Chapter 4

Seren's POV

"You! Get up!"

One of Caius's guards strode forward, bending to grab my arm. I had no strength left to resist, letting him drag me.

But in the next second—

Bang!

He was kicked away, tumbling sideways into the nearby bushes.

It was Caius. He lifted his foot with calm, precise force, then lowered it. He walked over to me, bent down, and gripped the back of my neck himself, hauling me up from the grass like someone picking up something that had fallen to the ground.

"What a shame you asked the wrong person for help."

No one else heard what was in those words—only I did.

He was smiling.

His gaze shifted from my face, past my shoulder, sweeping over the darkness in the direction of the border. I followed his line of sight and turned back—those two men had long since vanished, not even silhouettes remaining.

"That man," Caius's voice dropped low by my ear, audible only to me, "is called Thorne Calderis."

I said nothing.

"He's insane."

He paused, his tone carrying something unclear—whether disdain or some subtle recognition between kindred spirits. "They say he killed his own father, and his older brother too. With his own hands. Did you think he would save you?"

Finished speaking, he stopped looking at me and dragged me by the back of my neck like hauling a bag of trash, walking forward without pause, letting me scrape and drag against the grass.

I let him drag me, that phrase still circling in my mind: that man is insane.

I thought I might still have the capacity to feel relief or fear, but I discovered I had neither.

"Everything that happens next, you brought this on yourself," Caius said one final thing before we left the forest, his voice flat, like stating an objective fact. "Remember that."

I knew this wasn't fact.

He had orchestrated this game simply because he needed a reason, needed some narrative to make what would happen next seem like what I "deserved."

This way he could feel righteous, this way he wasn't tormenting someone for no reason, but teaching a lesson to an unrepentant fugitive.

He bent down, hoisted me over his shoulder, and strode back toward that mansion I could never truly leave.

And so began two years.

In those two years, I learned one thing: Caius's possessiveness was a double-edged sword.

Because of my history of escape attempts, I was locked firmly to his side, unable to go anywhere, with no room to breathe.

But at the same time, no one else in the entire mansion dared lay a hand on me—because he wouldn't allow it. Not because he cared about me, but because tormenting me was his prerogative. Others interfering was an affront to him.

I had once thought this constituted some twisted form of protection.

Later I abandoned that idea.

No one could hit me, but I had no freedom to even lift my head, no freedom to decide which room to go to today, no freedom to rest a little longer when sick. I was no different from a fish trapped in a tank, waiting to be slaughtered.

Except this fish had a face on the water's surface. I stared at it for a long time, trying to determine if it was still my face.

Two years ago, I hadn't been particularly radiant either, but what I saw in the water now was more foreign—sunken eye sockets, protruding cheekbones, cracked lips, lusterless hair, like a plant that hadn't been watered in ages. Not dead yet, but withered to some critical point.

I stared at that face, my mind blank.

"Seren! What are you dawdling for!"

A roar crashed down, shattering the reflection on the water.

The fat servant woman stood at the kitchen door, face flushed red, pointing at the basket of unwashed fruit beside me. "Alpha Caius's inauguration ceremony is about to begin, and that fruit needs to be soaked in salt water! Are you deaf?!"

I didn't answer, just plunged my hands into the bucket of salt water at my feet.

The water was ice cold, salt seeping into the scabbed-over wounds on my hands that hadn't yet healed, but I didn't pull back.

After two years, pain had become background noise for me—always there, but no longer demanding special attention.

I placed the fruit one by one into the salt water, washing them carefully, my movements steady, neither fast nor slow.

Today was Caius's long-delayed inauguration ceremony.

"Do you think," I said carefully, "after he gets everything he wants, his hatred toward us might ease up a bit? Maybe he'll let me go?"

After a moment, that voice I hadn't heard in too long finally appeared in my mind. "No, he's insane."

I nearly dropped the apple in my hand into the water. Even after a week, hearing its voice still shocked me.

A week ago, my wolf had awakened.

That night, half-asleep on that bed hard as stone, I suddenly felt something deep inside stir gently. Then I heard its voice—faint, but real.

"Don't be afraid," it had said then. "I'm back."

In that moment, I almost cried.

"Why now?" I had asked it.

It was silent for two seconds, then only said, "Soon, you'll understand."