My Sister Stole My Husband,Now Two Alphas Want Me

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Evelyn’s POV

I threw myself into the manual labor with a desperate, singular focus.

If I was scrubbing floors, I wasn't thinking. If I was chopping vegetables until my hands were sore, I didn't have time to process the terrifying, magnetic pull of the two Alphas—or the haunting ghost of my dead wolf trying to break through its grave.

"Nana, please," I begged the next morning, cornering the head housekeeper as she organized the pantry. I clutched a damp cloth in my hand like a lifeline. "Let me take over the kitchen quarters. I'll sweep, I'll mop, I'll prep every meal. You won't even notice I'm here."

Nana turned, her sharp eyes scanning my exhaustion-lined face and the nervous tension humming through my posture. "Evelyn, child, the kitchen staff has enough hands—"

"I can do the grocery runs too!" I blurted out, taking a step closer, my voice thick with earnest persuasion. "The fresh produce, the vegetable markets downtown... As a nurse and as someone who had to manage a household on a tight budget, I know how to spot the freshest produce. I can get you the best bargains. Please. Let me handle the market trips."

Nana searched my eyes for a long, quiet moment. She knew what I was really asking for—a few feet of rope, a breath of air outside the oppressive, scented walls of the Crimson Den.

Finally, she let out a long, heavy sigh that softened the lines around her mouth.

"All right," Nana murmured, reaching into her apron pocket and pulling out a heavy, leather-bound coin purse filled with cash, alongside a handwritten list. "The driver will take you to the central market. You buy what's on this list, Evelyn. And only what's on this list."

"Thank you," I breathed, taking the purse like it was solid gold. "Thank you, Nana."

The moment the estate's dark sedan pulled up near the bustling open-air market, my heart hammered against my ribs. The driver stayed in the car, leaning back with a cigarette, assuming my lack of scent meant I was just a harmless human servant who wouldn't dare run.

I bought the produce at breakneck speed. I haggled fiercely for fresh greens, crisp apples, and sweet oranges, throwing them into heavy canvas bags.

Then, using the few extra minutes I had bought myself, I ran.

Memorial Hospital was only three blocks from the market square. I rushed through the familiar glass doors, the smell of antiseptic hitting me like a cold wave of nostalgia. I bypassed the main desk, taking the stairs two at a time until I reached the ICU wing.

Room 412.

I paused at the glass window, pressing my hand against it. Inside, my mother was sitting up slightly, supported by pillows, watching a silent television screen. She looked frail, her skin pale, but her heart monitor beeped with a steady, reassuring rhythm.

I slipped inside, pulling a smooth red apple from my market bag and setting it on her bedside table.

"Evie?" my mother rasped, her voice weak as she turned her head.

"Hi, Mama," I whispered, forcing a bright, radiant smile onto my face as I leaned down to kiss her forehead. I held her fragile hand tightly in mine.

"Where have you been, sweetie? You look... tired."

"I'm great, Mama," I lied smoothly, swallowing the lump in my throat as I gently stroked her hair. "I got a new job. A... private nursing and household management position for a very wealthy family across town. The pay is incredible. I already settled this week's ICU bill at the front desk."

Relief washed over her pale features, tears brimming in her faded eyes. "Oh, thank God. I was so worried about you after... after what Marcus and Isabelle did..."

"Don't think about them," I said quickly, my smile tightening just a fraction. "Everything is okay. I'm taking care of it. I just wanted to drop off some fresh fruit and see your face."

I stayed for five precious minutes—just long enough to peel the apple for her, adjust her blankets, and reassure her that her daughter was surviving.

"I have to go back to work now, Mama," I said, kissing her cheek one last time. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

I practically sprinted the three blocks back to the market, breathless and terrified that the driver would notice my absence. I loaded the heavy bags into the trunk, sliding into the backseat just as the rain began to fall against the glass.

My heart felt lighter than it had in days. My mother was safe. The bills were paid. For a brief moment, the suffocating terror of the Crimson Den felt manageable.

When the car pulled up the winding, gated driveway of the Alphas' private mansion, the rain was coming down in sheets. I hauled the heavy grocery bags out of the trunk and hurried up the grand stone steps, pushing through the heavy double front doors into the main foyer.

"Nana, I got the produce—"

The words died in my throat.

The grand living room was eerily, unnaturally quiet.

The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, casting the room in a deep, suffocating shadow. But it wasn't the darkness that made my blood run cold.

It was the smell.

The sharp, copper reek of fresh, heavy blood hit my nose before my eyes could fully adjust to the dim light.

The canvas grocery bags slipped from my fingers, apples and oranges rolling across the polished marble floor—colliding with thick, wet pools of deep red that painted the white tiles.

Two bodyguards lay motionless near the base of the grand staircase, their throats torn completely open. Furniture was overturned, expensive crystal shattered across the rug, and bullet casings littered the floor like fallen brass leaves.

A silent m******e had swept through the mansion while I was gone.

I backed up until my spine hit the heavy front door, my breath catching in my throat as a low, agonizing groan echoed from the shadows near the leather sofas.