanted him to marry a werewolf from a strong bloodline, not some nobody human with a busted-up family and a cheery disposition.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted my head. Okay. Enough. Sitting here feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to shrink the fucking tumor. I stood up, my legs a little wobbly. Time to go home. Whatever that meant.

:))

I walked into the cold, minimalist expanse of our penthouse with the crinkled paper of the diagnosis in my hand feeling like it was burning my skin.

I stared at it for a second, then crumpled it into a tight ball and did a free-throw shot into the kitchen trash can. Swish. Two points for the dying girl..!

I dropped my bag on the counter and headed for the stairs. I needed a shower.

The bedroom door was ajar and I stopped, my hand on the banister. My breath hitched but not because of the door.

It was the sounds.. the rhythmic creak of the bed.. a groan I knew all too well. Damian and a high breathy giggle that was definitely not me.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me, I thought. Today? Of all the days?

I should have turned around. I should have marched back downstairs and set the fucking curtains on fire. But some part of me needed to see it. I crept forward and peeked through the crack in the door.

There they were.. on our ridiculously expensive sheets. Damian, his powerful back muscles straining and beneath him, her face flushed with pleasure, her manicured nails digging into his shoulders… was Gabriella..! My stepsister..! Of-fucking-course…!

I always knew he had a thing for her. The “she-saved-my-life-once” story was his favorite epic poem, recited every time he wanted to prove how useless I was in comparison. But knowing and seeing… yeah, seeing was a whole different kind of hell.

A cold numbness spread through me, drowning out the anger, the hurt.

Confronting a six-foot-four werewolf Alpha while he’s balls-deep in your stepsister seemed like a really really bad idea. Especially for a woman with a terminal brain tumor. Talk about adding insult to… well, a fatal injury.

I backed away, retreating downstairs like a ghost in my own home.

I ended up in the kitchen, slumped on a stool, silently watching my own tears make little dark spots on the pristine countertop. This was my life. This was always my life.. the pathetic human waiting patiently on the sidelines.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard movement upstairs.. footsteps and muffled laughter as they came down, Gabriella looking smug and thoroughly… well, fucked. Damian, shirtless and oblivious, walked her to the front door.

“See you tomorrow, Damy,” she cooed, kissing his cheek.

He closed the door and turned, finally noticing me sitting in the dim kitchen light.

He didn’t jump.. he didn’t even look guilty. He just raised an eyebrow and walked to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“You’re home,” he stated. Like he was noting a change in the weather.

The numbness cracked.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He paused, the bottle halfway to his lips. He wasn’t used to me having a spine.

“What’s your problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Damian. Let me think.” I slid off the stool. “Maybe my problem is that I just came home to find my husband screwing my stepsister in our bed. But hey, maybe I’m just being sensitive.”

He snorted, taking a long drink.

“Don’t be dramatic, Amelia. It doesn’t suit you. You know what Gabriella means to me.”

Of course, the star word for today was dramatic not sensitive. Small good things, yeah.

“Yeah, I do. She’s the strong one. The brave one. The one who saved your life,” I said, throwing his favorite line back at him. “And what am I, Damian? The weak, stupid human with amnesia who can’t remember her own past? The charity case your parents hate?”

He finally turned to look at me, his eyes flashing that eerie shade they did when he was pissed.

“You said it, not me. You’re just a placeholder. An obligation. You knew that when you married me. Gabriella… she understands the real world. She understands me.”

“She understands your bank account, you fucking jerk!” The words flew out of me, sharp and angry. “She’s a gold-digging bitch and you’re too damn blind to see it!”

Damian set the water bottle down with a sharp click.. he took a step toward me and for the first time, I didn’t shrink back.

“What did you just say to me?” His voice was a low, dangerous growl.

“You heard me! You’re a fool, Damian! A proud, cheating, stupid fool!”

He moved so fast I didn’t even see it. One second he was across the room, the next his hand was swinging through the air.

The slap connected with my cheek and my head snapped to the side…