Chapter Ten: It just doesn't get better

As I lay in bed later that night, a storm of emotions roiling within me, I felt the churning of my stomach return, a reminder that I was still here—I was still fighting. I believe it's past time for the party's climax so, I decided to go try talking to Damon, maybe having a conversation about how I truly feel and telling him about his twin heirs would help our relationship get better.

He sat in the grand hall with a few pack members, laughter bubbling up from the group. I could see the way the light caught his eyes, the typical charisma that pulsed around him. Yet as I entered, his laughter faltered, and his gaze narrowed imperceptibly. The warmth that spread through me earlier faded instantly, replaced by that familiar scraping edge of fear.

“What are you doing back so soon?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “I thought you were sick. Perhaps you forgot how to stay away from the things that matter?”

My heart sank with each word, heavy and cruel like iron shackles. The laughter of the pack members turned into a cacophony of whispers, their gazes flicking from me to Damon and back. I felt exposed, like a lone deer caught in the spotlight of wolves.

“I—” I stammered, trying to regain my balance. “I wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” he echoed, each syllable laced with mockery. The pack members leaned in, hanging on his every word, waiting for the entertaining show. “What could you possibly have to say that would matter? You’re worthless, Elara. Just a broodmare, really. Pregnant or not, you can't even keep me happy.”

Shock jolted through me; I fought to keep my breaths steady. Calm. I was calm. “I—”

Damon cut me off, his voice rising. “You think you’re worthy of respect? You think anyone here speaks highly of you? They laugh at you behind your back.”

Shame and rage boiled in my veins. I could feel the heat rising in my chest, fueling the anger that threatened to overpower my fragility.

Not wanting to make a scene, I turned towards the kitchen, desperate to escape, but his laughter rang out behind me, sharp and bitter. “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t you dare run away like a pathetic little pup!”

I stumbled into the kitchen, the world beginning to blur. The tiring “morning sickness” hit me like a wave even though it's evening, nausea rolling through me with an unrelenting grip. I could taste the bile rising, and panic crawled over my skin. I sank to the floor, knees buckling beneath me, and the smell of boiled potatoes and overripe fruit only worsened the spinning sensation in my head.

“Pathetic,” he shouted from the hall, each taunt like a blow. “I deserve better!”

Damon’s contempt felt like a physical weight. I tried to breathe through it, but each inhale that followed only brought with it the bitterness of betrayal and disappointment. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.

What had I done to deserve this?

I closed my eyes, willing away the darkness, dreaming of a life where I could feel free, conceiving a future for my boys untainted by cruelty.

Yet the storm inside me raged on, a cyclone of courage battling against the fear that cradled my heart—this would not be the life of my babies… but what if it ends up being?

No. It couldn’t be.

At the back of my mind, I heard the comforting melody of Kaelen’s voice and how a few hours with him felt like a whole new world, I experienced feelings I never knew exited within me, I felt alive—free of Damon’s manipulation. But each beat of my heart reminded me of the little lives growing inside of me. They wouldn’t be a product of distrust or betrayal.

Maybe. Just maybe, I could find a way to survive this torment, to provide my babies with the love they needed.

But as I returned to face Damon, I felt the cold smear of reality brush against my cheek, a reminder that I was trapped—both within the expectations of this pack house and within the cruel grip of my mate.

“Get up, Elara. I’m not finished with you,” Damon growled, dark storm clouds brewing in his eyes.

Fighting back tears, I slowly rose to my feet, making sure to keep my chin lifted. Even amidst his cruelty, I would not let him see my weakness. As I squared my shoulders against his malevolent gaze, I whispered under my breath, “For them. I will remain strong—for them.”

Tomorrow, he might break me again. But today was mine, and I would claim that much.