The Crone Of Midnight Embers

Evangelina had a tough luck growing up with a family that wanted to trade her for security but one day things changed. She met her mate during a ball and sparks flew. They spent the night taking pleasure from each other. It all felt like a dream to Eva and just like a dream, it shattered when the morning came. When the morning light fell on his beautiful face, she realised with a shock that her destined mate is the vicious Zavion Kessler- the infamous alpha of Midnight pack- their swore enemy. Eva does what she thinks is best. She flees, leaving him sleeping not knowing the alpha had already planted his pup inside her. Two months later she finds out that she is pregnant. Her family decides to kill her baby and mate her off to an old chap. Eva runs away for her baby. Fast forward four years, she is a caring mother to a sweet girl and is scraping through life. Then comes a man who stinks of money and offers her millions for pretending to be his mate in front of his family during his big brother's mating ceremony. She agrees, again not knowing that the big brother of her fake mate is her true mate, Zavion. Tricky, isn't it? .................. "What are you doing?" I asked as his large callous hand wrapped itself around my left breast, clutching the lump in a tender yet firm grip. "Your heart remains calm like ocean when with my brother but flaps like a caged bird when I am around. Suspicious, isn't it?" he rasped while drawing circles over my palpitating heart with his thumbpad. I could sense it. He is close to finding out the truth. That I am his mate and that he has a daughter.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."