LOGINWhen Aria Harrington returns home to find her family murdered and her twin sister Lira sacrificed to pay a debt, she vows revenge on the ruthless Alpha Kol Lannister— the man who ordered their deaths. I pressed my palm to the fresh dirt. "You loved him once, Lira." What a bittersweet lie. I thought Lira had met Alpha Kol by chance and they fell in love but after the story my uncle had told me, I realised Lira hadn't loved him. She was forced to and she wanted out. But she wasn’t smart enough. Well, I wouldn't make that mistake. "I'll make sure he dies loving me." ———— Three years later, Aria returns, using her uncanny resemblance to Lira to stoke Kol’s obsession. But when Kol forces her into a sham marriage, Aria discovers the horrifying truth: Lira is alive, and she’s been pulling the strings from the shadows. Now, Aria must choose between her revenge and the twisted bond forming with Kol even as she begins to question herself— Why did Lira fake her death, and what is her plan now? Does Kol truly love her, or is this punishment for Lira’s betrayal? What does Uncle Jarek know about Lira that Aria doesn’t? And most importantly, will she follow through on her revenge, or will she completely fall for the very man she had vowed to kill?
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Imagine being eighteen coming back from a boarding school far away from home, only to be welcomed by the death of your entire family. The train kept shaking like it was trying to throw me off and every clunk it made was like a countdown to hell. I hadn’t seen them for six years yet here I was, staring at the telegram for six hours without blinking. The paper had began to get soft from my sweaty grip. Accident…fire… no survivors. The words hadn't changed, but I kept reading them anyway, as if the next time I looked, they'd say something different. That this was all some terrible mistake. That when I got home, Lira would be waiting at the station with that smirk of hers, ready to tease me about how pale I'd gone at the news. Outside the window, the landscape slowly faded away. Six years ago, these same fields had been blanketed in snow when I left for school. Lira had pressed her forehead to the train window beside me, her breath fogging the glass. "Dad says this is for the best. I’m gonna miss you." she said. Those were the last words she ever said to me. The conductor announced my stop in that detached way people do when they don't know they're delivering you to your nightmares. My knees locked. For one cowardly moment, I considered staying on the train, letting it carry me anywhere else. But I couldn’t. I had to face the music. I gave the air a whiff the minute I got off the train. I didn’t like it one bit. I saw my uncle, with his truck parked and ready to take me to home to the funeral. They burnt them and sent their burning coffins floating down the river in a moat. The pack came, of course. All black coats and lowered gazes. Their pity was as thick as the smoke still clinging to the ruins of our home. I counted them as they came. Uncle Jarek, his jaw clenched tight. Old Mara from the butcher's shop, dabbing at her eyes. But he wasn’t there. Kol. The Alpha. He wasn’t there for his favourite Luna, so I heard. Lira's coffin was the smallest. They'd draped it in white linen with her favourite dress tucked inside. The lie made my stomach turn. Lira hated white. She'd once burned a sundress our mother made her wear. "I’m not a ghost!" she'd snapped, ash smearing her cheek. And now she was. I waited until the others left. Until I could no longer see the smoke burning anymore. Then I jumped into the water, trying to swim as fast as I could, thinking I could catch up to the moat. But who was I kidding? I swam back to shore. My uncle had been waiting for me there with his truck. “For heaven’s sakes, Aria, are you trying to get yourself killed?” My uncle asked, almost irritated. "You knew," I said, my body and hair dripping wet. Uncle Jarek froze halfway to his truck. His shoulders hunched the way they always did when Father owed him money. "Go home, Aria." "This was my home, uncle. They were my home." I stood, pointing towards the river. "Tell me why Kol did it." He turned slowly. His eyes were red-rimmed, but not from crying. From fear. Always fear. "Your father worked with Alpha Kol. He stole from him and made a deal. You don't poke a hornet's nest unless you're ready to get stung." "What deal?" My voice quivered as I asked. His jaw twitched. "Leave it." I stepped closer. The wind carried the stink of gasoline from the burned-out house. "He sold her, didn't he?" Jarek flinched. The pieces clicked together then. Lira's letters stopping six months ago. Father's shaky voice whenever Kol's name came up during his visits at my school. Debts, he'd muttered. A business arrangement. "He sold Lira to Kol," I said. I couldn’t believe my father would stoop so low. "To pay his debts. And when Kol got pissed, he burned the evidence." "It wasn't like that—" "Then what was it?” He grabbed my arm with his fingers digging into the burn blisters I'd gotten pulling Lira's doll from the wreckage. "Your father thought he could cheat Kol. Traded Lira as collateral, swore she'd be... cooperative. But your sister—" He cut himself off, glancing at the trees. "But Lira fought," I finished. Of course she did. Lira always bit the hand that hit her. Jarek's silence said everything. I yanked my arm free. "So Kol killed them all to clear the debt." "He's the Alpha. The pack follows, or they fall." Jarek spat into the dirt. "Go back to your school. Forget this place." "Or what? He'll kill me too?" "He doesn’t know my brother had twins. He thinks Lira is your father’s only child. Your father made it that way just incase something like this were to happen. The longer you stay here, the more risk you’re putting yourself in. You're not worth the bullet." “Bullet? From the way their bodies looked, my mum was suffocated to death and then she had her heart plucked out. My dad was beaten and stabbed with silver multiple times. And my sister—“ I trialed off, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. “Aria, that’s enough.” My uncle said calmly, trying to console me. “No it’s not.” I sniffed, wiping my tears away. “Lira, was defaced. I couldn’t even recognise my own twin sister. How could he do this to your family and this is the way you react!” Uncle Jarek climbed into his truck. "Stay, and you'd wish he'd put you in the ground with them." Then he turned on his engine and drove away. I knelt by the shore. The locket Lira gave me before I left hung under my shirt— a twin to hers, though hers was probably melted slag in that coffin now. Inside, she'd tucked a note: When the world tries to eat you, bite back. I pressed my palm to the fresh dirt. "You loved him once, Lira." What a bittersweet lie. I thought Lira had met Alpha Kol by chance and they fell in love but after the story my uncle had told me, I realised Lira hadn't loved him. She was forced to and she wanted out. But she wasn’t smart enough. Well, I wouldn't make that mistake. Standing, I brushed the wet dirt from my knees. "I'll make sure he dies loving me."EliasThe rain had ended two nights ago, but the air still smelled of wet bark and old secrets. I sat alone in my office at the Lannister estate, the glow of my laptop screen painting the room in cold, artificial light. The rest of the house had long gone to sleep, Aria finally convincing Kol to rest. In school, the twins probably tucked into their dorm beds, Emory most likely awake in his room pretending not to dream about ghosts. But I wasn’t ready for sleep, not when the past had started whispering again. Redwood. The name had appeared too many times in my search for Isolde Vale. It was simply another pack district, rich, secretive, in the very depths of the northern woodland. But I had seen too much of the world to believe that the smoothest spots were always the worst. The cursor was impatiently flicking at the top of the screen as I scrolled up and down the access keys. The data servers of the Council were not as complicated as most people thought if you know what names to
AuthorRain had always been fond of storms. During her life she had said that thunder was a kind of a forgetfulness on the part of the sky. The storm had come back now, however, it was remembering her.The air over the academy was covered with dark storm clouds. Students ran into the courtyard, and pulled their hoods over, and laughed, half-nervous, as lightning flashed somewhere way out on the other side of the ridge.The fluorescent lights fluttered once in the west wing. Then again. A storm warning echoed through the intercom:“All students, please remain indoors until further notice. Maintenance will monitor electrical stability.”No one listened, not really. Teenagers were built to outlast warnings.But Emory felt it before the storm even touched the building, the low hum in his chest, like his heartbeat syncing with something outside him. The metallic taste on his tongue. The way every breath felt too heavy, too aware.He sat at the back of Literature class, pretending to read,
AuthorThe academy prided itself on progress. On healing. On rebuilding from what it used to be. But the thing is… progress has a peculiar shape, it often looks like pretending nothing ever happened.Six months after the “incident,” as the administration called it, the boarding school introduced a new initiative: Mandatory Mental Wellness Sessions for all returning students. The phrasing was clinical, wrapped in bright posters and soothing colours. But everyone knew it was about them, the survivors of that winter night when fire bloomed on the horizon and the world turned red for reasons no one could explain.To Emory Lannister it was but another lesson that healing was a term to people who had never lived to the end of things.The office of the counsellor was at the extreme end of the administration wing beyond bulletin boards with inspirational quotations. Breathe. You're safe here. What we bury still grows.Emory paused at the door. This was dimly reflected in the glass panel. His
Author Mina and Gina lived on the third floor, east wing, Room 3A. Two beds. Two desks. One wide window that overlooked the courtyard. Their curtains were left partially open cause Gina liked sunlight, and Mina didn’t bother to move them either way.They had been here for a month now. Long enough to learn the class schedules, which hallways echoed, which teachers were strict, and which students gossiped about them the most. The Lannister twins, that was what the school called them, though only one of them carried the name.The war had not followed them here.But its absence took up just as much space.Gina was the one most people noticed first. She smiled with her whole face, even if the smile wasn’t always real. She signed up for everything she could, yearbook club, debate team, stage crew. When the student council asked for volunteers to help decorate for winter formal, she raised her hand first.“It’s better to stay busy,” she told anyone who asked.“It’s better to live,” she tol
Emory POVI made a promise. And no… it was not the quiet kind that slips off your tongue because someone asks you to, not the kind you break because time makes things easier. This one was said staring into my mother’s eyes, her hands cold against my face, her voice only a breath away from breaking.“Stay away from her.”So I tried. I really did.Monday morning came with students flooding the hallway. The boarding school was always too boisterous at this early time of the day with children laughing their eyes out, sneakers bumping on the stone stones and someone already screaming on practice tryouts.I would walk head down and hood up with my backpack on one shoulder. This was a practiced form of invisibility. I’d learned how to make myself small after the war, after Rain. It was easier to be the version of myself that no one asked questions about.My schedule changed last semester when I came back. The staff said they wanted to “reduce stress.” Translation: give the recently traumatis
Isolde I had been told that boarding schools were supposed to feel like beginnings. New routines. New friendships. New chances to become someone better than whoever you were before. But as I had walked through the gates of the now named Lannister Academy that first morning, all I felt was noise.It had not just been loud noise, not shouting students or blaring hallways. No, this was a quieter kind of noise. The kind that lives under the skin. The one that whistles in the air and touches the back of your neck like somebody is spying. Or waiting.My suit-case had gone rolling across the pavement. The college resembled an old one, which, though recently remodelled, was too old to be a mere school. The houses were high and slim, and the shadows were hanging upon their sides even in daytime. There was at the centre a courtyard fountain, and on one side of it was the narrative of a statue of a girl cut wholly of pale stone streaked with brands of soft gold, printed in a banner.Students pa
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