The Cursed Alpha’s Unwanted And Powerless Wife

The Letters

Chapter 7: The Letters

The castle felt different without Jason.

Annabelle wandered the empty corridors, her wolf restless and uneasy. Three days had passed since Jason left for the border negotiations. Three days of silence. Three days of cold beds and lonely nights. The pack moved around her, respectful but distant, as if they didn't quite know how to treat their Luna without their Alpha present.

He'd kissed her forehead before leaving, promising to return within a week. "Stay safe," he'd murmured, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Don't let anyone in. Trust no one. I'll be back before you know it."

She'd promised. But promises were harder to keep when the silence grew too loud and the shadows seemed to stretch longer each night.

On the fourth morning, a servant delivered a letter. Cream parchment. Red wax seal. The Wright family crest.

Annabelle's heart stopped.

She stared at the envelope like it might bite her. Her hands trembled as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside. The familiar handwriting made her stomach turn—Clara's elegant loops and flourishes, so carefully practiced, so perfectly false.

Dear Annabelle,

I know you have no reason to trust us. I know we treated you terribly. But our parents are dying, and all they want is to see you one last time. Please. Come home. Give us a chance to make things right.

Your loving sister,

Clara

Annabelle read the words twice. Three times. Her wolf snarled with suspicion, hackles rising.

Loving sister. The phrase made her stomach churn. Clara had never been loving. She'd been cruel. Vicious. She'd made Annabelle's life a living nightmare for twenty-one years. She'd stolen her belongings, mocked her, and treated her like a servant rather than a sister.

And now she was pretending to care?

Annabelle crumpled the letter, ready to throw it in the fire. But something stopped her. A flicker of doubt. What if they really were dying? What if this was her last chance to make peace? What if—

She shook her head firmly. No. It was a trap. It had to be. The Wrights didn't change. They never had. They were predators, and she was their favorite prey.

But the letter sat on her desk all day, haunting her. Every time she walked past, her eyes drifted to it. Every time she tried to forget it, Clara's words echoed in her mind.

---

The second letter arrived the next morning.

Annabelle,

I know you're angry. I know you hate us. But please, just listen. Mother cries herself to sleep every night. Father can barely walk. The doctors say they have weeks, maybe days. They keep asking for you. Calling your name. Please, Annabelle. Please come home. Just once. For closure.

I'm begging you.

Clara

Annabelle's resolve wavered. She remembered Mrs. Wright's sharp voice, her critical eyes. Mr. Wright's cold indifference, his dismissive waves. But she also remembered the rare moments of kindness. The times Mrs. Wright had brushed her hair when she was small—before Clara was born, before everything changed. The times Mr. Wright had given her extra food when she was sick, gruffly telling her to eat and stop being foolish.

They were cruel. But they were still her family.

Her wolf growled, sensing the deception. But the girl inside her—the girl who had never been loved, who had spent her whole life craving acceptance—whispered a different story.

What if they really had changed? What if her parents' illness had made them see the error of their ways? What if this was her chance to finally heal old wounds?

---

The third letter arrived with a small package. A faded photograph. Annabelle as a child, sitting on Mrs. Wright's lap. She was smiling, a rare moment of happiness captured in sepia tones. For a moment, she almost looked loved. Almost wanted.

Annabelle,

I found this in Mother's room. She keeps it by her bed. She looks at it every night and cries. She knows she failed you. We all failed you. We're so sorry. Please. Give us a chance to make it right. Before it's too late.

We love you. We always have. We were just too blind to see it.

Clara

Annabelle's eyes burned with unshed tears. The photograph blurred in her hands. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe it so badly it hurt. The little girl in the picture looked so hopeful, so innocent. She hadn't known what was coming. She hadn't known that the love would fade, that she'd become invisible, that she'd spend the rest of her childhood being treated like an unwanted burden.

She wanted to believe her family had changed. She wanted to believe they regretted everything.

But something was wrong. The letters were too perfect. Too desperate. Clara had never been this eloquent. Never this emotional. Her sister was many things—manipulative, cunning, determined—but sincere had never been one of them.

And then it clicked.

The letters were a trap. Clara was manipulating her. Trying to lure her back to the Wright mansion where she'd be vulnerable. Where they could use her for money. For power. For whatever scheme they were cooking up. The photograph wasn't a gesture of love—it was a weapon, carefully chosen to wound.

Annabelle's wolf howled with fury. How dare they. After everything they'd done. After giving away her like property. After years of cruelty and neglect. They still thought she was stupid enough to fall for their lies. They still thought she was that same desperate, lonely girl who would do anything for a scrap of affection.

She crumpled the third letter and threw it into the fire.

But then she paused. The flames licked at the parchment, consuming Clara's false words. And an idea sparked in Annabelle's mind, bright and sharp.

What if she played along?

What if she pretended to believe the letters? Pretended to forgive them? Let them think they'd won? Let them believe their manipulation was working?

She could expose their scheme. Gather evidence. Maybe even turn the tables and make them pay for everything they'd done. The Wrights had used her all her life. It was time she used them.

Her wolf approved, a low growl of satisfaction. The plan was dangerous. Risky. It would require her to be clever and careful. But it might be the only way to finally rid herself of the Wright family forever.

Annabelle retrieved the first letter from the wastebasket. She smoothed out the creases and read it again.

Dear Annabelle,

I know you have no reason to trust us...

She smiled, cold and sharp.

"Clever, Clara. Very clever." She tapped the parchment with her finger. "But you forgot one thing."

She wasn't the same weak, powerless girl who had scrubbed their floors. She wasn't the same desperate child who had begged for scraps of love. She was the Lunar Elf Wolf. The most powerful creature in existence. She had broken a curse that had killed seven women. She had survived a family that had tried to destroy her. And she was done being a victim.

"I'm going to play your game," she murmured to the empty room. "But I'm going to win."

---

That evening, Annabelle penned her response. She kept it carefully neutral—enough warmth to seem sincere, enough distance to be believable.

Dear Clara,

Your letters moved me. I've been so angry. So hurt. But I realize now that holding onto that anger is destroying me. I want to forgive you. I want to come home.

Please tell Mother and Father I love them. I'll come as soon as I can. I just need to make some arrangements.

With love,

Annabelle

She sealed the letter with silver wax and handed it to the messenger.

"Deliver this to the Wright mansion," she instructed. "And tell no one. This is between me and my sister."

The messenger nodded and departed, disappearing into the evening gloom.

Annabelle watched him go, her heart pounding. The trap was set. Now she just had to wait for Clara to take the bait.

---

The response came within two days. The Wrights were clearly eager to close the trap around her.

Annabelle,

I'm so happy you responded. Mother and Father will be overjoyed. Please come as soon as possible. We'll prepare your old room. Everything will be just like it used to be.

Hurry home, sister. We miss you.

Clara

Annabelle read the letter and laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through her empty chambers. "Everything will be just like it used to be." As if that was a good thing. As if she'd ever want to return to that life of servitude and cruelty. As if she'd ever want to go back to being invisible, unwanted, unloved.

She set the letter aside and began to plan. She would go back to the Wright mansion, but on her own terms. She would play the role of the forgiving daughter, the loving sister. She would let Clara believe she was winning.

And then, when the moment was right, she would reveal the truth.

The Wrights had underestimated her for the last time.

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