Chapter 2: Don't let history repeat itself
1366 Words
Evangeline’s POV:
My heart lurches violently, and I shove away from him, my legs tangling awkwardly as I nearly stumble again. But this time, I manage to catch myself before I go sprawling onto the floor.
Orion’s frown deepens, his silver and onyx gaze narrowing. “What’s wrong with you?”
Everything.
But I shake my head, forcing my face to remain expressionless, though I probably fail miserably at it.
“Nothing… I— I just need the bathroom.” My voice wavers, pathetic and small, my lips tremble, but I don’t give him a chance to question me further.
I grab my phone and bolt from the room, ignoring the way he calls after me, his deep voice trailing behind me.
“You can just use mine—”
I slam the door shut.
Then, I run.
The cold floor bites against my bare feet as I race down the dimly lit hall, my breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Every step pounds against my skull, matching the wild tempo of my frantic, disbelieving heartbeat.
This hallway was exactly how I remembered it.
But it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t exist anymore. Not for me. I shouldn’t exist anymore.
Yet here I am, running toward a room that I used to think about so much, because half a decade in the future I wouldn’t be able to sleep in this room anymore.
Spending most of my time on the upper floors, as far as possible from Orion’s room, afraid to hear the sound of him with another woman, afraid of the pain that would bring me again.
The last door down the hall.
My room.
Even when I was married, I never had the privilege of sleeping beside my husband for the whole night.
Orion and I had never shared a bed, not unless we had s*x that night.
At first, I thought it was because he needed space—that maybe it was simply an Alpha’s way. But I had been desperate once, years ago, to be close to him. Afraid of the darkness in my own room. It was the early days of my marriage…and I was truly innocent…and desperate.
Desperate enough to knock on his door in the middle of the night.
My chest had ached with loneliness.
So I had gone to him.
I had hoped—naïvely, foolishly hoped—that he would let me in, let me hold onto him, let me pretend, just for a night, that I was loved and not alone.
But Orion Volkovitch had stared down at me for the first time like I was filth beneath his shoe.
He hadn’t even spoken to me directly.
Instead, he had called one of his men.
“Get her a lamp.”
That had been his response.
And when I had reached for his wrist, my fingers trembling, he had pulled away like my touch disgusted him.
Like I disgusted him.
I should hate him.
And yet, just minutes ago, he was the one catching me from falling.
For him I had felt my heart thundering once again.
Fuck him.
I reach my room, throwing the door open and stumbling inside.
The memories slam into me all at once.
Right.
Today.
Today was exactly one month after my wedding.
A humorless laugh crawls up my throat, but I choke it down as I step inside, my fingers pressing into my temples.
Even the room is just as I remember.
Deep crimson velvet drapes, pooling onto the marble floor. A massive canopy bed, the headboard carved with intricate gold detailing. Soft lighting from a chandelier of glittering black crystal.
The suffocating color of red and black.
I slam the door behind me, twisting the lock before my legs give out beneath me.
I sink onto the floor, my back pressed against the cold wooden door, my breath shuddering in my lungs.
I should be dead.
Burned to nothing.
But instead… I’m here.
Alive.
A sob rips from my throat before I can swallow it back.
Why?
Why am I back here?
Is this punishment? A cruel joke?
Did I curse him too well in my last moments?
I had prayed for a next life, not to be transported back to the beginning of this one.
My fingers dig into my arms, nails pressing into soft flesh as if I can ground myself into reality—but reality is already too much.
I had just died.
I had burned alive in a cell.
A cell he put me in.
The same man who just caught me from falling.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this?
A hiccup wracks through me as tears spill freely down my cheeks.
I’m scared.
Terrified.
The pain of the fire still lingers in my bones, in my skin, in the echo of my screams.
I clutch my stomach.
My womb.
The place where a life now grows.
The place where, in my first life, it was stolen from me.
After only one and a half months.
Because a month from now, I would have a miscarriage, because of my husband and would end up infertile. A worthless Omega to my husband.
Why did I even love him?
What was it about him, besides his face and body, that made my heart so foolishly loyal?
He wasn’t a kind man.
He wasn’t even a good man.
The moment I found out I was pregnant, it was a surprise. Not because we didn’t have s*x—because we did. He was like a machine, setting a strict schedule, twice a week, midnight, after he returned from “work.”
No more, no less.
He was good at it. Too good. I would have enjoyed it much more however, if we didn’t have to do it in pitch darkness each time.
And when I told him about my pregnancy in my past life, he hadn’t smiled, or kissed me, or even reacted.
He simply looked at me and said,
"I see."
And that was it.
A child should have been a gift. But to Orion, It was still nothing.
I laugh. A broken, ugly sound.
Because while I spent years forgiving him, letting my love blind me, he spent years breaking me further.
I had remembered it all.
The mistresses.
At first, it was subtle. Then, he stopped hiding it altogether.
I should have left then.
I should have walked away when I caught him in bed with another Omega four years ago, six years into our marriage.
That was the moment my hatred began.
Trickle by trickle.
Slowly simmering.
Until one day, I couldn’t take it anymore.
Because the more I forgave, the more brazen he became.
He brought his whores home.
He let them sit at my table.
He let them mock me.
And I let it happen.
Because what else could a useless Omega do?
I squeeze my eyes shut as the memory creeps in.
A week before my imprisonment.
His mistress green-eyed, dark-haired, venom-laced words sauntering into the dining room in nothing but a silk nightgown.
“Why are you so mad, dear wife?” she had purred, lips curling. “You can’t even give him an heir. What use does he have for a barren Omega?”
Something inside me snapped.
I slapped her so hard, her head snapped to the side.
And Orion?
He wasn’t angry at her.
He was angry at me. He punished me, locking me in a cell.
A cold, empty, suffocating cell.
My punishment had only become worse when a guard tried helping me. He had gotten jealous at the fact that the guard had fed me water, when I fainted from dehydration.
According to him he could cheat as much as he wanted but I? But I wasn’t even allowed to look at another man.
I press a hand to my stomach, my fingers trembling.
No.
Not this time.
This time, I know what’s coming.
This time, I’ll escape before he destroys me again.
Because I refuse to let history repeat itself.
I refuse to stay by his side.
And most of all—
I refuse to let him take this child from me.
- Writer
