All Chapters of The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake: Chapter 241 - Chapter 250

Isolde I had been told that boarding schools were supposed to feel like beginnings. New routines. New friendships. New chances to become someone better than whoever you were before. But as I had walked through the gates of the now named Lannister Academy that first morning, all I felt was noise.It had not just been loud noise, not shouting students or blaring hallways. No, this was a quieter kind of noise. The kind that lives under the skin. The one that whistles in the air and touches the back of your neck like somebody is spying. Or waiting.My suit-case had gone rolling across the pavement. The college resembled an old one, which, though recently remodelled, was too old to be a mere school. The houses were high and slim, and the shadows were hanging upon their sides even in daytime. There was at the centre a courtyard fountain, and on one side of it was the narrative of a statue of a girl cut wholly of pale stone streaked with brands of soft gold, printed in a banner.Students pa

Author Mina and Gina lived on the third floor, east wing, Room 3A. Two beds. Two desks. One wide window that overlooked the courtyard. Their curtains were left partially open cause Gina liked sunlight, and Mina didn’t bother to move them either way.They had been here for a month now. Long enough to learn the class schedules, which hallways echoed, which teachers were strict, and which students gossiped about them the most. The Lannister twins, that was what the school called them, though only one of them carried the name.The war had not followed them here.But its absence took up just as much space.Gina was the one most people noticed first. She smiled with her whole face, even if the smile wasn’t always real. She signed up for everything she could, yearbook club, debate team, stage crew. When the student council asked for volunteers to help decorate for winter formal, she raised her hand first.“It’s better to stay busy,” she told anyone who asked.“It’s better to live,” she tol

AuthorRain had always been fond of storms. During her life she had said that thunder was a kind of a forgetfulness on the part of the sky. The storm had come back now, however, it was remembering her.The air over the academy was covered with dark storm clouds. Students ran into the courtyard, and pulled their hoods over, and laughed, half-nervous, as lightning flashed somewhere way out on the other side of the ridge.The fluorescent lights fluttered once in the west wing. Then again. A storm warning echoed through the intercom:“All students, please remain indoors until further notice. Maintenance will monitor electrical stability.”No one listened, not really. Teenagers were built to outlast warnings.But Emory felt it before the storm even touched the building, the low hum in his chest, like his heartbeat syncing with something outside him. The metallic taste on his tongue. The way every breath felt too heavy, too aware.He sat at the back of Literature class, pretending to read,

IsoldeI was in the art room, and around me, people painted, chattering, and laughing. But I wasn’t laughing, I never did. It wasn’t that I disliked people, it was just that I didn’t know how to fit inside all their noise. And so I took a seat near the windows, like always. I didn’t touch my canvas, my brush was hovering just above it, and the tip trembled.Mr. Helman passed behind me, his shoes clicked softly against the floor. “Still nothing, Miss Vale?” “Still thinking,” I said. He smiled, the kind of smile people give when they think you’ll outgrow your silence, “You always are.” He moved on. The assignment was simple enough, paint what memory feels like. Everyone else had started with safe things, family portraits, seaside sunsets, old photographs turned into oil. But when I tried to remember anything clear, there was only blur, forests I could not name, rooms too quiet, the smell of antiseptic and something like iron. And light. But it was not white, and neithe

AriaElias had summoned us into the study, and thunder was already rolling now in the far away, low and slow, almost like a heartbeat.Kol sat down opposite me at the long table, he leant his cane against his chair. He had ceased to use it many months ago, though recently it had reappeared not as a need, but as a memory. The symbol of what he survived, what still lingered in him. Elias was also standing at the desk, and one of the files lay open before him. He looked tired, not physically though. “I’ve been documenting everything,” he said quietly. “Just in case things go south.” Kol frowned. “South?” Elias didn’t hesitate. “They already are.” He slid the file toward us. It wasn’t thick, but it felt heavy when I picked it up. Inside were printed documents, names, dates, digital screenshots, fragments of corrupted files. The one at the top read: ISOLDE VALE, REDWOOD PACK DISTRICT RECORDS Status: Transfer under observation Medical Notes: Three-month hospitalisation fo