YOU'VE LOST YOUR MIND

CHAPTER 3: YOU'VE LOST YOUR MIND

Dorian stared at her, genuinely puzzled. Something was fundamentally wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The soft, gentle female who spent seven years tip-toeing around his moods, taking his cold shoulder with a weak smile, and pouring her blood into his pack’s survival was looking at him as if he were a bug she wanted to crush

.

“Is this about yesterday?” Dorian asked, his tone shifting from outrage to irritated condescension. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this because I took Celeste to the council dinner instead of you? I told you, Vivienne, it was just a dinner event. Celeste has never been to such events before and she just wanted to know how it felt like. Besides, you’re an Omega. You don't understand these high-level pack affairs. You belong here, keeping things stable.”

In her former life, those words would have carved another bloody wound into her self-esteem. She would have spent the afternoon crying and questioning her worth, trying even harder to prove that she was good enough to stand by his side.

“You’re right,” Vivienne said lightly, adjusting the blanket around Mina’s shoulders. “I’m just an Omega. So high-level affairs like making tea for your mistress are far beyond my limited capabilities.”

Dorian flushed, a crimson stain rising up his throat. “What did you just say?”

Vivienne shrugged. “Nothing.”

Dorian stared at her, his eyes darkening. “Don't play word games with me! Celeste is carrying sensitive pack matters on her mind, and she deserves respect. You are my wife. It is your duty to support this family!”

“She’s carrying something, alright,” Vivienne murmured under her breath, a dark glint flashing in her eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she smiled sweetly. “Just thinking about all the duties Celeste has to carry in her sweet little shoulders.”

Dorian ground his teeth, stepping up to the side of the mattress and reaching down to grab her wrist and drag her out of bed. “Get out of bed. Now.”

Before his fingers could even graze her skin, Vivienne’s left hand shot out.

SLAP!

She struck his hand away with a crack that echoed off the bedroom walls. The raw, violent force behind the strike rattled Dorian’s arm up to the shoulder, forcing him to take a sudden step back in shock.

He stared at his reddening knuckles, then up at Vivienne, his golden eyes wide with disbelief.

“Touch me again, Dorian,” Vivienne whispered, her voice dangerously quiet, “and you would wish you never met me.”

“You... you hit me?” Dorian gasped, his Alpha authority flaring up in full force, filling the bedroom with a heavy, suffocating pressure that made the wooden floorboards creak. “Have you lost your mind, Vivienne?! I am the Alpha of Silverbrook! I can strip your title, throw you in the dungeons, or banish you to the rogue lands for such insolence!”

Vivienne didn't even flinch under the weight of his Alpha pressure. She slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stepping out onto the cold floor in her white silk nightgown. She stood tall, looking him dead in the eye, her lips curved into a cold, terrifying smile.

“Then do it,” she said softly.

Dorian froze. “What did you say?”

“Strip my title. Banish me. Lock me up.” Vivienne took a single step toward him, and for the first time in his life, Dorian felt a sudden, instinctual prickle of fear at the base of his neck. “Go ahead, Dorian. Call the guards. Tell the entire pack that Alpha Dorian Silverbrook needs four warriors to restrain his Omega wife because she refused to make tea for his mistress.”

Dorian’s jaw tightened so hard his teeth clicked. The pack elders were already downstairs. Exposing a petty marital spat would make him look weak, incompetent, and unable to manage his own household.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Dorian spat, taking a subtle step back toward the door, trying to regain his composure. “I don't know what has gotten into you, Vivienne, but you're not going to be disrespectful to me in my own house. When I come back from the council meetings, I expect you to have pulled yourself together.”

“Don't hold your breath,” Vivienne said smoothly, walking past him toward the walk-in closet without giving him a second glance.

Dorian stood in the middle of the room for several long seconds, utterly bewildered, glaring at her back. He opened his mouth to deliver another command, but the complete indifference radiating from her made the words catch in his throat.

With a frustrated growl, he turned on his heel and slammed the bedroom door behind him, his heavy footfalls echoing down the hallway.

Inside the quiet room, Vivienne pulled open her closet.

She looked at the pale dresses, the simple soft-colored sweaters, and the modest skirts Dorian had always preferred her to wear—clothing designed to make her look harmless, meek, and invisible.

In her former life, she wore what made him happy. She dimmed her light so he could shine brighter.

Not anymore.

Vivienne reached into the back of the closet, past the delicate lace, and pulled out a sharply tailored navy blazer and fitted black trousers she hadn't worn in a long time.

She held up her hands. On her left, the black Void-Slayer energy flickered like silent lightning; on her right, the divine white healing light glowed like a warm star.

The countdown screen floated silently in the corner of her vision: 29 Days, 23 Hours, 45 Minutes.

“Dorian,” Vivienne whispered to the quiet room, her eyes burning with lethal, beautiful vengeance. “Enjoy your crown while it lasts. Because thirty days from now... you and Celeste would be the ones begging to be saved.”