Chapter 41

SARA 

I could hardly believe the scene that greeted me when I pushed open the heavy doors to Tristan's private office. It was as if I had stepped into a different world entirely—one thick, heavy, and charged with an almost suffocating sexual tension. Alpha Tristan and Yvonne looked like two animals in heat, desperate for a quick, frantic release to drown out the horrors of the night. I felt that energy radiating most potently from Yvonne; it was a desperate, grasping hunger. I wanted to scream, to rail against the hypocrisy of it all, but I knew I had to play the long game. This was a fight for another day.

The "adult" thing to do—the logical, self-preserving thing—would have been to retreat the exact moment I saw them and return much later once the pheromones had cleared. But I knew there was no peace for the wicked, and in this house, they were the architects of my misery. These two had connived to humiliate and degrade me in front of the entire pack; they had lied, labeled me a seductress, and treated me like common refuse just so they could justify their own devilish acts of vengeance.

I didn't retreat. Instead, I sank to my knees right there in the doorway, forcing my body into a posture of complete, utter brokenness. I needed Tristan to see the wreckage he had made.

"Please," I whispered, my voice cracking perfectly, a hollow sound that seemed to echo off the glass walls. "Please, Alpha... have pity. I can't... I can't take it anymore. I am traumatized. I see their faces every time I close my eyes. I can't go back to that room. I can't be alone in the dark. If you're going to kill me, Tristan, just do it now. I’m begging you. Just don't... don't let them touch me again."

While Alpha Tristan looked visibly moved—perhaps even touched by a rare shard of genuine remorse—Yvonne was incandescent with rage. She tore herself away from him, her face a mask of thwarted lust.

"Leave us, Sara!" she hissed, her voice a jagged blade. She stepped forward, her movements predatory, as if she intended to kick me right out into the hall. "Come back when you're actually summoned! You're ruining the moment. Get out of here, now!"

She screamed the last words, and I could see the thick veins throbbing in her forehead and neck. She was losing control.

As she moved to confront me, she positioned herself so that her back was to Tristan, effectively shielding me from his direct line of sight. In that split second, I allowed the mask of the broken victim to slip. I quickly schooled my face into a look of pure, unadulterated mockery. My lips curled into a sharp, knowing smile, and I deliberately winked at her.

I hope she remembered what I had told her before—that she was nothing but a tool, a placeholder, a woman who would never, ever truly possess the man of her dreams.

"Go, Sara..." Alpha Tristan began to say, but I had already zoned out. I didn't need to hear his "mercy." I had achieved exactly what I came for: I had shattered their intimacy. With the lingering strength I drew from the memory of Claudia, I would never truly give in to Tristan’s demands. I knew I could work him, manipulate his guilt, but Yvonne... Yvonne had become the true thorn in my flesh. Her love for him was a madness that made her more dangerous than any Alpha.

Paige was indeed waiting for me when I finally arrived at the medical wing, her face pale with worry.

"Thank you, Paige. For everything you've done so far," I whispered the moment our eyes met.

"Don't mention it, child. It was the only right thing to do. You shouldn't be thanking me for simply having a heart in a house that has clearly lost its own," she said, motioning for me to follow her deep into the facility. "Nobody should have to go through even a third of what you've endured tonight. Believe me, Sara, many people in this pack are not happy with the Alpha’s recent choices."

I nodded, feeling a small, cold comfort in that revelation.

"Hello, Sara. I'm Dr. Leon," a tall man in a white coat said, stepping forward. "Healer Nayomi is currently unable to attend to you. If you'll just come with me, I'll have you checked out and processed."

The medical wing was a stark, jarring contrast to the Grand Hall. Here, there were only polished white tiles, the low hum of advanced machinery, and the overwhelming scent of antiseptic and ozone instead of spilled beer and cruelty. Dr. Leon was efficient. After running a battery of physical tests and monitoring my vitals, he finished his assessment quickly, his eyes studiously avoiding mine as he signed a digital tablet.

"You have a clean bill of physical health," he muttered, his voice devoid of warmth. "Minor bruising around the wrists and ankles, some superficial lacerations on the back, but physically... you are fine."

"I don't understand. Why is there a 'but' in your tone?" I asked, my internal alarm bells ringing. "You’ve been avoiding my eyes since I walked in here."

"Sara, I’ll be honest with you," he said, finally looking up, his expression one of professional detachment. "I have to formally recommend that you see a staff psychologist. Or, as you might call it, a 'shrink.'"

"I don't understand," I repeated. As a medical practitioner myself, I felt he owed me the professional courtesy of being blunt. "What are you not telling me? Is there something in the blood work?"

"No, no. This is just a precautionary measure. It's pack protocol for extreme trauma," he finally spoke plainly, letting a flicker of genuine emotion show through his clinical mask. "You've been through a tremendous ordeal, Sara. As a professional courtesy from one healer to another, you need a psych evaluation. You can't just walk away from tonight and expect your mind to be intact."

"Very well," I accepted with a deep, weary sigh. I knew he was right, even if I hated the vulnerability of it.

The psychologist sat across from me for over an hour, a tablet balanced on her lap and her face tight with a brand of pity I found utterly repulsive.

"You’re showing every classic, textbook symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sara," she told me, her voice soft and condescending. "Flashbacks, hyper-vigilance, emotional numbing. It’s all there. I suggest you begin practicing grounding exercises immediately. When the panic starts, find five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear..."

I stopped listening. Grounding exercises didn't work when the very ground beneath your feet was a trapdoor, and the people holding the lever were the ones paying for your "therapy."