Chapter 56: Chapter 56: HOME SWEET HOME

VALORIA WILDEROSE

I brace myself before I pull my door open and step out into the all-too-familiar expanse of land I’d been caged in for most of my life.

Nothing has changed. Of course, three weeks isn’t enough for anything to change.

It’s just as cold and terrifying as it was weeks ago—perhaps even more—with the uncertainty that now hangs over my head.

The grand manor looms before me, its stone walls and towering windows as imposing as ever. The manicured gardens stretch endlessly on either side, beautiful and suffocating all at once.

I used to dream of escaping this place. Now I’m walking right back into it.

The moment he and I are out of the car, all the servants line up at the entrance in a choreographed manner, bowing their greetings before my family—Alpha Wilderose and his daughters—step forward to offer theirs in unison.

Seeing each of them again sends vibrations of intense fear through my entire body. Years of training and mental conditioning take control of me against my will, and I react in fear of them as if I’d never left before.

Cowering and throwing my face elsewhere, avoiding eye contact and keeping my distance, I shake like a leaf in the wind.

I don’t dare move—crippled by it, by the mental suggestion screaming in my mind that I’m not worthy to be here, that I should hide away in a dark corner so as not to be seen or noticed.

Old habits die hard. Old fears die harder.

“We greet His Majesty, Lord of the Lycans, benevolent King of the Werewolves, and the venerable sun himself,” Father speaks up on behalf of everyone, offering extravagant words of flattery—kissing his royal ass with so much vigor and nervousness I’ve never heard in his voice before.

He’s never once said so many nice words—clearly false—all at once, nor cowered in front of anyone before.

Yet in front of Azrael, the powerful and dangerous Ottomar Wilderose is reduced to nothing more than a man—a terrified man, afraid that the monster standing before him might rip his limbs off just like the rest of us.

That’s just how much fear and power Azrael commands—enough to make Father appear remotely normal for the first time.

It’s almost laughable. The man who terrorized me my entire life, who made me feel like nothing more than dirt beneath his boots—now trembling before someone else.

If the circumstances were different, I might have enjoyed this.

Azrael, on the other hand, is unfazed by it. Bored, even. He’s probably heard better—had his ass kissed in more riveting ways.

All it takes is one slight grunt of recognition from him for the tension to dissipate and for everyone bowing to relax and stand up again. Father smiles with relief now.

“It is an honor to have you at our home and to host you for a few days. A banquet celebration has been prepared in your honor,” he announces before signaling to everyone else with a simple gesture.

Suddenly, the servants scatter like mice to their respective posts—some rushing to the cars to gather the luggage for the rooms prepared; my sisters going back inside to continue with preparations.

Everyone rushes around while Father begins to lead Azrael away toward wherever this banquet is.

All their attention is on perfection, while I’m forgotten completely—like a ghost that never even existed.

I doubt I’ve even been noticed at all, crushed underneath the weight of being unseen. I don’t mind it. It’s always been better than unwanted attention.

I’d even prefer it if the rest of the days go by like this moment—everyone too focused on being scared of Azrael to notice the plain, ugly girl right next to him.

I could sleep through this entire week and be home without needing to face anyone.

It’s a dream too good to become a reality.

“Dearest sister!”

And her familiar, shrewd voice confirms it only seconds in.

My shoulders tense and slump. The fear engraved deep within me at the sound of that voice is triggered, and instinctively, I cower like a submissive mule.

Out of all six sisters, I sometimes feared Marcella the most—even though she is the youngest and the only one after me. The embodiment of everything I’m not—prideful, vain, competent, and beautiful.

She’s always been everything I could never be—not even a fraction of it. In quiet times, I’d imagine my life as hers: loved by everyone, beautiful and bold enough to speak to anyone confidently.

She’s had the life I wanted—and then the man I wanted. And yet, even after leaving this house, I couldn’t escape the desire to be her.

Ronan chose her. Of course he did. Why would he ever choose me when she existed?

She runs and crashes into me before I can even see her, wrapping me in a tight hug that half-crushes me against her rounded belly—an uncomfortable embrace that takes me completely off guard.

I grow stiffer and speechless, not daring to move or make a sound—like prey frozen before a predator.

Her perfume is the same as always—something expensive and floral that I could never afford. It fills my nostrils and takes me right back to every moment she made me feel small.

“It’s been so long, sister… you look wonderful.” Her tone is light and cheerful, charming and sweet.

She’s perfect enough to charm others without needing much to do it—only her beauty and charisma—all of that shimmering even brighter with her new pregnant glow.

Her belly presses against me, a constant reminder of everything she has that I never will. A husband. A child. A future.

All I have is a death sentence and a monster who owns me.

“I missed you so much,” she continues her grand welcome, but then she leans closer to me, whispering in a voice no one else can hear—one almost as sinister as Azrael’s in his moments of rampage. “Did you miss us as much as we missed you?”

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