Fated Reborn, His Unwanted Mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

Eleanor's POV Curiosity gnawed at me like a hungry wolf, tugging me toward Klaus’ mansion two days after our last talk. I couldn’t shake what he’d said—those cryptic words about Sebastian and the Capris coven. Why hadn’t Sebastian come to me himself? Why send Klaus with his sly smiles and half-truths? The questions spun in my head, loud and restless, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to know what was going on, even if it meant walking straight into Klaus’ den. His mansion loomed ahead as I approached, all dark stone and sharp edges, surrounded by tall pines that creaked in the wind. Inside, he led me to a small, sturdy library—a room packed with shelves of dusty books and a single table lit by a chandelier. The air smelled of old paper and a thick fragrance trying to cover the smell of the old papers. I sat down on a hard wooden chair, my hands clasped tight in my lap, watching him. He stood across from me, his face unreadable, and then he spoke. “I wasn’t sent by Sebast

Caddal's POV I paced the creaky wooden floor of my chamber—or as much as I could pace, stuck in this cursed wheelchair. Impatience ate at me, gnawing like a hungry dog. My Eleanor, my little girl, had blossomed late, but oh, how she’d grown—strong, fierce, and gifted with powers I’d always seen in her. I’d known it from the start. How could she not have them? Her mother was… No. I shook my head hard, shoving that thought away before it could take root. Eleanor was mine—my daughter, my blood, my pride. That was all that mattered. Days dragged by in slow, painful agony. Time slipped through my fingers like sand, wasted and useless, as I sat here waiting for her to come back to me. She’d return, I told myself over and over, staring out the window at the gray sky. I’m her father, after all. She’ll come running, saying, “I’m here, Father.” But she didn’t. The silence stretched on, heavy and mocking, and deep down, I knew why. Sebastian. That arrogant, wild, ill-mannered Lycan wolf

Eleanor's POV The ride to Father’s castle was a tangle of warring thoughts pulling me in every direction. One part of me burned to see him, to demand answers and shake some sense into him. The other part whispered to turn back, to leave him stewing in his own mess. He’d never been honest with me before—why would he start now? Klaus had offered to help, sure, but I didn’t trust him either. His story about being a hybrid sounded too convenient, too slick, like a trap waiting to snap shut. Yet here I was, driving on, my hands tight on the wheels, the cool air from the air conditioner at my face as the stony castle I’d grown up in rose into view. The fanfare blared as I drove through the gates, trumpets echoing off the walls. Father must’ve been grinning in that wheelchair of his, smug as ever, thinking he’d lured me back with his little stunt. It made my blood boil. I swung off my car, my boots hitting the ground hard, and stormed inside. No banquet waited for me this time—no grand

Eleanor's POV My hands trembled as I lifted the fork from the silver tray set before me. The plate was adorned with delicate cuts of roasted meat sitting in a sizzling hot, herb sauce. It should’ve been comforting, a simple meal to make me fill stronger, but my mind was a storm. Father’s words clawed at me, each one sinking deeper into my chest. I couldn’t stop replaying them—his revelation about the witches, about me. The truth he’d hidden all these years.Maybe he’d kept it buried to protect me. That’s what I wanted to believe. But now, knowing what I was—a hybrid, born of the Capris coven’s eitches—I felt nothing but a searing hatred for those witches. I wished I’d never learned of them. My powers, once a source of pride, now felt like a foreign beneath my skin. I wanted to shed them, to crawl back into the fragile shell of the old Eleanor—the weak, overlooked Omega everyone dismissed. That version of me didn’t have to carry this weight.I didn't know who I was anymore regardless

Eleanor's POV The first day in this hellhole, I’d summoned every ounce of strength I had left. My hands had trembled as I pressed them to the wooden door, willing my power to rise. A surge of heat had flared within me, and flames had licked at the door, charring the surface with a satisfying burn. For a fleeting moment, I had tasted freedom—until Father’s guards stormed in. Their boots had marched against the stone, their growls filling the air as they seized me. I’d tried to fight, to call on my power again, but fear choked it down. The fire died out, leaving me helpless in their cold grip. I was no match for them, not when panic clawed at my throat.They dragged me to another room—a true cell this time, not just a mockery of one. Iron bars loomed around me, rusted and cold, the walls filled with dampness that seeped into my bones. A thin cot sat in one corner, its old mattress reeking of mildew, and a single bucket stood in the other, its purpose disgustingly clear. The air was hea