CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 33: SHE IS MY CRIMINAL

I stepped back after fastening the collar, my fingers brushing over the polished leather like I was sealing a sentence I had waited years to speak. The little heart-shaped bell chimed softly in the silence, but to me, it screamed. Just like I had once screamed under her father’s man. Just like he did—before the end.

I looked at her.

Not the way I used to.

Not with hope or warmth or the weakness I once mistook for love. and my rage had only worsen after last night. And the thought kept bugging me that I am still falling for her innocent face.

"You think this is cruel?" My voice came out low, strained, shaking under the weight I carried. "You think this is humiliation?"

I paced in front of her, every step scraping through years of agony. Years of silence. Years of watching her live freely while the image of my father dying never left me.

"I’ll show you what humiliation really looks like," I said. My boots stopped. I turned, meeting her wide, trembling eyes. "It looks like my father. On his knees. Bleeding and Begging."

My voice cracked. But I didn’t care. I needed her to hear it So at least she can stop using her innocent face against me.

"My father was the Alpha of the Silver Dawn Pack. A warrior. Proud. Strong. Respected. And your father—" I pointed at her like her very breath insulted me, "—your father stripped him of everything. His pride. His strength. His name. His pack."

I stepped closer, close enough that my breath landed on her skin. She flinched. Good.

"Do you know how he died?" I whispered. "He died naked. Chained. Crawling on all fours across the courtyard in front of his warriors—his children. Forced to lick your father’s boots clean to buy us mercy."

Disgust curled my lip. "And when he was done, when he had nothing left to give—your father laughed. And slit his throat like a pig."

She inhaled sharply. Her chest heaved like she was suffocating.

Good.

"He made me watch everything."

My voice dropped lower, heavy with gravel and memory. "Your father made the guards hold my eyes open. I saw everything. Every drop of blood. Every scream. Every whip."

I moved without thinking.

My hand gripped her chin, hard. Her whimper cut through the room, but I didn’t let go. I wanted her to hurt. I needed her to.

"You carry his face," I hissed. "You carry his blood. And it disgusts me."

She tried to pull away. I squeezed harder. Something shifted under my fingers. Her blood hit the air.

"Don’t look away," I growled. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I make you feel even a fraction of what he made us suffer."

I turned and yanked the lever.

The sound that followed was glorious...metal grinding against metal. The chains snapped upward. Her arms jerked high. She gasped, feet barely touching the floor, her shoulders stretched and trembling from the strain.

I stepped behind her, letting my fingers drift across her back. She flinched, and pain shot through her—visible in the way her body shook.

"I remember every sound my father made," I whispered into her ear. "Every cry. Every scream. And do you know what your father did after that?"

I walked around, so she could see the hatred carved into my face.

"He whipped him with silver. Again. And again. Until the flesh peeled back. Until the bones showed. Until he collapsed. And even then, he didn’t stop."

My voice trembled now. But not from weakness.

From fury and helplessness, I still remember that day like it was just yesterday. My father... he was everything I respected, admired, and loved. But this bitch and her father ruined everything. They stole everything from me.

"Do you know how many times, he was whipped?"

I pulled out my leather belt and snapped it once across her back.

She gasped as the cold sting fell on her back.

"That was one," I whispered. "Just one. Do you know how many your father gave mine?"

I stepped forward and took her hand.

Not gently.

I stared at her fingers like they were weapons that didn’t belong to her.

"Do you know what else your father did?" My voice was soft now, like rot seeping through the cracks. "He tore my father’s talons out. One by one."

My thumb traced her knuckles.

She couldn’t breathe. I saw it.

I tightened my grip until her bones ground together. Until I nearly broke her fingers.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

I grabbed her chin again, forcing her to meet my eyes. They were wild now. Bloodshot. Drenched in everything I’d buried.

"Do you want to know what hurts the most?" I whispered.

She looked confused. Pathetic.

"That we were caught because of you."

She flinched. Her brows pulled tight.

"Yes, Selene. You. Your sweet little voice. Your fake innocence. I believed it. I believed in you."

The pain of betrayal surged in me again like an open wound.

"I was a fool," I growled. "And you? You played the game like a master."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"But too bad... your father isn’t alive anymore. He can’t see what’s become of his precious little girl. How she fell right into the hands of the enemy."

I yanked the leash, lifting her chin.

"I would’ve loved for him to see this. You. Collared. Chained. Dangling like meat in my dungeon."

She struggled to breathe.

I leaned in close, my voice a shard of glass.

"To see you crawling. Begging for death."

I smirked. But there was no joy in it. Only pain.

"But even death won’t come," I whispered. "Because I won’t let it."

I turned around, the echo of my boots ringing like judgment.

At the door, I glanced back once at her pathetic, dangling figure. But what she doesn’t know is that looking at her like this brought me pain... not because I pity her, but because my pathetic wolf was still under her control, howling like a mutt.

I felt like my mind would shatter with every moment I punished her, and I had to suppress my wolf. That made me hate her even more—like I fucking wanted to crush her windpipe and watch her soul leave her body slowly. But no... her death hasn’t come yet."

"You’ll stay like that till morning."

Then I slammed the door shut. Let her rote in the darkness.