THE FUNERAL

MABEL

So this is what Samson had reduced me to.

A trash remover.

Jack was the most disgusting, filthy, low-ranking slave in the entire estate. He was a nobody who picked up garbage and smelled of rot. Several times in the past, when he had accidentally stepped in my path or looked at me the wrong way, I had beaten him with my own riding crop. I had even ordered the guards to strip him naked right in front of the female maids and flog him until his back bled, just to teach him his place.

And now? He was the very man who had been smacking my pussy every single night in the dark. He was the owner of the thick dick I had sucked, licked, and played with like a desperate whore. I had even begged him for more, moaning under his heavy weight while he used my royal body for his pleasure.

And to top it all off, that disgusting garbage collector was the biological father of my unborn child.

"I will kill Samson myself," I growled into the empty silence of my locked bedchamber, my nails digging into the velvet upholstery of my chair until the fabric tore. "I swear on my life, I will rip his cold heart out with my bare hands!"

My voice trembled with a terrifying mix of rage and suffocating fear. But as I stared at the sealed letters sitting on my desk, a dark, horrifying realization began to creep into my mind.

Why did Jack have to die on the exact same day I had planned to poison him?

Was it just a horrific coincidence? Or did Samson somehow know what I was thinking? Does Samson read minds now?

A violent shiver ran straight down my spine, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I was so scared of Samson. He wasn't just a cold husband anymore; he felt like a dark, invisible phantom who was always five steps ahead of me, silently watching my every move from the shadows.

And then, an even worse thought hit me like a physical blow.

What if Jack talked before he died?

My heart completely stopped beating for a solid second. Years ago, on the stormy night when I secretly murdered Alpha Brad to clear Samson's path to power, Jack had been working late near the old stables. I had caught a brief glimpse of his ragged shadow back then, but I had brushed it off, thinking a common slave wouldn't dare open his mouth.

Could Jack have seen me clearly that night? Could he have confessed everything to Samson while Samson was using him for this sick breeding scheme?

"Oh, Goddess of the Moon, help me..." I whimpered, collapsing onto my knees beside the bed. I covered my face with my trembling hands, tears of pure terror finally overflowing and streaming down my cheeks. "Please... don't let him know. Please..."

Just while I was crying, kneeling there in total despair and drowning in my own tears, the heavy oak door of my bedroom slowly clicked open.

I gasped, quickly wiping my wet face with the sleeves of my gown as Samson stepped inside. He stood in the doorway, tall, broad, and imposing, dressed in a sharp black suit. His eyes swept over my disheveled hair and my red, tear-stained eyes, but his expression remained entirely impassive—a wall of solid granite.

"Jack's funeral is tomorrow morning," Samson said, his voice flat, calm, and utterly devoid of comfort. "And for some reasons, I will love you to be there."

I froze on the floor, staring up at him in utter disbelief.

Yes, I get it, I said viciously in my own mind, my inner wolf snarling with pure hatred. He wants his bastard child to pay his last respect to his real father! He wants to humiliate me further by forcing me to stand over a slave's grave!

I pushed myself up off the floor, holding onto the bedpost to steady my weak legs. I drew myself up to my full height, forcing my posture to look regal and proud despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

"I am not going for a servant's funeral, Samson," I spat, my voice tight and trembling with defiance. "It is completely beneath my dignity as Luna. The nobility will laugh at me if I am seen mourning a trash remover."

Samson didn't raise his voice. He didn't blink. He simply took two slow steps toward me, his dark gaze locking onto mine with a suffocating, heavy authority that crushed the air right out of my lungs.

"You will be there, Mabel," Samson insisted quietly, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for argument. "You will put on a black dress, you will walk down to the lower graveyard, and you will stand beside me until the dirt covers his pine coffin. Do not make me repeat myself."

He didn't wait for my response. He turned around and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

The next morning, the sky was dark, gray, and heavy with rain.

I went to the funeral. I put on a high-necked black silk dress and a black veil that covered my eyes. I went not because Samson ordered me to, but because deep down in the quietest, darkest corner of my heart, I felt I owed it to my unborn child. The innocent baby growing inside my belly did not choose his dad. Samson did. Samson was the monster who had arranged this twisted nightmare, and Jack was merely a pawn who had paid for it with his life.

The service was short, cold, and miserable. Only a few low-rank servants stood under the dripping oak trees, watching in stunned silence as the Luna of Blue Wing stood beside the Alpha at the edge of a muddy pit. I stared down at the plain pine box as the guards lowered it into the wet earth. My hand rested over my rounded stomach under my black coat, my lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

Rest in peace, Jack, I thought bitterly as the dirt rained down on the wood. Your death will not be in vain. I will make the man who orchestrated this burn in hell.

It was late at night when we finally returned home from the estate graveyard. The heavy rain was pouring down in sheets, rattling against the tall stained-glass windows of the grand mansion.

I was exhausted, shivering, and soaked in cold sweat as I walked into Samson’s private study to return his umbrella. The room was dimly lit by a flickering fireplace. Samson was standing by his mahogany desk, looking through a small leather box.

When he heard my footsteps, he looked up. He reached into the box, pulled out a small, worn leather pouch tied with a rough string, and stepped forward.

He held it out to me.

"What is this?" I asked, frowning as I looked down at his hand, refusing to touch it.

"Some of Jack's personal properties," Samson said, his voice dropping into a low, mysterious murmur. "A few trinkets found in his quarters after he passed. Just keep them, Mabel... for some certain reasons."

My heart did a violent flip inside my chest. "Why on earth would I keep a dead servant's belongings, Samson? That is repulsive!"

"Just take them," Samson repeated, grabbing my wrist gently but firmly, pressing the cold leather pouch directly into my palm, forcing my fingers to close around it. "You might find them... interesting... in due time."

He released my hand and stepped back, a tiny, unreadable shadow of a smile lingering on his lips.

I stared at the leather pouch resting in my hand, feeling the small, hard objects inside it through the worn fabric. My skin crawled with terror, but beneath that terror, a burning, roaring wave of absolute hatred ignited deep within my soul.

He was mocking me. He was playing cruel, sadistic mental games with me, dropping subtle hints to torture me while keeping me trapped in his web.

I slowly raised my head and looked directly into Samson’s dark eyes. I didn't cry. I didn't shrink back.

Instead, I smiled.

It was a sweet, delicate, perfectly obedient Luna smile that completely masked the lethal venom coursing through my veins.

"Thank you, my love," I murmured softly, clutching the pouch tightly against my side. "I will keep them safe."

I turned on my heel and glided out of his study, stepping smoothly down the silent, carpeted hallway toward my bedchamber.

As I walked into my room and locked the heavy oak door behind me, my smile faded into a cold, terrifying mask of absolute vengeance. Every tiny shred of fear, panic, and hesitation melted away, replaced by a pure, crystal-clear determination.

Samson thought he had broken me. He thought he had trapped me, disgraced me, and reduced me to a helpless piece on his chessboard.

He had no idea.

I walked over to my vanity, pulled out the two sealed war letters I had written earlier, and squeezed the leather pouch in my hand.

"Enjoy your little mind games while you still can, Alpha Samson," I whispered dark promises to the empty room, my eyes burning with ruthless intent. "Because before this week is over, I am going to tear your world apart, send Damian to break your bones, and carve your beating heart out of your chest myself."

I was done playing the victim. It was time to murder the Alpha.