CHAPTER 303: REVENGE

Property transfers. That was what Ronan offered in exchange for him. The Soren he knew would never... He would throw those papers in Ronan’s face and refuse. But this Soren... He asked Riven to perform a dangerous ritual that could get him killed. A ritual that removes the bond between mates. All while he considered handing him over.

"See?" The voice hissed."Even he didn’t fight for you. He just took what he could get."

"No," Riven whispered, his throat dry. Soren would... He would never.

The scene shifted one last time.

This time, Ronan stood in a stone chamber before the elders of his clan. Their lined faces were unmoved as they spoke, voices echoing in the dark.

"...killing him will spare you further weakness."

"...a new mate, a healthy omega, a woman, capable of bearing heirs..."

"...this is the most rational choice."

Ronan didn’t protest. He didn’t roar in fury or deny it. He simply bowed his head and listened. As if he was considering it.

Riven wrapped his arms around himself, shaking.

"Don’t you see? This is what they did to me... And I am you." The voice murmured.

"You will die, just like I did."

"No, I won’t. I am alive. I am not you. I believe in them, and most importantly, I believe in myself. So leave."

"You will regret it." The voice did not suprised, it was like it already anticipated this reaction, and that made Riven even more annoyed.

"I won’t, just leave for goodness’ sake." Riven warned.

"Oh, but you will, just as I have. I just hope for our sake that you don’t die again. Hope is all we have." With that said, the voice vanished, and Riven could finally breathe.

---

Nicholas stood by the oak sideboard in his private study, the air heavy with tension. His gray hair, which was slicked back, was now in disarray.

. A single candle flickered on his desk, its amber flame dancing across the room. The light fell conspicuously on a large portrait behind him, hanging over the hearth. It did not have any image on it, which was weird, but it did have a cover. It covered about half of the portrait.

The curtains were drawn tight, shutting out all but the faintest glow of moonlight that seeped through a crack in the drapes.

He poured himself a generous measure of scotch, and lifted the glass as though to salute a ghost. He swallowed it in one scalding go, savouring the burn. "Riven," he muttered, tracing words into the condensation on the glass. "That... Precious wolf, no half-wolf. So beloved. SO dear to you."

He poured again, the Scotch sloshing over the rim. "And I despise him for it," he hissed.

With the second gulp came a flicker of calm—no longer human, no longer diplomat, but predator. His reflection in the dark window stared back: rat-like and hollow-eyed. He closed his fist around the glass, shattering it. The shards fell to the ground with a clanking sound.

"I am going to make him suffer," he said, raising his voice until it trembled with deliberate malice. "I’ll kill him slowly, tear him apart—mind, body, soul."

In a drunken rage, he swiped the table, causing a mess. The crash echoed violently. "What can you do about it? Hah! You’re dead." His laughter echoed through the empty room, but the firelight didn’t reach the far corners.

He staggered back to his desk, slipping into the leather-bound chair. His ringed hand covered archaic maps and treaties—nothing mattered now but revenge. His pulse slowed, but the rage simmered.

"You loved him so much it killed you," he whispered. "And now I will kill him in your place."

The candle’s flame guttered, and Nicholas slammed a thick manuscript closed. He leaned forward, the scotch taking hold. "She chose him," he slurred, voice quaking between love and hate. "The Alpha’s mate... She chose him over me. Over us." His thumb tapped fingerprints across the desk. "How dare she?"

Nicholas twisted the glass in his hand, spilling scotch onto the carved surface. He snorted. "This was her portrait." He stood, staggered. Knowing his habit, the servants prepared more glasses for him. This was not a new occurrence.

His hand found the candle and snuffed it. Suddenly, the room went black save for the faint glow of a concealed portrait on the wall behind him.

Bioluminescent paint glowed softly, illuminating the features of a woman’s face. However, her eyes were covered. And yet, he felt her gaze on him, serene as if in a blessing. The portrait was one of pride and achievement, her invention. Nicholas flicked his collar. "Don’t you dare judge me."

"What are you to him?" he rasped at the painting. "You did not even want him, but then you filled your heart with nothing but him. You left us, all of us for him. And how did that end? In your death."

He swayed, voice hoarse. "He wasn’t the first, but he was the best. Like you." His palm pressed to the portrait’s glass. "You made me promise to us, to be with us forever. But the moment he entered your life, you left all of us for him."

He laughed, low and brokenhearted. "Protect him? Ha! You should know better, love blinds you."

He turned away, pacing in the darkness, barefoot. "Yes. Riven. You’re going to pay—for taking her. She was not yours, she is mine." He spat on the floor.

He stumbled back to the desk, touched the unlit candle. "I despise you, pathetic half-breed, born from that good-for-nothing Lucien, but I will have you. I will drag your psyche through the gutter. And then you will die—slowly and painfully."

A moment of silence. The eerie portrait glimmered like a watchful guardian. "Just like you," he whispered to the portrait. "Soon. Very soon, you will be avenged. It’s not your fault you loved him... It’s your fault that he dies, though..." Nicholas erupted into maniacal laughter that echoed through his empty mansion.