CHAPTER 156: TIME FOR A CHANGE ( LUTHER’S POV )

"So you saw that guy fully spread eagle?"

"Bloody eagle, Lych, like the torture method the vikings were doing."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I failed history."

My chest locked up first.

Not a slow build—just a full stop, like someone flipped a switch.

My lungs forgot how to work. Palms sweating. Nails digging into my thighs.

Everything too loud, too bright, too fast.

I stared at the ground because looking anywhere else felt like peeling off skin.

Couldn’t move.

Just sat there counting cracks in the floor like they’d anchor me.

They didn’t.

Lych was looking at me confused. Of course. Perfect timing, as always.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t want to. My heartbeat was sprinting like it had something to prove and my vision was already narrowing.

He hovered.

That was his thing.

Just stood there, waiting, like I was supposed to explain. I wasn’t.

Then the questions started. The useless, obvious ones. Loud. Fast. Offbeat. One after another like he was trying to win a prize for being the most irritating presence in a crisis.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Didn’t help. Still heard him. Still felt like my ribs were welded shut.

He was trying to help me regulate.

By being annoying.

And an idiot.

Yet, it was working flawlessly.

"It’s — he had his ribs cracked open and his skin and muscle peeled to look like wings."

"Masochistic cosplay of a furry?"

What?

I— My God.

I can’t pay attention to Lych.

I keep thinking about Lior’s interview.

The spotlight, the setting, the timing. All of it screamed calculation, screamed desperation.

A power move, but one soaked in panic.

I didn’t need to hear a single word to understand what was going on. Emiliano wasn’t just playing his usual game anymore.

He was flailing.

And when a man like him starts flailing, it means the ground beneath him is collapsing.

Which meant something big was going down.

Something big enough to shake Emiliano out of his cold-blooded logic and push him toward theatrics.

That wasn’t like him.

At least, not the version of him I used to know—the one who played the long game, who never showed his hand until the table was already cleared.

For him to resort to this meant he was either losing control... or had already lost it.

And that meant it could only be about one of two things.

His stupid, fragile little plan.

And me.

It always comes back to me, doesn’t it?

But this time, I can’t be the reason for this public circus.

Because Lucrezia had tried everything to get to me.

The bounty.

The media circus.

Turning me into public enemy number one like it was some kind of sport. She thought pressure would break me. That fear would drive me out of hiding, or better, into her trap.

And yet here I was. Still breathing. Still watching. Still one step out of reach. That had to sting.

For her. For him.

But it was more than bruised pride. It had to be. If it was just about me, she’d keep trying.

She wouldn’t start tearing holes in Emiliano’s plan—unless doing so meant more to her than catching me ever could. How would she even find out about his plan?

Something else was going down.

And that made everything more dangerous.

Because now I wasn’t the only loose thread. Now they were unraveling each other, silently, surgically.

And if Lucrezia had pushed him to this edge... I had to wonder—what did she know? What piece had she uncovered? What weakness had she found in his so-called master plan that made her decide to blow it all up instead of letting him win?

She hadn’t won, not yet. But she had wounded him.

I could see it, even if no one else could. The Emiliano I know wouldn’t use such a desperate move in front of the public. He is the type to pull the strings behind the curtain of a curtain. Deep behind the stage.

He was scared.

And Emiliano doesn’t scare easily.

Which means I’m not the only one in danger anymore.

The game’s changed. I can feel it in the air, like static before a storm. And now, it’s not just about survival. It’s about understanding what she did—what she knows—before Emiliano finds a way to recover.

"Do you want to leave, Jas— I mean Luther?"

"What?"

"You are smiling..."

Am I smiling?

The thought creeps up on me slowly, like a whisper I almost don’t want to hear.

But I am.

There’s a grin stretching across my face, wide and real and absolutely wrong. My heart is pounding, my blood rushing, like I’ve just run a mile or stolen something precious and gotten away with it.

But I haven’t.

I’m sitting here, alone with Lych, watching the aftermath of a desperate play, and somehow—somehow—I feel alive.

Am I excited?

God, that’s worse.

I’m excited. Not just curious, not mildly intrigued. I’m thrilled. Chest-tightening, stomach-coiling, teeth-baring thrilled.

Like the moment before a strike.

Like I’ve waited for this.

But what is this?

Just another political stunt. Just another display of power from a man whose ego should’ve drowned him years ago. Just another war of shadows playing out in suits and headlines and bulletproof glass.

So why am I—so invested?

Why does this matter to me?

I tell myself it’s because I’m happy to see Lior alive. And maybe there’s some truth to that.

He looked shaken, but intact.

No other new wounds except from those from the bloody eagle.

No obvious signs of torture.

Which, considering who held him, is a miracle in itself.

But that’s not why I’m grinning.

I know myself too well to lie to myself for long.

It’s not relief. It’s not hope.

It’s the game.

Have I missed it?

The stage. The stakes. The pressure. The masks. Have I actually missed this sick, manipulative world where words are weapons and silence is a move? Did I miss being hunted, outwitting monsters, playing dead while I rewrite the rules under their noses?

What is wrong with me?

I’ve barely been out a week. A week and change since I escaped that psycho. Since I ran, bled, clawed, and swore I’d never look back. Since I promised myself I’d live like a ghost until the dust settled.

And here I am, grinning like a lunatic, wondering what Emiliano will do next.

It should scare me—his desperation, his unraveling. But it doesn’t. It excites me. Because desperation makes people predictable. And predictability? That’s something I can use.

That’s something I can win with.

I should be recovering. Healing. Hiding. But instead, I’m pacing in my mind, running through possibilities, strategies, trapdoors.

Somewhere deep inside, I like this. The mental warfare.

The dance of deception.

The thrill of always being one bad choice away from total collapse.

Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me.

Or maybe that’s what they turned me into.

F-ck.

Since when did I settle for being a victim hiding?

Since when do I want to be a normal civilian?

"Lych, would you like to help me?"

"Sure, babe, with what?"

I gather my thoughts.

It’s not enough to feel the rush. Not enough to be excited. I need clarity. Precision. I need to know what I have, what I lack, and where this whole mess is headed. I can’t afford to be just another pawn. Not again.

So—what do I have?

Lych.

That’s something solid. Palpable. Then there’s the others. Killian. Emiliano. Claus. Tom.

Romantic interest is one way to put it. Obsession might be closer to the mark. And what a lineup it is.

Emiliano—whose brilliant mind is trying to rewrite the social order through blood. Killian—the sharp-eyed b-stard nephew of my sworn enemy. Claus—the brand-new Prime Minister and, surprise, my brand-new stepbrother. And Tom—the country’s best lawyer, which also means the best liar, and for reasons beyond logic, he’s still at my side.

They want me.

And Lucrezia—Lucrezia wants me to manipulate them all.

To play them like instruments. Get close. Get deep. Twist the knife when the time is right.

But for what?

What could she possibly gain that she doesn’t already have? Influence? She’s the shadow queen. Control? She holds entire agencies by the throat. So no—it’s not about power. Not in the conventional sense.

It’s about something bigger.

If Emiliano’s plan is to decimate the alphas, destroy the system from the top down, then the only thing that could truly ruin it is someone pushing for the opposite. More alphas. More structure. More control.

Lucrezia doesn’t want balance. She wants dominance.

And she’s always hated omegas.

That’s the missing piece. That’s what makes sense. She doesn’t just want to stop Emiliano’s plan—she wants to flip it.

Take his blueprint and reverse it.

More alphas, less omegas. Weaponized the masses by promising lust.

Which brings me to the real question.

Emiliano or Lucrezia?

Whose side do I stand on? Who do I serve? Who do I sell myself to?

Because make no mistake, that’s what this is. A sale. My loyalty. My body. My mind. My usefulness.

I can only pick one. The other will see me as a threat. And threats don’t survive long.

It’s not about morals. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about survival. It’s about power.

I have to choose.

And I kept on choosing Emiliano so far.

Maybe it’s time for a change.