Louise's POV
I tipped the wineglass and drained its final drop, placing it back down with a soft clink. My fingers quivered as I released it.
"She's still your flesh and blood, Alpha Derick," Phyllis declared, rising in my defense. If I hadn’t personally witnessed his hesitation before, I might’ve made the mistake of thinking his concern was genuine. "She looks frail—barely holding herself up. She needs proper nourishment. The council even acknowledged there were inconsistencies in the case. There’s still a chance she didn’t take Chelsea… or end her life."
My father’s fury exploded like wildfire. "You can buy the illusion of truth with enough silver!" he snapped, his voice sharp and venomous. "Louise can spin all the lies she wants, but reality always claws its way to the surface! And it has! I’m sickened—utterly disgusted to be the father of someone who could kill her own sister!"
The way his glare seared into me felt like a knife slicing straight through my chest.
"I want you gone from my presence!" he roared, jabbing a finger toward the doorway like it was a weapon. "Get out, you filthy murderer!"
My throat tightened with emotion, but I refused to let myself cry. I forced my chin up, keeping my gaze fixed on him with as much strength as I could muster.
"Alpha—"
Phyllis tried again, but I cut him off before he could say more.
"You don’t have to stand up for me, Phyllis. I’ll follow his orders."
Without looking back, I turned and exited the room.
Phyllis remained behind.
When I stepped into what used to be my bedroom, I came to a halt. My mother was seated on the edge of the bed, her back stiff and her expression unreadable.
She stood as soon as she noticed me.
"This room no longer belongs to you," she said coldly. "It’s not appropriate. A servant will handle your belongings and move them to a more… suitable space."
I parted my lips, instinctively wanting to call her Mom—but I hesitated. Her earlier declaration echoed in my mind. She didn’t want that title from me anymore.
"Alright," I whispered quietly.
She strode toward the door, pausing just before she crossed the threshold.
"In three days, we mark Chelsea’s birthday," she said, her voice devoid of affection. "You will kneel at her empty grave and admit where you buried her body. Confess. Maybe then we can begin to mend the devastation you brought upon us." She paused, her eyes briefly shimmering with something I couldn’t decipher. "If Kian were still alive, he would’ve made sure you paid for what happened. He’d never have forgiven you—just like we won’t."
Then she left, the sound of the door closing behind her like a final verdict.
That was when the tears finally broke free. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the floor, the cold stone against my skin offering no comfort. My sobs were quiet but violent, wracking my body with sorrow too deep for words.
I no longer had a family.
There was no love left for me in this world.
Nothing remained.
Except—my wolf.
She hadn’t surrendered. She still burned with the desire to survive. To unearth the truth.
But how much longer could I endure this?
The wounds were too deep.
And soon, my vision would be lost forever. The attack from that day—acid splashed across my face, my head cracking against stone—had left damage my wolf couldn’t repair.
And Phyllis... If he had truly cared, maybe I wouldn’t feel this shattered.
They relocated me to a small, cramped space near the servants' quarters. I nearly laughed. That’s how low I’d sunk in their eyes. They had never truly seen me as one of their own.
Still, there was a bed.
It wasn’t like the ice-cold cell where I’d once been caged, forced to lie on the floor and wait for the end. Even during the harshest winters, my parents hadn’t spared me a blanket.
The only source of warmth had come from someone anonymous. A thick winter coat. A heavy wool blanket.
"The comfort of a killer? Not deserved," the guards had sneered.
A killer.
Was I truly one?
Some nights, I almost believed it. Almost wished it were real. Because then at least the suffering might have some justification.
But the pain never stopped.
I barely slept. This new room wasn’t freedom—it was just a prettier cage.
Why stay here?
Nobody wanted me.
I stared at myself in the cracked, foggy mirror mounted on the wall. My reflection gave me a bitter grin.
Tomorrow would be Chelsea’s birthday.
I missed her so much.
Her laugh, her light, her innocence.
Who did this to you, Chelsea?
Who took you away?
That question haunted me endlessly—from the day she vanished, from the moment we saw that horrifying photo of her bloodied, lifeless body. No one had located it. No one admitted to sending it. But still, they pointed fingers at me.
How could anyone hurt such a pure, joyful soul?
I couldn’t breathe in that suffocating room a moment longer.
As I walked through the halls, whispers trailed after me like ghosts. Murderer. Monster.
I kept my eyes low, my vision warping until I collided with a table and a vase toppled. It crashed to the floor, scattering in jagged shards. I knelt quickly to clean it, my head spinning. My left eye gave me nothing but a hazy blur. I blinked, trying to focus—
"You!"
That voice froze the blood in my veins.
My father.
"How dare you show yourself!" he bellowed, advancing on me. "You murderer!"
He seized my arm violently, pain shooting through it like fire. His grip felt like it would shatter bone. Then he shoved me away with loathing.
"I didn’t mean to—" I tried to explain, but my words were faint.
My stomach twisted with dread.
The vase I’d broken… it wasn’t ordinary.
It had held Kian’s ashes.
His urn.
"I—No—I didn’t know—"
The slap landed so quickly I didn’t even see it coming.
The sound echoed. My ears rang.
"You destroyed him! Just like you destroyed Chelsea!" he thundered.
I reached for my cheek, already feeling the sting of blood from where his ring had split my skin. My hand trembled.
I stared at him—the man who once held me as a child.
And for the first time, it became devastatingly clear.
I was no longer his daughter.
Not now.
Maybe not ever again.
