Chapter 57: Chapter 57: MY MURDERER IS HERE

VALORIA WILDEROSE

I shiver. The coldest chill of fear grips me too tightly to breathe or make a sound—tight enough that tears well in my eyes without her even having to do much.

I hold on tightly to my bladder so I don’t piss myself.

And then, as if this precious moment couldn’t get any worse, a sudden thought strikes me—my murderer could very well be Marcella.

She’s always hated me enough to make my life miserable. She’s gone to far lengths to put me in trouble before, and every time I thought I knew her limits, she exceeded them without fail.

She’s a menace who didn’t mind killing animals simply because I petted them or fed them from my plate.

I still remember the kitten. The one I’d found shivering in the garden and nursed back to health in secret. She drowned it in the fountain and made me watch.

“I asked you a question, Valoria.” Her tone hardens from impatience, dragging me out of my spiraling thoughts.

“I-I-I… I-I d-did,” I stammer, lowering my head, not daring to meet her eyes.

“You’re still the same old Valoria,” she comments almost pitifully. “I thought the castle might’ve given you a backbone, considering you’ve survived this long in that place. Maybe it’s not as terrifying as people say.”

I bite my lip and nod in agreement.

She smiles. “This house has gotten too dull since you left, you know. No one to tease and push around.” Her hands tighten on my shoulders at that last word.

I swallow a grunt of pain.

“Lyra—who’s usually too busy with her priestess studies—even had to come with her teacher just to see you,” she continues, her tone feigning fondness as her eyes flick to the side.

I follow her gaze toward the two women standing a few feet away, watching us with unreadable expressions.

Out of everyone in our family, Lyra’s devotion to the goddess has always been unmatched—to the point she gave up the idea of having a mate to serve as a priestess.

Another source of Father’s pride and joy. Another sister who couldn’t care less about me.

“Enough about family,” Marcella cuts in, forcing my attention back to her. “The banquet is about to begin, and you’re one of our special guests.”

There’s mischief in her tone just before she begins pulling me toward the direction Azrael and Father had taken.

I feel like prey being dragged away to be devoured—desperate to scream for help, but knowing no one would dare. I was damned the moment I stepped foot back in this place.

The sun slowly sets over the horizon, casting the perfect mood for an outdoor banquet beneath a wide, dazzling gazebo.

Twinkling golden lights scatter high and around, shimmering against the evening sky.

The table is as long as our extended family—each of them seated, chattering with excitement and joy, lavish food spread out like a feast for kings.

It’s the kind of scene that would look beautiful to an outsider. Warm. Inviting. A loving family gathered to celebrate.

But I know better. I know what hides beneath the smiles.

It’s all about to begin when Marcella brings me in.

Her fingers dig sharply into my arm, leaving me no chance to escape, though she masks it with the illusion of affection—pretending to lovingly escort her elder sister to the table.

My eyes find Azrael first.

The bastard’s already seated comfortably at one end, chatting with Father.

After dragging me here, he hasn’t so much as batted an eyelash in my direction—completely forgetting that I’m even the reason he’s here.

I take a step toward him, intending to fill the empty seat by his side, knowing it would be the safest—

“Where do you think you’re going?” Marcella pulls me back with a sweet, poisonous smile. “I told you we missed you, and you’re running back to the king the second you see him?” Her chuckle is low and mocking.

I swallow, my chest tightening.

Before I can say anything, I watch as my other two sisters—Willow and Ana, the fourth and fifth—slip into the two empty seats beside him.

They lean in close, cozy and smiling, greeting him with those ridiculous, seductive eyes.

And like the whore he is, he eats it up.

Something in me sinks lower.

Something that feels worse than disappointment—something sharp and ugly, mixed with anger. The same anger I’ve been burying bubbles up again, hot in my chest.

Why do I even care? He’s not mine. He’ll never be mine. And I don’t want him to be.

And yet watching my sisters fawn over him makes my stomach twist in ways I refuse to examine.

“Tonight, you sit with me,” Marcella whispers, dragging me to our seats far from Azrael.

I don’t bother resisting. There’s no point.

I end up seated between Marcella and Nova—the second sister—both of them giggling and exchanging glances across me.

I shrink smaller with every passing second, trapped between their presence and the obnoxious noise of the table.

The chatter around me blurs into white noise. Laughter that sounds more like knives. Smiles that hide fangs.

This is my family. This is what I was born into.

And as if today couldn’t get any worse, the last empty seat across from me is suddenly pulled back. Someone sits down, and when I look up—my breath stops.

Ronan.

My former mate. Marcella’s husband. Father to her unborn child.

He looks at me with an intensity that freezes me in place. The memory of everything that happened between us burns fresh in my mind.

He’s as handsome as ever. The kind of handsome that used to make my heart flutter with hope. Now it only makes me sick.

“Darling, you came,” Marcella coos sweetly, stretching her hand across the table toward him.

He stands up and leans closer, pressing his lips against her hand slowly—his eyes never leaving mine.

Somehow, that single action alone reminds me of what those same lips had once done to me.

Bitter bile rises in my throat as an intense reaction to his proximity grips me, freezing me in place.

Suddenly, I’m back there—trapped beneath him again, breathless, helpless, and terrified. Fresh from death, yet somehow begging for it again.

“I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world,” he confesses.

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