Prison never ended.

"Are you hoping everyone will feel sorry for you?"

Darius's question hung in the air.

Seraphina tightened her grip on the folded tablecloths. She had learned that defending herself rarely changed anyone's mind, but she was tired of being accused of things she hadn't done.

"I'm working," she replied quietly. "That's all."

"Don't play innocent with me." Darius stepped closer. "You destroyed Lillian's life, and now you're pretending to be some poor, misunderstood victim?"

Seraphina looked at him.

"You don't know what happened."

"I know enough. Lillian suffered because of you, and you couldn't even offer her a sincere apology when you returned."

"Because I have nothing to apologize for."

His expression darkened.

"What did you say?"

"I didn't commit that crime."

For the first time, Seraphina's voice carried something other than exhaustion.

"I took the blame because your precious family asked me to. I went to prison for two years, and none of you even bothered to visit me. So don't stand there demanding an apology from me."

Darius stared at her before letting out a humorless laugh.

"An impressive story. Did you rehearse it before coming home?"

Seraphina's face went pale.

"I won't argue with you."

She tried to walk past him, but he caught her arm.

"You're not going anywhere until you learn some humility."

"Let go of me."

Instead, Darius dragged her down a narrow corridor toward a heavy wooden door.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, struggling to free herself.

"Giving you somewhere to reflect on your behavior."

He shoved the door open and forced her into a small underground archive room. Old documents and unused furniture crowded the space. There were no windows, and the only light came from a weak bulb overhead.

Seraphina stumbled.

"Darius, please."

He ignored her.

"You can come out when you're ready to admit what you did."

The door slammed.

A lock clicked.

Then his footsteps faded.

For several seconds, Seraphina stood motionless. The room was too small. The air felt too heavy. Her eyes darted toward the door, and suddenly she was no longer in the Vale estate.

She was back in Blackthorn, the darkness swallowed the room as the bulb flickered.

"No."

Her breathing quickened.

"No, please. Open the door."

She rushed forward and pulled at the handle. It wouldn't move.

Panic seized her.

"Please! I'll behave! I promise!"

She struck the door with trembling hands, barely aware of the sound she was making.

Outside, Darius paused.

"Enough with the theatrics," he called. "Nobody is going to believe you."

But the pleading continued, growing more desperate.

"Please don't leave me here! Please, I'll do anything!"

Darius frowned.

Something about her voice was unsettling, but he convinced himself she was trying to manipulate him.

Then another voice cut through the corridor.

"What is happening here?"

The Lycan King stood several feet away, his expression turning cold as another terrified scream came from behind the locked door.

"Open it," he ordered.

Darius straightened. "Your Majesty, it's a family matter. Seraphina is simply being disciplined for her—"

"I said, open the door."

The lock was undone immediately.

The King stepped inside.

Seraphina was crouched in the far corner, her arms wrapped around her head. She recoiled when the door opened wider, scrambling backward as though she expected someone to strike her.

"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Please, I won't do it again!"

The King stopped.

He had witnessed fear before. He had seen warriors tremble before battle and prisoners plead for mercy.

But this was different.

Seraphina wasn't looking at him. She seemed trapped in a memory so terrible that the room around her no longer existed.

"Get the physician," he commanded. "Now."

Darius stared at her, his confidence finally faltering.

"Your Majesty, she's pretending—"

The King's gaze snapped toward him.

"One more word, and you will answer to me."

He crouched several feet from Seraphina without touching her.

"You're safe for now," he said carefully. "Nobody is going to force you to move."

She continued trembling, unable to recognize his reassurance.The King looked at her bruised wrists and terrified face, this wasn't ordinary bitterness. It wasn't the behavior of someone merely angry about being imprisoned.

Someone had taught this girl to fear locked doors. And as he watched her struggle to breathe, a troubling thought settled over him.

What if everyone in this household had been telling him the wrong story?