CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
1149 Words
Laura had already left the Alexander Court a week after he saved her.
She resumed work back at the Lord dutch household
Laura stepped inside with Zina, the smell of soap and fresh bread hitting her first. The kitchen was huge, the kind you only saw in Noble homes , marble counters, gold-framed clocks, and cabinets that probably cost more than her home.
A girl was there, hunched over the sink, washing the dishes like her life depended on it. Her sleeves were rolled up, hands red from hot water, and she dried them quickly on her apron when she noticed Laura watching.
Laura frowned. “Who are you?”
The girl straightened, wiped her hands again, and gave a small bow. “I started work last week. My name’s Sharon.” Her voice was careful, polite, but there was a brightness under it. “I’m from a poor village in the next kingdom. When I heard Lord Alexander was hiring maids, I applied right away. I’d like you to guide me through this place, if you don’t mind.”
Laura blinked. “I’m Laura. This is Zina.”
Sharon smiled, and for a second her eyes lit up.
Flashback maids’ break room, yesterday.
“I don’t get it,” one maid had whispered. “Why are all the Alphas suddenly interested in Laura? Unless she’s a witch or something.”
“She’s everywhere in the news,” another had muttered. “Even Lord Alexander’s name is tied to hers now.”
Back in the present, Sharon’s smile didn’t waver. But inside, her thoughts were colder.
"So this is her. Laura. The girl everyone’s talking about. If I stay close to her, I can use her. As bait. As a way in."
She reached out to shake Laura’s hand, her grip firm and friendly. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll do my best to learn fast.”
Laura nodded, not seeing the calculation behind Sharon’s eyes.
The market was chaos in the best way. Vendors shouted over each other, spices hung heavy in the air, silk and jewelry spilled from stalls onto the crowded street. Nobles moved through in silks and gold, guards clearing a path ahead of them.
Raymond’s carriage stopped at the edge of it. He.was passing by, nothing more.
Then he saw her.
A woman stepping out of a spice stall, flanked by two guards, her dress embroidered with silver thread. Her face
Raymond froze.
It was his mother. Exact. Same eyes, same jawline, same way she tilted her head when examining something. His breath caught.
"No. She’s dead. I buried her myself ten years ago."
The woman didn’t notice him. She paid the vendor, exchanged a few words, then turned and walked toward a waiting carriage. Raymond’s pulse roared in his ears.
He stepped forward, words on his tongue "Mother?"
But before he could move, she slipped into the carriage and it rolled away into the crowd.
“Follow her,” Raymond said, voice rough. He was already climbing into his own carriage. “Don’t lose her.”
His driver snapped the reins. They weaved through the market, guards shoving people aside, keeping the noble’s carriage in sight. For a few minutes they had her. Then the streets turned, the crowd thickened, and just like that.
Gone.
Raymond slammed a fist against the carriage wall.
“She looked exactly like her,” he muttered. “Exactly.”
The driver didn’t answer. Outside,
Anaki kept moving, oblivious. Inside, Raymond stared at the spot where her carriage had vanished, the question burning him:
"Who is she? And why does she look like my dead mother?"
Rain slicked the concrete floor, reflecting the cold beam of Alexander’s flashlight. The air smelled of rust, mildew, and blood.
Three bodies lay in a row near the back wall. Two were betas from Alexander’s pack, throats torn open, eyes wide with shock. The third was an omega scout, barely 19, her hand still clutching a torn scrap of cloth—evidence she’d managed to grab before she died.
Alexander stood at the front, face unreadable, but his jaw was tight. His scent was sharp with suppressed fury.
“Report,” he said, voice low enough that only his inner circle could hear.
One of his enforcers knelt beside the omega. “No signs of a struggle beyond here. Whatever got them was fast. Too fast for trained betas.” He lifted the cloth. “Smells like rogue. But not just any rogue. This is laced with wolfsbane.”
Murmurs rippled through the group. Wolfsbane meant someone with resources. Someone who knew what they were doing.
Alexander crouched, brushing his fingers over the omega’s hand. His expression didn’t change, but his thoughts were darker.
"They were sent here because I ordered it. I underestimated them. This is on me."
He stood abruptly. “We’re done here. Seal the area. No one talks about this outside the pack. If word gets out that my people are being picked off, we lose control.”
As they moved to leave, a sound echoed from the upper level—a metallic creak, like someone stepping on loose grating.
Everyone froze.
Alexander’s eyes snapped up.
“We’re not alone."
The scene ends there, with the pack bracing for an ambush.
The room was built to intimidate. Long mahogany table, silver cutlery gleaming under crystal chandeliers, food arranged like it belonged in a royal portrait. Roasted game, fresh bread, wine sweating in cut glass. The kind of dinner nobles staged to show power, not hunger.
Henry sat at the head, watching Laura with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Sit, Laura. Eat. You’ve been running yourself thin.”
Laura stood by the door, . face cold.
“I’m not hungry. And I’m not interested in all this”
His smile dropped. The air changed.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he said, voice dropping low and possessive. In one motion he was on his feet, hand closing around her neck, slamming her back against the wall. Plates rattled.
“Choose,” he hissed, breath hot against her face. “Choose between them. Me, Alexander, whoever else you’re playing. Say it now.”
Laura didn’t flinch, even with his fingers at her throat. “I don’t belong to you.”
The doors burst open.
Alexander was there, face like a storm. One of his men had come running mid-investigation, breathless:
“She’s there. Henry’s got her. she is at his court being treated unfairly.”*
He hadn’t waited.
Alexander crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Henry by the collar, and slammed him to the ground. Chairs scraped, glass shattered.
“You touch her again, and I end you here,” Alexander said, voice quiet and lethal.
Henry laughed, even on the floor, and threw a punch. Alexander caught it.
- Writer
