BLEEDING

COURTNEY

The heavy iron gates of the grand estate parted, and the familiar, looming architecture of the mansion rose before us. Stepping out of the vehicle, I realized the house had not changed at all. Everything remained exactly the same as it was ten years ago, frozen in time like a monument to my past captivity.

I hurried to carry Bryan inside, rushing him to a comfortable bed while pack doctors were immediately summoned to hook him back up to proper monitoring equipment and stabilized oxygen. Once my son was resting safely, I picked up my small duffel bag and turned toward the familiar hallway leading to the guest wing.

"Where do you think you're going?" Diego’s deep, commanding voice stopped me in my tracks.

I froze, turning around to face him as he stood leaning against the doorframe of the master suite, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

"I'm going to my room," I murmured quietly, avoiding his intense gaze.

"You are sharing a room with me," he said, leaving no room for argument.

"Diego, please... let me have a space," I pleaded, my voice cracking under the sudden weight of terror and exhaustion. "Just give me a separate room. I'll do whatever you want, I'll obey you, but please—"

I quickly realized that pleading with Diego was like pleading with the devil. A cold, impassive smirk touched his lips, and he didn't budge an inch. Realizing it was entirely pointless to fight him on this right now, and knowing my son's safety depended on my compliance, I picked up my bags, walked past him, and stepped into the master bedroom.

The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, the last thread holding my sanity together snapped.

I dropped my bags to the floor, fell to my knees against the edge of the massive king-sized bed, and cried bitterly. The reality of my defeat suffocated me. He won. Diego had completely won. Everything I had built, every sacrifice, every ounce of independence I had fought for—it was all gone in an instant.

Driven by a blinding wave of despair and rage, I stood up and began destroying things. I swept decorative vases off the tables, shattering them against the floor, ripped decorative pillows off the bed, and threw lamps against the wall. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the silent room, but nothing could match the shattering of my soul.

In a final, desperate act of emotional release, I grabbed a sharp crystal shard from a broken ornament on the dresser, pressed it against my wrist, and sliced it open.

Warm, dark blood immediately spilled over my skin, dripping heavily onto the pristine white carpet. I watched it pool, feeling a strange, dark sense of relief wash over me as the pain in my chest finally began to numb.

The door pushed open, and Diego walked in. He didn't rush. He didn't panic. He just stood there, looking down at my bleeding wrist with cold, detached indifference.

"You don't bleed to death in my house," was all he could say when he saw the blood dropping onto his floor.

It was almost kind of him, in his own twisted way, to call in a pack doctor immediately to stitch up the wound and stop the bleeding before I could escape him through death.

Later that evening, when the room was dark and silent, and the guards were stationed outside the door, I found the bottle of daily stabilizing pills on the nightstand—medication I needed for my single kidney. Without hesitation, I emptied the entire bottle into my palm and swallowed every single pill in one massive overdose.

I don't care anymore, I thought as the heaviness dragged me down into a dark, bottomless abyss. Let it end.

When I finally stirred, coughing weakly, a soft, familiar light filtered through the window. I blinked away the haze, expecting to see the towering ceilings of Diego’s master bedroom.

Instead, a warm, calloused hand gently grasped mine.

"Courtney? Thank the Goddess, you're awake," a deep, deeply worried voice whispered.

I turned my head slowly on the pillow. Standing right by my side, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with immense relief, was Alpha Lucas.

I looked around the room, taking in the soft pastel walls, the medical monitors beeping gently in the corner, and the quiet serenity of the space. This was not Diego's house.