Semua Bab Revenge on my Alpha husband: Bab 191 - Bab 200

Edward: The eggs Tarantino made were, as he warned me, an absolute disaster. But the bread was warm, and it was good enough to make me forget about the burnt rubber taste of the eggs. We ate in silence, only the scraping of silverware and the occasional sip of coffee filling the air. My mind wasn’t exactly on the food anyway; it was stuck on the conversation we’d had earlier. Tarantino was right, of course. Everything happens for a reason. I could hear the words repeating in my head, like a stubborn echo bouncing off the walls. But as much as I wanted to believe him, that sentiment did nothing to ease the weight in my chest. Nothing could change the fact that I was sending my brother into exile, to a life without the Pack, without me, without any of the privileges that came with being a royal. But I couldn’t just let the sorrow flood over me, not in front of Tarantino. Not in front of the only person who still seemed to see me for more than just my title. So I swallowe

Lianna: The morning light was shy, barely bleeding through the velvet curtains when I cracked my eyes open. I didn’t need a clock to know what day it was. My chest already felt like it was caving in. The air hung heavy, saturated with that stale chill that often preceded sorrow. A mourning fog rolled outside our window like some prophetic omen, brushing ghostlike tendrils across the glass. Edward hadn’t moved beside me. His breath rose and fell in shallow waves, his hand still loosely curled around mine like he feared I’d disappear in my sleep. I shifted slowly, brushing a thumb over his knuckles. We were going to banish his brother. I sat up and pulled the duvet around me, the fabric swishing softly against my bare skin. My toes hit the floor with a shiver, the marble tiles beneath me as merciless as the decisions we had to make today. My robe hung at the edge of the armchair, still draped from the night before. I sl

Lianna: I woke him with a kiss. It was gentle and slow, the kind that lingered on his lips like sunlight brushing the edge of dawn. His skin was warm beneath mine, soft and familiar. He stirred slowly, lashes fluttering like leaves catching the breeze before his eyes opened, that drowsy gray haze still clinging to them. “Is it time?” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse with sleep. It was the kind of voice that made it feel like the world was still paused for us. I nodded, fingers brushing back the strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Yeah. It's time.” He sighed, sitting up reluctantly. I could tell his body felt heavier than usual—grief had a weight all on its own. Still, he moved, slow but sure, like he owed it to himself to keep going. I slid off the bed to help him, but the rug betrayed me. My heel caught on the edge and I pitched forward with a sharp gasp. And just b

Freya: The moment we passed through the palace gates and the guards shut them behind us, my mother let out a sharp breath like she’d been holding it in the entire time. She didn’t even wait for the car to pick up speed before she leaned toward me, her voice thick with spite. “That Luna Queen of yours… she’s a witch.” I didn’t respond right away. I just stared out the window, watching the stone walls of the royal compound vanish behind trees and shadow. It wasn’t surprising that she’d say something like that because my mother had a habit of blaming everything on witchcraft, misfortune, or bad omens. Stub her toe? A curse. Lose a chess game? The stars weren’t aligned. But still, something in her tone made me tilt my head slightly. “She’s not a witch,” I said, letting a soft smirk curve my lips. “She’s something else entirely. Stronger. Witchcraft would’ve crumbled against that.” Mother scoffed, fingers

Lianna: I’d fought wars with blood in my teeth and lightning in my palms. I had come out bruised, singed, but never like this. Never this empty. It was like something had drained the marrow from my bones, like my soul had been sifted through a sieve and discarded for sport. I wasn’t just tired, I was hollowed out. My eyelids felt like lead but lifted slowly at the sound of faint incantations. It was low and rhythmic, the syllables curling into my ears like smoke. My vision blurred, then sharpened around the figure of a woman draped in charcoal grey, her fingers twinkling with tiny, glowing sigils. I blinked once, twice. Ah. The Pack Witch. Relief loosened something in my chest, but I didn’t let it show. I hated looking fragile, even though I currently felt like someone had taken a hammer to every joint in my body. “Still alive, I see,” I murmured, my voice raspy and dry like parchment left in the sun. “Congratulations. You all didn’t kill me with your fretting.”