Echo Flowers Undertale

On our third wedding anniversary, I brought a gift to my husband’s office. Walking past the secretary's suite, I stopped dead. A king-size bed had been set up inside. A young woman in a designer dress was sprawled across it, a handheld game console in her hands, surrounded by imported snacks of every variety. "Kevin, the lunch you ordered yesterday was pre-packaged meals. Marcus and I both felt sick after eating it. Today, make sure it's from The Palace Hotel." Kevin -- my husband's personal assistant -- bowed and scraped before her, his face a mask of obsequious flattery. "Mrs. Thorne, please don't worry. Mr. Thorne made it very clear -- everything should be tailored to your preferences and the baby's. He knows you love the chef at The Palace Hotel, so he set up a standing VIP account for you. Anything you want, anytime." She was Mrs. Thorne? Then what exactly was I? My brow furrowed. I glanced down at the wedding ring I'd worn for years. The girl beamed, radiant. "For the baby's arrival, my husband is throwing a lavish yacht party. Every important person in New York is getting an invitation. I want the whole world to know that I'm the love of his life, and that our son will be blessed by the most powerful people before he's even born. The champagne and flowers must be the finest available -- no budget limit. Our child is going to have the best of everything from day one." I stared at the gentle swell of her belly and called my father. "Dad, that divorce agreement you drew up three years ago -- you can have the lawyers send it over now."

After two years of marriage, I believed I was living the dream—until the day I gave birth to our long-awaited heir. The house was filled with joy as my husband's family arrived, bearing gifts and ready to bestow a name upon our child, as tradition dictated. But the happiness of the day shattered in an instant when my husband walked in, hand in hand with his childhood sweetheart. In front of everyone, he announced not only our divorce but also his engagement to her, as if I had never mattered. *** "I’m divorcing Stacy," Jason announces, his voice unwavering, "to marry Nicole Cruz, my childhood sweetheart." He points to the woman standing before him who smiles and waves at everyone in the room. My world tilts on its axis. The words echo in my mind, louder and louder until they drown out everything else. What is going on?? "But why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible, even to myself. I'm unable to believe his betrayal. Jason doesn’t even glance at the child in my arms. "Because this has been a long time coming, Stacy. I’ve only stayed this long out of obligation and not love." Important Author’s Note: This is a rewritten version of my book The Alpha’s Betrayal: Reclaiming His Rejected Luna. From Chapter 12 onward, the story takes a new turn with fresh twists and drama. Thank you for reading—I hope you enjoy this new version!

In my tenth year of being the Luna of the Nocturne pack, the first love of my mate, Alpha Stellan Caldwell, returns to the pack. With a bouquet of dead wolfsbane in her hands, Nigella Starveil barges into the anniversary of the mate-bonding ceremony between Stellan and me. "Stellan, I still remember you telling me that you're willing to endure all types of poison in the world just for my sake. Does that promise still count?" Before Nigella finishes her sentence, Stellan, my powerful yet distant Alpha, feels his expression change instantly. He doesn't even bother sparing me a glance. All he sees is the bouquet of dead flowers that are equally deadly to Nigella. Stellan rushes up to Nigella and swipes the bouquet out of her hands roughly, not caring about the fact that everyone is staring at him right now. Silence befalls the hall instantly. From my position behind Stellan, I know right away that I've been reduced to the biggest laughingstock in the Northern Territories. The fact that Stellan doesn't hesitate to protect Nigella becomes the biggest insult that humiliates me to no end. It turns out that ten years of companionship and shared struggles are nothing compared to the bouquet of dead wolfsbane in Nigella's hands. After that, Nigella shoots me a smug and contemptuous look while rubbing her reddened wrist. "Do you see now? This is proof that he loves me. You've already tried to do your part as the breeding machine, so you can now retire from your position." In the past, Stellan had barged into the forbidden lands in search of Nigella. He almost got shredded into a thousand pieces there. But now, he's still willing to humiliate me in public just for her sake.

After eight years of marriage, I finally get pregnant with Claude Frey's child. It's my sixth round of IVF, and my last chance. The doctor says I can't put my body through it again. I'm overjoyed, ready to share the good news with him. But a week before our anniversary, I received an anonymous photo in the mail. In it, he was bending down to kiss another woman's pregnant belly. That woman is his childhood sweetheart, the one his family watched grow up. She's gentle and well-mannered, and the kind of daughter-in-law every parent dreams of. The funniest part is that his entire family knows about her pregnancy, except me. I'm just the punchline in their joke. It turns out that the marriage I've been holding together despite all my wounds is nothing but a carefully crafted lie. Fine. I don't want Claude anymore, and I'll never let my child be born into a world built on lies. I book my ticket to leave on our eighth anniversary. It's also the very day he's supposed to take me to see the sea of roses. Before we got married, he promised me a sea of flowers all my own. But instead, I find him in front of the rose garden, kissing his pregnant childhood sweetheart. After I leave, he starts searching for me everywhere. "Don't go, please?" he begs. "I was wrong. Don't leave." He finally remembers the promise he'd made to me and plants the most beautiful roses in the world in that garden. But I don't need it anymore.

` It was a cool, breezy and stormy night. Rain came down in sheets, as a dark figure stood before a house. The house was pretty ordinary, white with blue shutters; it didn't have more than two bedrooms. It looked like a cozy little family home with flowers and shrubs lining the front lawn, and then the smell from the pellet stove smoke invaded his nostrils. He took a deep breath and pulled out an old, rusted compass from his black trench coat. It looked like it could have been from the 14th century, the small, brass disc was dented and the Victorian designs were faded. He studied it as it pointed east, towards the small house. He looked the house over carefully, looking for the best entrance, before proceeding towards the side to gaze into the window. Inside you can see the small kitchen; the brand new, all black appliances off set the linoleum floor. Cabinets filled almost every wall of the small space that made it look more crowded than it should have been. The kitchen opened to a larger room which seemed to be used as a living room and a dining room all at once. The whole house looked crowded, with the furniture in the living room all touching except for a small gap to walk through and the dining room was so close to the sofa, it could have been sitting on it. He stepped back into the shadows as he watched a young couple enter the kitchen. The wife was tall and slender, had strawberry blond hair formed around her face accenting her jaw-line and her deep blue eyes stopped your heart as you got lost in them. Her fair complexion was silky and complimented her soft face.

Ember accepted her lot in life. On the run, she only wishes to find out the truth behind her dreams and solve the memory of her past. Keegan has only cared about protecting his pack, but when he sees the beauty dancing on stage and the flicker of flames in her eyes his body screams, Mate! Can Keegan tame the flames of Ember and together solve the mystery of her missing past? Or will they all burn together? Excerpt: “This is the reason I’m always tired,” I think to myself. Twenty-four years of coming here and still not a single clue, but every time I close my eyes, I return to this place. I know my surroundings perfectly. Oddly the place is beautiful to the eyes. The old house sat among flowers growing around all sides. The aroma of honeysuckle and jasmine fill my lungs filling me with a moment's peace. I’m sitting in my usual spot. Gripping the ropes of a swing in the front yard held by a large oak tree. Waiting I begin pushing my legs back and forth sending me in motion. I know something is about to happen. It happens every night. The house moves in front of my eyes. I see the shadows coming, but I don’t stop swinging. They are black as night but I can see smiles within the shadow grinning bright. “What is this place!” I cry, fed up with this nightly repetition, but no sound emerges. A noise can be heard from the back of the house. One of the shadows turns toward it. I jump down to follow only to have the other shadow hold me back. “Don’t go. Not yet. Listen to me!”

I stand before the pack members, condemned by whispers and stares that cut deeper than any blade. Branded a killer, but I am no murderer. Yet, their accusations cling to me like a shroud, suffocating every shred of hope within me. “I’ll never reject you, Ivanna, but I’ll make your life hell.” His words echo throughout the hall. A cruel reminder of the torment that awaits me. “I’ll forever punish you for what you did to me and the pack.” My mate’s voice, once a source of strength, now drips with venomous hatred. “You’ll remain as my mate, and I’ll remain your nightmare.” “I didn’t kill her!” I protest, but he sees only a liar, a traitor to the pack. His fist hits my cheek, a brutal punishment for crimes I did not commit. “Liar!” He barks. “You killed her. And I’ll do the same to you. Slowly. Painfully. Until you’re choking on your last breath and desperately ready to tell the truth. That you killed her.” —---------------------------------------------------- When the Luna mysteriously dies before my eyes, everyone tags me as her killer. I go through hell and back. My life becomes an endless circle of misery. But I won’t break. I won’t give in to my abusers, no matter how brutally they try to break my soul. I’m determined to fight till the end. Until I’ve proven to them that I’m not the Luna’s Killer.

I shivered in the darkness, the air stale, damp and cold making goosebumps appear on my bare skin. The low rumbles and huffs which were coming from behind made me a little scared, and I knew the beast was still there, watching me with interest. I knew screaming and calling for help was futile since my voice was already hoarse for trying to scream the past few hours, but the only thing to be heard was my echo, and the snarl that followed next. I heard it shift and felt it's soft fur brush against my body and skin. I swallowed hard and held in my voice. The more it leaned in, the more my heart beat wildly, and I tried to move away from it. It's warm breath brushed against my cold skin making me shiver in response. I couldn't see but I had an idea what it wanted. I kept resisting but it was much stronger than I was, easily able to pull my thin legs apart. It showed it's dominance as a way to make me submit. I knew I wasn't strong enough to fight or escape it, but that didn't mean I was going to willingly do what the beast said, at least at that minute. But everything changed when I felt it's big head dip between my legs, easily parting them to the extreme, and a rough, yet soft , in my opening. I couldn't help the moan that left my lips. The was long, rough, and filled me to the brim, and that's when I knew I was in . The beast wanted to breed with me.

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

Ean's face twisted with anger as he grabbed me by the arm, dragging me toward the old, rusted freezer in the corner of the warehouse. "You're going to feel what Helen felt," he spat. "Maybe that'll teach you not to mess with her." I struggled against him, panic rising in my chest. "Ean, this is insane! It was an accident! Let me explain—" He wasn’t listening. He shoved me inside the freezing metal box and slammed the door shut. The echo of the lock clicking into place made my heart pound in my ears. I banged on the door with my fists. "Ean, please! You can’t do this!" I screamed, but the sound of his footsteps grew fainter as he walked away. He left me with nothing but a single bowl of water, like I was some kind of prisoner. I slumped against the cold metal, shivering. The temperature plummeted almost instantly. The hum of the freezer kicked in, and I realized too late—it wasn’t broken like he thought. It was working, and I was trapped. My body shook uncontrollably as the cold seeped into my bones. I screamed for help until my throat was raw, clawing at the walls in desperation. My bloody handprints smeared across the icy surface, a silent plea for mercy that no one would hear. Seven days passed. When Ean finally returned, the look on his face was one of smug satisfaction. He had expected me to beg, to apologize. But when they pried open the freezer, all they found was my frozen body, stiff and silent, my suffering long over.