FOUR: The Novel

MINTHE

The Novel

* * *

My stomach twists so hard I press a hand against it. The room suddenly feels too warm despite the rain outside. The fire crackles softly near the windows, shadows moving across the stone walls and expensive furniture I picked myself when we rebuilt this place together.

Goddess.

I chose those curtains. I chose that rug. I even argued with him over the stupid fucking candle holders because he said they were unnecessary.

Three years. Three whole years.

Pierre finally exhales heavily. “Minthe—“

“No.” My voice comes out quiet, tired. “Don’t lie to me now. Please don’t do that.”

His jaw flexes. That silence is answer enough.

Something inside me settles after that. It doesn’t feel better, worse actually, colder. I look at him standing there in black ceremonial robes while rainwater drips slowly from his sleeves onto the floor, and for the first time since I met him, I think—

Oh.

He really did choose her. Not me. Her.

The realization should feel dramatic, huge. Instead it’s horrifyingly simple.

I laugh under my breath again, rubbing at my eyes before more tears can fall. “Wow,” I whisper. “That’s actually insane.”

“Minthe.”

“No, seriously.” I shake my head slowly. “I left everything for you.”

His expression hardens slightly. “I . . . never asked you to.”

That one lands clean across the throat. I physically flinch, and Pierre notices immediately—guilt flashing across his face for the first time tonight.

That’s right. He’s right.

He didn’t ask for my help. None of this was of his choosing. I did. I thought that maybe . . . maybe if I was there for him just enough, then I’d be chosen too.

Like the heroine.

In the end, I dared to dream like the original Minthe. I dreamed like the Villainess I was in the role of. I dreamed far too much.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly.

“No . . . it’s okay.”

“I’m frustrated.”

“It’s okay, baby.” I smile, moving over to him and brushing the hair off his face. “I understand.” My words barely a whisper from how much I’m forcing down the sob.

The words echo in the room as neither of us speak for a moment.

A knock sounds at the door—three short knocks. Pierre drags a hand through his damp hair roughly and takes a step back. “Come in.”

The door opens before I can say otherwise. One of the castle servants steps inside carefully carrying a silver tray with steaming tea, clean cloths, and medicine bottles.

“For Lady Lyria,” she says softly. “Lord Ashbourne requested these immediately.”

My chest tightens again, but I say nothing. The servant walks farther inside toward the sitting table near the fire, her hands trembling slightly while she sets the tray down.

Then I see it.

Silver catches the firelight around her neck, and at first my brain doesn’t process it. Then my breath stops completely.

That’s , . ,

The moonstone pendant rests against the servant’s chest, glimmering pale blue beneath the flames. Ashbourne’s crest carved carefully into the silver backing. Tiny ivy engravings around the edges. One chipped corner near the clasp because Pierre dropped it the winter after our first anniversary and spent two hours apologizing while trying to repair it himself.

My stomach drops so violently I grip the vanity edge again.

I know that necklace. I know it too well.

Because I designed it. I commissioned it personally from a jeweler in the Imperial Pack.

Pierre follows my gaze instantly and his entire body stills. The servant notices the silence and looks confused between us. “Alpha?”

“Leave,” Pierre says immediately.

The girl nearly jumps. “Y-yes, my lord.” She hurries out fast enough to almost spill the tea, and the door shuts again.

Silence.

I keep staring at the empty doorway long after she’s gone because I genuinely can’t look at him yet.

“Minthe,” Pierre starts carefully.

I laugh once. It sounds awful. “Are you serious?”

“It’s not what you think.”

My head turns slowly toward him. “Then explain it.”

Pierre exhales through his nose. “Lyria was freezing when she arrived. Her clothes were soaked through.”

“And?”

“I gave her the pendant because it contains warming runes.”

I blink at him once. Twice.

“That pendant,” I say carefully, “was my gift to you.”

“I know.”

“You wore it every day for almost two years.”

“She needed help.”

“You gave her my anniversary gift.”

His irritation sparks again instantly. “It was the closest enchanted item available, Minthe. Fuck, why are you acting like this?”

I just stare at him.

Acting like this means something.

My chest hurts so badly now it’s becoming hard to breathe properly. “You really don’t understand,” I whisper.

Pierre’s expression tightens. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”

“No.” I shake my head slowly. “I think I’ve been making everything smaller than it is.”

That shuts him up.

Rain pounds harder against the windows now. The fire crackles softly, and I can smell wet earth drifting through the slightly open balcony doors. Pierre looks exhausted, angry, cornered—but not heartbroken.

Not the way I am. That realization hurts almost more than everything else combined.

“I think you’re over it,” I say quietly.

His eyes snap toward mine immediately. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is this?”

“You know how much you matter to me.”

Matter. Not love.

I almost smile at that. Almost.

“Goddess,” I whisper, rubbing both hands over my face. “I really fucking did this to myself. I kept thinking if I stayed long enough, loved you hard enough, sacrificed enough, eventually you’d choose me first.”

My voice cracks halfway through. Embarrassing.

Pierre takes one step forward. “Minthe, you are important to me.”

“That’s the saddest sentence you could’ve picked.” I chuckle as a tear slip out of my eyes. “It’s okay, Pierre.” I take another step back.

I can’t do this with him. Not right now. Probably not ever.

His mouth tightens. I look away before I cry again because I’m genuinely sick of crying in front of him tonight.

“I think you loved what I did for you,” I say softly. “Not me.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?”

He doesn’t answer fast enough. Again. Always those tiny hesitations—tiny little knives.

Pierre suddenly looks furious, not at me but at himself maybe, at the situation. I don’t know anymore. “You’re tired,” he mutters. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Ha. As if tonight didn’t split my entire life open enough.

He turns toward the door, and something desperate inside me breaks enough to ask one final thing.

“Did you . . . did you ever stop waiting for her?”

Pierre freezes. The silence stretches long and ugly.

Then quietly—“No.”

I close my eyes. There it is. Honest at last.

When I open them again, I feel strangely calm. Not okay—definitely not okay—but calm the way a building probably feels right before it collapses.

Pierre watches me carefully now, maybe finally realizing something irreversible just happened between us. “I care about you,” he says again.

I nod once. “I know. I know, baby.” That’s the problem.

He leaves a few minutes later after another useless attempt to tell me I’m being unfair. Unfair. Funny. The door shuts behind him, and this time he doesn’t look back.

I stand there motionless in the center of the room while the fire burns lower and lower. Then silence settles completely—no servants, no ceremony music, no Pierre. Just me standing in a ruined white gown with dried blood on my fingers and mascara smeared under my eyes.

Jesus Christ. I look horrifying.

A shaky laugh leaves me. “Love really makes women stupid,” I mutter.

I move slowly toward the mirror across the room. My reflection stares back immediately—pale face, red eyes, hair half falling from expensive pins. The ghost of someone softer than I’ve ever been in my entire fucking life. I barely recognize her.

For a second, exhaustion hits so hard I think I might pass out standing up.

“Mom, I want to go home.” I wipe the tears off my eyes as I stare at the ceiling. And for the first time I’ve ever been transmigrated, I missed the modern world. My apartment. My phone.

I miss my mom, and my family.

I miss myself before everything.

“Please let me go home . . .” I whisper into the air.

Just then something flashes across the mirror. I freeze.

A silver line appears slowly against the glass—not reflected, but written. My heartbeat stutters as another line carves itself beneath it, the letters glowing bright silver, as though invisible claws are etching directly into the mirror.

It’s the system.

I haven’t seen that in a while. All the things I was able to do for this pack, all those were because of the memory I had from the novel as well as the system.

For months, it hasn’t shown.

I didn’t think I’d find it right now that I’m miserable.

[STORYLINE DEVIATION DETECTED.]

I step closer slowly. What?

[ORIGINAL ENDING INCOMPLETE.]

“No,” I whisper immediately. The original ending? The heroine ending up with the Alpha King?

The next sentence appears.

[CORRECTION REQUIRED FOR WORLD EXIT.]

The room starts spinning. My breathing quickens instantly while I stare at the glowing words.

No no no no—

Another line burns itself into the mirror.

[REQUIRED ENDING:

THE HEROINE MUST ASCEND AS QUEEN BESIDE THE ALPHA KING.]

I stop breathing.

The Alpha King. Hades.

The realization crashes into me so violently my knees nearly give out. I never escaped the story—I only changed it. And now the world is correcting itself. Pierre choosing Lyria again. The ceremony failing. Everything snapping back into place.

My pulse pounds violently in my ears while the final sentence slowly appears beneath the others.

[FAILURE TO RESTORE DESTINY WILL RESULT IN PERMANENT STAY IN THE NOVEL.]

I stare at my reflection surrounded by glowing silver letters, and for the first time since transmigrating into this world—I feel truly trapped.