I Protected Him for 200 Years, He Killed Me in 1 Day
Buried deep in the Aster estate was the Heartwood—ancient, sacred, mine.
Told my husband, Julian Aster—back when he actually listened—that if it ever fell, I'd die with it.
At first, he freaked out. Flew in glacier water, hired a whole squad of plant experts to nurture it 24/7.
Then one day, just because his childhood friend—Isabella Duvall—got a scratch from the bark, Julian had the Heartwood ripped out.
The second it crashed, I choked on glowing blood—ichor. My power? Gone.
Barely standing, I grabbed his arm. "You knew. If the Heartwood dies, I—"
He laughed. Straight-up mocked me. "Sera, come on. That fairy tale? Only Grandma still believes that crap. Is that mayo on your mouth? Relax—it's a tree. I'll buy you a forest if you want."
Overnight, my hair turned gray. Skin cracked. Eyes dulled.
Still, I dragged myself to his grandmother, Henrietta.
"I kept your family safe for two hundred years. That's why the Asters thrived. But the Heartwood's gone. Debt's paid. One day left. Whatever happens next? Not my problem."