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Till The End of The World
Till The End of The World
Author: StarCrosed Scribea

1. The Betrayal

last update publish date: 2026-05-05 20:27:05

CLARA.

"What the fuck is happening, Alaric?!"

The door slams open under my hand, the sound echoing through the room, loud and violent, matching the storm raging inside me.

“What is going on?!”

My voice cuts through the air, sharp, shaking with fury I can’t control, burning my throat raw as it tears out of me.

The fuck. I can’t believe my eyes.

Alaric turns sharply, Emma freezes beside him, stepping away a second later, fixing her dress, but it's too late, I have already seen enough, the scent of sweat and sex still thick in the air.

“You said…” My voice trembles in fury. “You said you were just friends.”

My supposed husband doesn’t answer, just looks at me with that same calm expression that makes something tighten in my chest.

That same look.

He knows. He fucking knows.

"You know?" My nostrils flare.

“Choose your accusation carefully, Clara.”

"You know, Alaric!" I snap, my steps heavy as I move closer, each step echoing too loudly in the room, like I’m the only one making noise in a world that’s gone still.

"I just came from the grounds. I saw them. Humans chained like animals. And my father—my father was on his knees. Why is my father chained?!”

My nails dig into my palms, yet not a single muscle in him moves.

Nothing, not even guilt, not even a flicker.

“Answer me, Alaric!”

The slap comes out of nowhere.

My head snaps to the side, pain exploding across my cheek, a sharp ringing fills my ears, drowning everything else out, and for a second, I can’t feel anything but the heat spreading across my skin, my vision flashing white for a heartbeat, the taste of iron flooding my mouth as my teeth cut into my lip.

Then his voice cuts through, cold, detached and commanding as always.

“With whose permission did you enter my office first?”

Slowly, I turn back to him, my cheek burns, my vision blurs for a moment but I don't look away when I say this.

"I am your WIFE."

"Wife?" Emma laughs. "Wake up, bitch. You were just a pawn, something that was useful."

No.

This… no. How could this be true?

"No," the word leaves me, even though I know what's happening.

“You really thought you meant something, didn’t you?” Alaric says, stepping closer, his presence suffocating now as his shadow falls over me.

“I built everything to destroy them,” he adds. “And you… you helped me do it.”

My breath catches. What have I done? Just because of my foolishness, now all the people who trusted me are suffering.

My father..my cousins... friends.

Emma moves close to Alaric again, whispering something in his ear, which I no longer care about.

I caused this. All of this is because of me… they're suffering because of me.

Alaric crouches down, watching me like I’m nothing more than the dirt on his shoes. “You can stay,” he says casually. “But don’t question me again. I will let you live. You will keep your rooms, your comforts… everything but not your title.”

Title? I had one?

His fingers brush my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Be quite. Be obedient. And I may still keep you as my breeder.”

My hands shake before I slap him hard with all the strength I could gather, the crack echoing in the silent room.

“I would rather die.”

His jaw tightens, his hands fisting into my hair, yanking painfully at my scalp, forcing my head back, pain shooting down my spine.

“Then die.”

—--

It's been a week since I was brought here. And the most pathetic thing is, I didn't even know there's a place like this here even though I have been here for almost a year now.

Too much for being the Alpha King's wife.

My body aches, every inch of me sore and heavy, chains biting into my wrists every time I move, cold metal scraping against raw skin, the wounds never fully closing, always tearing open again. I don’t speak, even when my throat is dry and my body screams for rest, each breath scraping through my chest like broken glass, I don't beg.

I am going to die and I will die with my fucking dignity. At least I have that left, not that it means much here.

Footsteps echo and within minutes I see her. Emma, the new Luna of this place. On a second thought, she has always been the Luna, all I did was hold a place.

Now it all makes sense, why they were too sweet, why they cared too much… but it's too late. Should’ve known. People like them don’t do kindness without a reason.

Her nails press into my hollowed cheeks as she forces my face up, her grip digging into bone, sharp enough to make my vision blur again.

"What have you decided, bitch?" she asks, her voice filled with disdain.

I look right into her eyes and spit into her face. A sharp slap echoes a second later but I'm used to it now, my head snapping again, the sting blooming across already bruised skin.

"Grab her!"

Rough hands grab me, dragging me forward. My knees scrape against the ground, sharp pain shooting up my legs, skin tearing against rough stone, but I barely react.

The open air hits me, cold and harsh, everyone is gathered here, their eyes fixed on me, their whispers like distant noise in my ears.

And then I see him. My father.

The man who never cared if I lived or died. The man who sold me to this animal. And yet… I haven’t even seen him enough in my life to remember his face clearly. But this—him on his knees, chained—will stay etched in my mind forever.

'Stop with that attitude and do what they say. Peace is all that matters, Clara.'

Those were his words, and now look where that brought him, brought me.

Why did you marry me to that animal, father?

The one standing at the center watching everyone like he owns them. Soon his Luna joins him, whispering something in his ear.

And when he looks at me again, his eyes burn with anger.

Yes, I did spit on your fucking Luna. If my hands were free, I would show him a fuck off sign too.

“Finish it.”

The Gamma steps forward, and then in a blur of a moment he turns into a full wolf, bones cracking, flesh shifting with a sickening sound.

My head turns sharply to Alaric who has that same cold look, and beside him Emma smirks.

This… this is—

I was prepared to die, but this cruelly…

The thought doesn't finish, as the wolf lunges at me.

Pain explodes through me, teeth sink into my flesh, tearing, ripping. A scream rips from my throat before I can stop it, raw and broken, my body jerking violently, but there’s no escape.

It hurts. God, it fucking hurts.

Warm blood spills, soaking into the dirt beneath me, the metallic taste filling my mouth. My vision blurs, the world spinning as agony consumes everything.

But worse than the pain—

Is him.

I force my eyes open, Alaric stands there, arms around Emma, no signs of regret on his face.

The man I chose, I trusted, the one who killed me and my people.

If I get another chance, if I live even as a ghost, I will destroy you, just the same way you did.

I will protect them, every human, every life you ever took.

And I…

My breath falters, each inhale weaker than the last, slipping away from me.

I swear… I'll… kill you with these very hands.

And I will never… make the same mistake again… to trust.

I'll… kill.

Even if it’s the last thing I do.

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  • Till The End of The World    35. The Price of Loyalty

    EMMA. I wake before I fully open my eyes, strong footsteps reaching me first. A second later, his scent finds me. Smoke. Leather. Pine. And beneath it all, something unmistakably him. Even half asleep, I know exactly who stands outside that door. The handle clicks softly, wood moving against carpet as the door opens, and a thin strip of light slices through the dark room. The steady thud of his heart reaches me through the quiet, strong and unhurried, beneath the low hum of the air conditioner. Slowly, I open my eyes. He stands in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around the handle, broad shoulders outlined by the light behind him. His gaze sweeps over the room before finally coming to rest on me. For a moment, neither of us moves. The room remains still, filled only with the quiet rhythm of two hearts beating in the dark, until there's a faintest change in his. And suddenly, I'm wide awake. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice even, though not surprised as he clos

  • Till The End of The World    34. His Duty

    CLARA. For a second, I simply stare at him, genuinely wondering if enough flour got into my mouth to finally reach my bloodstream. Then he moves. His boots strike the concrete with quiet thuds, little clouds of white powder puffing off his clothes with every step, and before my brain can catch up, he's standing in front of me. Not behind me. Not beside me. Right in front of me. Broad shoulders blocking half my view of Emma, and up close I can see flour still caught in the dark strands of his hair, streaked across his shirt and dusting the sharp line of his jaw. The faint smell of soap and grain reaches me, and a few loose specks drift down from him onto the floor between us. I blink as a drop of sweat slides slowly down my neck, and somewhere behind us somebody sucks in a sharp breath, but my brain is too busy trying to process the giant, flour-covered problem currently standing between me and Emma. What...what's he doing? Is he... Is he defending me? Me? “Evan?”

  • Till The End of The World    33. Choices and Consequences

    CLARA. I turn slowly to see Emma standing at the entrance, perfectly composed, perfectly clean, not a single speck of flour on her. Her cream dress falls in smooth lines to her ankles, her dark hair pinned neatly in place, and beside her one of the maids clutches a tablet to her chest, looking about three seconds away from fainting. Silence crashes over the warehouse so hard even the carts have stopped rattling. Flour still flies in the air, drifting through the shafts of sunlight, and somewhere behind me somebody coughs into the sudden quiet. Emma's eyes sweep over the warehouse once, taking in the overturned sacks, the white footprints, and the workers suddenly pretending none of it exists, before finally stopping on a very white-looking Evan. “What,” she asks again, her voice soft and sharp at the same time, “is happening here?” I glance around and find everyone frozen, one man still clutching a handful of flour like he forgot how hands work, another halfway behind a shel

  • Till The End of The World    32. Warehouse Chaos

    CLARA. “EVAN BLAKES!" My voice echoes through the warehouse, making several workers instantly drop what they do, heads turning so fast you'd think someone had pulled a fire alarm. I scoop a handful of flour from the sack and throw it at him. He sidesteps easily. "Flour got in your eyes?" he taunts. Fuck. I point at him. "You're so dead!” I jump off and go after him, but he just turns and walks away. Seriously? No. you’ve picked the wrong person to fight, Human tower. “Get him!” I shout, pointing at the nearest worker. He freezes mid-step, crate still in his hands. “Move!” I snap, grabbing another handful and throwing it myself. He ducks—clean. Too clean. The flour flies past him and hits a worker behind instead. “Come on!” I yell, already moving. “Stand still now!" He’s already gone again, I run after him fast, too fast for a warehouse that suddenly feels way smaller than it was five seconds ago, every aisle somehow leading to exactly where he isn't.

  • Till The End of The World    31. Making Art

    CLARA It turns out inventory work is less terrible than I expected. Not exciting and fun. Not at all. But not terrible too, since I'm not the one doing the heavy work. For the last hour I've been moving through the warehouse with a tablet in one hand and a growing understanding of why Stefan called me an idiot in the other. Never tell him that. I'm currently seated behind a wooden desk that's been shoved between two shelves of inventory records. Someone thoughtfully left me a chair too. Every shipment that arrives gets checked. Every crate gets counted and every supplier gets recorded too. The air smells like flour, grain, wood, and enough spices to make me hungry. A worker drops another inventory sheet onto my desk, with a little too much force for the poor paper. I see, we're both unhappy about this arrangement. "Twenty-seven." He grumbles. I glance down. "Twenty-eight." The worker frowns, a second later I realize I'm reading the wrong row. Fantastic. "It's

  • Till The End of The World    30. Information

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