The Alpha Widow's Revenge

"Give Lydia half your beast core blood—you owe our clan that much!"

Facing the man who wore my brother-in-law Arthur's face but carried my dead husband Carlisle's distinct scent, I didn't fight back. I let him drive the blade into my chest.

Three years married, and Carlisle died in the border beast surge. I'd tried to follow him in death so many times that grief had nearly bled me dry—only to catch him alive, faking his death so he could marry his precious sister-in-law under his brother's name.

To keep his cover, he stood by while his new woman degraded me, even forced me to sign a slave contract that stripped me of all dignity.

He thought I loved him too much to ever leave.

Until I drained every drop of blood that carried his mate bond and disappeared.

That's when this arrogant bastard finally lost it completely.

Serena's POV

"Carlisle, when are you gonna kick that psycho bitch Serena out? I'm sick of watching her sob over your picture every damn day!"

That sweet, whiny voice sliced through the cracked door and hit me like a knife to the gut.

My hand shook, scalding tea splashing across my skin. The burn turned angry red, but I felt nothing.

Carlisle?

My husband Carlisle? The same Carlisle who'd been torn apart by the beast surge at the border three months ago, not even leaving bones behind?

Through the crack came his twin brother "Arthur's" deep, indulgent laughter:

"Just hang in there, Lydia. Serena's having a total breakdown. As long as I keep playing Arthur and babying her, those old bastards from the Fangarde clan will sign over the border mining rights. Once I control her beast core mines, I'll find some excuse to dump her ass."

That voice. That habit of letting his tone rise at the end. And that pine scent in the air he tried to mask but I'd never mistake—the overwhelming presence only apex predators possessed.

This wasn't Arthur at all!

Arthur had been born with a damaged beast core. He could never emit this kind of dominant aura!

Three months of crying blood, countless nights waking from nightmares gasping for air—all of it turned into one sick, twisted joke.

My husband wasn't dead. He'd just used the beast surge to shed his "married" identity and slip into his sickly brother's skin, so he could righteously pull his precious sister-in-law into his arms.

And me? The wife who'd drained her clan's resources for him was nothing but cattle waiting for slaughter.

My heart hammered—not from joy, but pure rage.

CRASH!

I lifted my foot and, with all the brutal strength of the Fangarde bloodline, kicked the heavy oak door to splinters.

Wood exploded everywhere as they jerked apart on the bed. Lydia screamed and yanked the sheets over her body while the man wearing "Arthur's" face rolled out of bed. His golden eyes flashed panic, then went cold.

"Serena! Have you lost your goddamn mind? What the hell are you doing barging into MY room!" His voice cracked like a whip, trying to crush me with that familiar dominant presence.

I stared at that face—identical to Carlisle's—my gaze lingering on the crescent-shaped scar at his collarbone. The one I'd bitten into him when we'd formed our mate bond.

Arthur wouldn't have that scar.

"Lost my mind?" I stepped forward with a cold laugh. "Yeah, I lost it alright. Lost it so bad I didn't recognize the voice making promises to his 'sister-in-law' just now. Was that little brother Arthur, or was it my supposedly 'dead and gone' husband—CARLISLE!"

Lydia went pale and grabbed his arm.

His pupils contracted sharply, but the politician in him recovered after barely a second of shock, putting on a hurt look.

"Sister-in-law, you're seeing things because of your grief. I'm Arthur. Brother's dead. You can't go around accusing me and Lydia just because you're hurting. Carlisle made me promise to look after you before he died—I've only been putting up with your crazy shit to honor that."

"Putting up with me?" I felt like I'd heard the world's best joke, my nails cutting into my palms, blood hitting the floor. "By stealing my clan's mines? By planning to throw me out? Carlisle, do you really think you're the only smart person in the world?"

"ENOUGH!" My cold stare seemed to slice right through him, and his fake mask cracked completely. He lunged forward, his aura slamming down, trying to force me to kneel.

"Serena, you wanna make a scene? Fine. Let's be crystal clear. You're a WIDOW now! If I wasn't covering for you, you think the Locke elders would let you keep playing queen bee? Lydia's sick—she needs those resources to recover. Hand over the mines and move your ass to the servants' quarters. That's what you OWE this family!"

Looking at his righteous, greedy face—wanting everything while giving nothing—I finally understood. Rotten things, just like rotten people, needed to be thrown away.

His overwhelming pressure didn't break me. Instead, I straightened my spine.

"You want me to hand over my mines? Move aside for this bitch?" I stared him down, my lips curving into a mocking smile. "In your fucking dreams."

"What did you just SAY?!" His hand shot out and clamped around my throat, murder in his eyes.

Forced to tilt my head back, I showed no fear—just looked at him like he was already dead.

"I said—go fuck yourself, asshole."