The Cursed Heiress のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

POV: Silver Colt“I was born the day my father died—and my mother never forgave me for surviving.”They told the story every year on the anniversary of his death. Not because they mourned him, but because they always found fun making fun of me. To remind me why I existed.The rogue ambush came at dawn—my father, Alpha Daxton Colt, was ripped apart before he could draw his last breath. And somewhere deep in the chaos that filled the pack, my mother screamed into the night, going through hard birth labor. That birth unfortunately was me. Pack wolves always reference the scene as being the most tragic and horrible child birth the pack had ever witnessed.She lived just long enough to look at me once.And then… she turned her face away.Even now, eighteen years later, I can still feel the coldness in her gaze.“A cursed child,” they whispered.“A bad fruit from a good tree.”“I bet she has no wolf in her blood.”I became the ghost of the Moonveil Pack—always present, but never seen. Aliv

POV: Silver Colt“They say your true self emerges when your heart is shattered. But to me, that night, mine was drenched in blood.”“What? What does a poor thing think she can offer me, an Alpha wolf,” Volvo laughed, “This trick of yours can’t get me girl. You failed.”I ran until the trees blurred and the cold sank into my skin like needles.The bond had snapped. Clean. Violent. Like a chain being ripped from bone.Volvo’s voice still rang in my ears, sharp and final, “What does a poor thing think she can offer me, an Alpha wolf.”Every step deeper into the woods felt like sinking into something darker. Somewhere even the moon dared not follow.My tears blurred the path. My lungs burned. My thoughts twisted into chaos.Zorry, silent inside me, trembled. “We shouldn’t be alone out here,” she finally whispered.“It isn’t my fault, Zorry,” my voice weak, as I tried not to make it budge, “You saw and experienced all our mate did to us.”But another thing outside the link between I and Zo

POV: Silver ColtThe Slawcrest Packhouse was quieter than usual that afternoon. Even the hallways, usually filled with the chatter of omegas cleaning or warriors stomping in from training, seemed to hold their breath. My footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floor as I carried the laundry basket toward the servants’ quarters. The scent of fresh pine drifted in from the open windows, mingling with the faint, sweet aroma of lavender soap.Although the decree of my banishment came from Volvo, but seeing me leave couldn’t be bearable to him. All was based on pack pressure. “No…” he screamed, voice cutting through the already tensed air. “I can’t see Silver just leave like that.”It should have been peaceful, but it wasn’t.The rejection still clung to me like a second skin—Alpha Volvo’s cold words replayed over and over in my head like a cruel mantra I couldn’t silence. Even days later, my chest ached as though my wolf and I had both been branded with those three words: I reject y

POV: SilverThey say scars tell stories. If that’s true, mine will one day read like a tragedy no one asked for.The training yard smelled of dust, sweat, and crushed grass. The morning mist still clung to the edges of the fence, ghostly tendrils curling over the wooden rails as if reluctant to let the day begin. All around me, warriors barked orders and clashed in pairs, the thud of bodies meeting the dirt echoing like drums in my chest.I hated this place.Not because of the pain—though there was plenty of that—but because it reminded me of how small I was in this world. How easily I could be broken.I tightened the straps on my sparring gloves, willing my hands not to tremble. My assigned partner for today—Darren—stood a few feet away, stretching his arms with a smirk tugging at his lips. He was taller than me by a head and twice as broad, his muscles corded from years of combat. And he looked at me not as an equal, but as prey.“Ready, Omega?” he asked, his tone dripping with mock

POV: Silver ColtThe pack hall was ablaze with crimson lanterns, each one casting flickering shadows across the polished wood and stone floors. The scent of roasted venison and spiced mead mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood—an ancient reminder that this was not just a celebration, but a ritual bound in power. Tonight, under the Red Moon, every eye in Moonveil would be on the feast, every whisper carrying weight.I stepped inside, my chest tight, trying to ignore the nerves coiling in my stomach. I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt so exposed, standing among alphas, betas, and seasoned warriors. But something about the gathering—the knowing glances, the subtle hierarchies—made me hyper-aware of my own weakness.Amelia sat near the far end of the hall, an effortless picture of poise and control. Her golden hair gleamed under the lanterns, her smile radiant, though her eyes were sharp, calculating. I swallowed hard, remembering the night before. Her promise of friendship had fel