Chapter 2: Sent to Hell

INDY

The sensations came to me all at once. The moment everything cleared up, the first thing I saw was a massive descending staircase. Was this the stairway to heaven? Then, why was it going down? Don’t tell me that every single sacrifice I made led me to the hellish afterlife!  

However, as I looked around the place, I couldn’t help but admire its design. Maybe I really was in heaven. The architecture was damn nice. Marble floors. Golden chandeliers. Velvet curtains that probably cost more than my entire apartment. A grand hall so big I was already thinking about the poor soul who has to mop this floor.  

The house was stunning.  

As I continued looking around the spacious manor, I suddenly saw a girl at the bottom of the stairs.  

On her knees and bloody.  

Wait, bloody?  

My heart did a double take. My feet moved before I could even think. It felt like I had truly been reborn because my body wasn’t as sluggish as before. Although, the dress I was wearing was quite uncomfortable. I hadn’t gotten around to seeing what I was wearing just yet, but it was quite heavy.  

I stumbled down the stairs, hands clutching the banister, until I was right in front of the girl. She looked up, and I was almost blinded by her beauty.  

Holy hell, she’s gorgeous.  

Even with blood trickling down the side of her head, she looked like an angel hand-sculpted by every YA fantasy description ever. Long, golden blonde hair. Ocean-blue eyes. Skin so fair it was practically glowing.  

“Whoa,” I breathed out before I could stop myself.  

Not the time, Indy.  

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked, crouching down to her level. “What happened?”  

Just then, she flinched and moved away from me, her back hitting the edge of the table. My eyes widened, and I stood, looking around to ask for help because it seemed she was too frightened.  

However, my voice got caught in the back of my throat when I saw the type of people I was surrounded with. It seemed we were surrounded by maids and butlers. In fact, this woman was also wearing the same uniform as the ladies around here.  

“Can someone help her, please?”  

All of them turned to the side. None of them came forward. Instead, they were shaking—trembling, even. Along with that, they were looking at me like I was the Grim Reaper himself.  

Just then, the beautiful girl spoke again. “Lady,” she whispered. “Please. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please don’t do this to me.”  

I walked closer to her to see if the bleeding had made her hallucinate into thinking I was going to hurt her. However, she flinched once more.  

Right on time, a deep voice echoed across the hall. “Clara!”  

I turned and saw a man, a very tall one, with eyes that looked CGI-rendered. He had long, dark hair tied back in a half ponytail, and he looked out of this world.  

He rushed to the girl—Clara, I guess—and dropped to his knees beside her. His eyes burned holes through me.  

“What did you do to her?” he growled.  

“Sorry,” I said, stepping back. “I was just trying to help. I think she hit her head pretty hard.”  

He scoffed, shaking his head, appearing to be unamused.  

“Don’t play innocent, Lucinda.”  

That name made me pause for a moment. Lucinda?  

He helped Clara stand, careful like she was made of glass. She collapsed into his arms, and I watched as he glared at me again.  

“Alpha Lucio,” Clara croaked. “I—I’m fine. Really.”  

“Lucio?” I echoed, eyes snapping to him.

His jaw clenched as he held onto Clara tighter. “That’s Alpha Lucio for you. Don’t act like we’re close.”  

“Just wait until Rome hears about this.”  

He said those words with so much disdain that I found myself swallowing instinctively. However, much more than that, I thoroughly observed everything around me. Just then, I realized that the similarities were uncanny.  

The names they’d mentioned also echoed in my mind.  

Clara.  

Lucio.  

Rome.  

Lucinda.  

Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of the way everyone was looking at me. Their hatred. Their suspicion. The way they averted their eyes whenever I met them. I spun around, taking in the setting again. That staircase. The paintings on the ceiling!  

It hit me just this time.  

This was my book—The Wolf Prince and the White Rose.  

This couldn’t be real.  

I was dreaming. Yeah. I must be! Maybe the caffeine and the sleep deprivation had gotten to me, and I slipped into a coma and right into this dream.  

Yep. That has to be it.  

I couldn’t be in the same werewolf story I swore I would burn in a pit if I ever saw it in physical print. However, as I glanced around, it became more and more apparent. I was in my own nightmare. A werewolf world I built from the ground up—not out of love, but out of financial need and capitalist desperation.  

The story of a lowly omega girl with no mate and no other options—Clara Saint. At 22 years old, she was left on her own and was compelled to take care of her two younger brothers. With that, she left everything behind and took a job as a housemaid in the royal household.  

Where, of course, she somehow captured the attention of not one, but three Alphas.  

One of them was the heir to the throne of Algard—Romanov Maximillian Percivel Windsor. What a mouthful. He was cold and always rational, but Clara managed to melt his icy heart. And I, Lady Lucindabella Valeska Pendragon (another mouthful), was Rome’s mate, a.k.a. Clara’s living nightmare.  

I looked back down at the trembling, angelic mess that was Clara. If I remembered this chapter correctly, I wrote that Lucinda shoved Clara down the grand staircase after seeing Rome taking her out to dinner.  

It was born out of the fact that Rome never invited Lucinda out unless she forced him to. That also meant that, at this point of the story, Lucinda’s atrocities were already profound. She had thrown water at Clara’s face, treated servants like garbage, and was absolutely obsessed with Rome.  

Fuck. Even Clara’s necklace that she inherited from her grandmother, the only family she had left before the latter died, was thrown into the fire!  

“This can’t be,” I muttered to myself. I closed my eyes, pinching myself to wake up from this dream—no, from this nightmare.  

Suddenly, like the world itself was cementing my fate, the massive doors at the end of the hall creaked open. A hush fell over the room like a wet blanket of dread. Everyone stiffened as he walked in.  

Alpha Romanov Maximillian Percivel Windsor.  

Tall. Cold. Regal.  

His dark hair fell over his brow. His eyes scanned the room slowly, like a predator. He was even more handsome than I had imagined. However, that thought was quickly thrown out of the door when he began making his way toward us.  

The crowd parted as he strode forward.  

Clara gasped in Lucio’s arms. “Alpha Rome…”