CHAPTER 2: THE REPLACEMENT WIFE

SORAYA’S POV

Swallowing the bile that threatened to rise up my throat, I did my best to keep my voice as steady as possible. How could one do that after seeing this?

“Ragnar, what is all this? Who is this woman, and… and why does she look just like me?”

He didn't answer. He just stared at me. Somehow, that worsened the situation even more.

The air around me was so cold, it felt like I was inhaling shards of ice. Each shard stabbed my lungs and made it impossible to breathe.

“Answer me, Ragnar!” I snapped, my voice strong despite my heart being shaky.

I don't think he could see the slight tremble in my limbs. I have never been this horrified in my entire life.

His eyes shifted to the woman in the case, and I watched them soften. Not only that.

I see love.

The love and softness I have always craved since the day I first set my eyes on him. But I never got it.

No matter what I did, Ragnar has always been cold and distant towards me.

I always believed if I loved harder or did something better, things would change.

At times, I believed he didn't even love me.

During the months we were dating, I’d sometimes notice the emotional distance between us and feel tempted to end it.

But then he'd pull me back in. Every single time. Just when I was ready to walk away, he'd look at me with those eyes, say all the right things.

He’d tell me he’d never felt this way about anyone before. That I was the only one. That choosing me was the best decision he had ever made.

And I believed him.

Because he never looked at another woman. Not once. Not even when the entire pack — and I mean everyone — knew how wanted he was.

Ragnar wasn't just anyone.

He was the Alpha of Black Alder — royal by blood, feared by his enemies, loved by his people. Diplomatic. Smart. Always calm under pressure.

The kind of leader everyone trusted to do the right thing.

He was powerful and protective — and heartbreakingly attractive on top of it. Every unmated she-wolf dreamed of being chosen by him.

So when my father and I moved into Black Alder and, months later, Ragnar picked me — of all people — to be his chosen mate, it felt like a dream.

A marriage of convenience, sure. An alliance arranged by my father. But Ragnar made it feel like more. He swore I was the only one he wanted. Said he didn’t care about the mate bond.

That what we had was enough. That he'd take care of me. That he'd look after my father, even through his illness.

That I wouldn’t have to carry anything alone ever again.

I believed him.

And why wouldn’t I? He made me feel like I mattered. Like I was special.

Like I was his.

Until now.

“Her name was Sorava.”

Was?

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the woman—no, corpse. Her face was an exact replica of mine, terrifyingly so.

It felt like someone had taken my features and molded them into a ghost. Her skin was pale, her lashes dark, and her lips the same shade as mine.

With the release of a shaky breath, I ask, “Is she dead?”

He nods.

“How long?”

He shrugs his shoulders like this was the kind of conversation he had on a daily basis.

“Two years and six months.”

My mouth dropped.

I glanced at him, then at the body, then back at him. My eyebrows furrowed with disbelief.

“How is her body not decaying?”

He grins. And I mean actually grins at me, the way a Cheshire cat would grin at his dinner.

“Her body cannot decay until the prophecy has been fulfilled,” he said, and the look I gave him signifies that he is going to have to do a lot more explaining.

He lets out a sigh and steps closer to me. Instinctively, I take one step back. His eyes soften, and he offers me a small smile.

It is funny how I once found that smile sweet and attractive.

Now he looks nothing short of a psychopath.

“I lied. You are not the only woman I have been with,” he starts, his words acting as an arrow sent straight into my heart.

I hate how tears instantly brim my eyes from that statement alone. He obviously doesn't seem to care because he continues, his tone remaining casual.

“The woman in there, Sorava, is my first wife and love,” he says, taking another step forward.

I take one back, but only this time, my back meets the cold case. My wolf whimpered with jealousy and pain.

It takes a moment for his words to properly process.

I knew from the start I was not Ragnar's true mate. I have searched far and wide for my fated mate but never found him. I always believed he never found his either.

Not because he never told me, but because none of the servants ever spoke about it. Not one.

There were no signs. No pictures. No mention of her name. Absolutely nothing.

Apart from tonight, I never would have imagined he had been with any other woman apart from me. How could I have been so blind and naive?

My wolf loved him. I loved him.

How foolish of me to think he felt the same. But could I really be blamed? He asked me to marry him. I always believed that somewhere beneath that stone-cold heart, deep down, he loved me.

He exhaled, tossing his hand in the air as if all this were a minor inconvenience, like explaining a dull business transaction.

“The first time I saw you," he began, "was a few months before Sorava’s death. You were at the northern markets. Handing out food. Cradling stray pups. Laughing with this wild, beautiful spark I’d never seen before.” He smiled faintly, almost amused. “You were… harmless. Soft. Painfully naïve. I remember thinking how you carried so much light it was almost blinding. Maybe in another life, without Sorava by my side, I might have... wanted to get to know you genuinely. Perhaps if my heart wasn’t already consumed by another woman...”

Goddess—my eyes burned, even as I drew in a sharp breath, trying to swallow down the excruciating ache stabbing into my chest.

“And then Sorava died,” his voice lowered. “My Luna. My wife. My everything.”

He looked at me, his stare sharp, filled with a pain too deep, too personal.

“I felt the life drain out of my existence the morning I woke to her cold body lying right there on the bed beside mine. I was lost. Broken. But then, during one of my strolls through the pack, I saw you. Stricken by grief, I almost thought that you were Sorava. But even with your striking resemblance, the two of you are completely different people. Your energy, your behavior, the way you talk and walk is completely different from hers. But I thought that if I married you, I would be able to fill the void she had left in my heart.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head with mild amusement, not a single glimpse of shame, remorse, or hesitation.

"I really was stupid. I struck the deal with your father—promising him all the lands he could dream of, offering to fund his treatment if he convinced you to agree to our arranged marriage. Naïve, beautiful thing you are, Soraya, you fell for it—Did you actually think I loved you?”

“St-Stop. T-That is not true!” I shrieked. “You’re lying to me! You... you swore that you loved me. Y-You... our wedding vows—”

“I married you because you looked like her. You were tolerable because of that face. Nothing more.”

The words sliced straight through my chest.

“You were convenient, darling. Obedient. Uncomplicated. Where she was fire, you were simply... water. Boring. Easily contained. Easy to predict.” He gave a hollow laugh. “You tried so hard to please me. To suck my cock at every inconvenience. To love me. To be everything I needed. But you were never capable of being what she was.”

My hands shook. My entire body trembled. My wolf was in torture. I needed him to stop talking, to stop driving the knife deeper and deeper.

“I-I don’t want to hear another word from you-”

“You lack her brilliance,” he continued, like he was explaining some minor flaw. “Her depth. Her strength. Sorava was untamed. Fearless. She could command a room with a glance. She made men fall to their knees. She was art.” He glanced at me like I was a stain. “You… you were sweet.”

The way he said it — like sweetness was a defect. Like softness was something pitiful.

"You were a placeholder."

I could barely breathe.

"And as much as I tried to... appreciate what you offered," he sighed, "nothing ever filled the void she left. Not your touch. Not your words. Not your desperate attempts to win my affection. You were never her. And you never could be.”

My vision blurred. Drop after drop of tears poured down my cheek. Nausea coiled in my gut.

“But you serve a purpose. You are important for something far greater than either one of us can imagine. But with time it will all be revealed to you.”

He has revealed more than enough if you ask me.

He stepped forward, reaching for my face again. I slapped his hand away, but he barely flinched — as if expecting it.

“Don’t do this, darling,” he murmured, lips curling into a soft pout. “I know this hurts. But I’ve always been honest with myself, even if you couldn’t be.” He lowered his voice to that sweet baritone I always fell for. “Do you know why I could tolerate you in my bed? Why I held you at night? Because when I closed my eyes, it was her face I saw. Always her.”

His eyes drifted over my shoulder — toward the case. Toward her.

The way he looked at Sorava made my stomach turn. Hunger. Devotion. Longing. Obsession.

He never once looked at me that way. And I had no idea if I was more disgusted or jealous that he was staring like that at a woman who had been dead for two years.

It was sickening — yet it was also the reality of my heartbreak. That in one year of being with me, he had never once loved me or cared. I was only a placeholder. Only the replacement to his first love.

My chest caved, my lungs burning. So this was why he married me. To use me. To harvest me. To bleed me slowly until there was nothing left.

I should have seen it.

The way he praised my face, never my actions or soul or qualities. How he always brought me clothes that were never my style, but he insisted I wear them — and it made him so happy when I did.

He was dressing me like her.

How he often apologized for nothing. How he’d only have sex with me, but had that one rule — that I should never speak. He just stared at my face while thrusting in and out of me. deep down I always knew he was not actually looking at me.

I thought it was my imagination.

It was never my imagination.

He sighed as I spiraled, heaving in tears, heartbreak, betrayal.

"I know this is difficult, Soraya. But you must understand — your life was never yours to begin with."

This time, I didn’t resist when his hand cupped my cheek, wiping it away like a tender husband.

"I hate you" I whispered, my voice nothing but breath.

"I never cared for you either, darling.”

His words were blades sent straight to my heart. A single tear slips pasr my eye as I take in a deep breath. It was at that moment I came to one conclusion.

My child will never know its father.

Now I see Ragnar is worth the gift I carry in my womb. He never will be.

Wiping my tears away, I step forward. My hand moves up to his cheek and caresses it softly. His eyes swirl with confusion as I offer him a sad smile.

“I can’t imagine my life without you. As much as your words hurt me, I understand you. You are just a broken lover looking for solace. I am honored to resemble the woman closest to your heart. And I will gladly fill the void she left behind. I will do whatever it takes if it means being next to you.”

I know that he did not see this coming; in his evil revelation, he did not expect my compliance. That is why I use it to my advantage.

The second I catch his guard distorted—I strike.

From the moment I spoke of understanding his sick feelings and reasons for marrying me, that was the moment I took the candlestick in my hand and shielded it with my body.

And that is why he didn’t see the candlestick coming towards his head in full force.

He fell to the floor from the brutality, clutching his skull, and I didn’t wait for him to get up. I just ran.

I don’t grab any of my things as I bolt down the halls and out of the mansion. I can sense the strange gazes of some of the servants, but I know none of them would care enough to ask.

It’s all starting to come down to me. They never really liked me. None of them did.

The cold night wind welcomes me as I make my way towards the gates.

The guards stare down at me coldly before I say, “I would like to go hunting.”

The tall, brooding man stares at me for a long time, with no concern as to why my eyes are stained with tears or why my breaths are so rough.

He just lets me pass.

I am barely a yard away from the gates before Ragnar’s powerful roar bursts through the mansion window.

“Don’t let her escape!”

And so the hunt begins.

A second later, numerous footsteps can be heard charging after me. I don’t stop; I don’t turn back to know how close they are.

All I do is run.

I run and run as fast as I can.

The dark woods welcome me like a deadly stranger would an innocent child. The trees are tall, reaching all the way up to the heavens.

Their branches and roots spread out, creating nothing but darkness before me. The footsteps grow further and further away, and a glimmer of hope sets in.

I am going to make it!

Or so I thought.

Fate always, always has a funny way of playing with me.

Because out of the darkness, two hands spring out to capture mine. Dirt-covered, rough, and unfamiliar hands.

I can barely make out the face of its owner as I struggle to set myself free.

“No! Let go of me!” I scream as I thrash around. My breaths grow heavy, and the panic in my heart only intensifies as his grip doesn’t budge. “I said let me—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence.

The last thing I hear isn’t my words but a loud smack, right before the world is engulfed in darkness.