I sit behind the large desk that used to belong to Kael, the wood still reeking faintly of his cologne and the arrogance he wears like a crown. The office is a fortress of silence except for the rustling of parchment and the scratch of my pen as I sign off on decrees.
My fingers move swiftly, brushing over Kael’s old handwriting as I correct his orders, overturn punishments, and recalibrate the structure.
Ronan mentions that I have to go through every document and make sure they are in order. Apparently, Kael has slacked on office work.
Every document feels like a piece of him being scrubbed away. It is my silent promise to the pack, one wrong at a time, I will make things right.
A soft knock disrupts my rhythm.
"Come in," I say without looking up.
The door creaks open. I can feel the hesitation before I see it, fingers fidgeting with fabric, the weight of shame trailing in like a ghost. Rhea.
She steps in with the careful shuffle of someone who doesn’t know if they’ll be thrown out or forgiven. I keep writing, eyes scanning the paper in front of me, even though I am no longer truly reading it.
“Talia…” her voice cracks, fragile, a whisper trembling at the edge of collapse.
Then comes the sob. It is loud, ugly, and guilt-ridden. She clutches at herself as if trying to hold all the shame in. I don’t flinch. I let the silence stretch, suffocating.
“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I… I don’t even know how to look at myself anymore. What I did to you. To your family. I can’t—”
I lay the pen down carefully, not because I care about her words, but because the memory comes slamming into me like a wave I haven’t seen coming.
It is the day after Lucian runs.
I have been chained, wrists bloody, ankles raw from the iron cuffs that Cade insists are “a precaution.” I am dragged through the corridors like a traitor, my head bowed not from shame but sheer exhaustion. When they throw me into the dungeon, the cold stone bites into my skin, the stink of mildew clinging to my clothes like a curse.
At first, I am grateful. Relieved. I remember sitting up as best as I can, my face lighting up with hope.
"Rhea," I croak, barely able to keep my voice steady. "Please… help me. You know I didn’t—Cade, he—"
The sound is icy and cruel. Not fitting for someone who is in chains.
“It serves you right,” she says, arms folded as she stands on the other side of the bars. “Walking around like you’re something special because you became Luna.”
My throat goes dry. I blink at her like I’ve been slapped.
“What are you talking about?” I whisper. “Rhea, it’s me—Talia.”
Her smile twists like a blade. “Exactly. It’s you. Always you. The perfect one. The powerful one. Do you know how it feels to be compared to you at every turn? And now this? Crying in chains? I could watch this forever.”
I beg her. Actually beg. I tell her everything—what Cade did to me, how he assaulted me. I tell her to stay away from him, that he is dangerous, that I will die in this cell if no one helps me.
“You always think you’re the victim, don’t you?” she hisses. “But I’ve watched you get everything I ever wanted. Every praise. Every smile. You never once saw how I felt living in your shadow.”
I cry. I remember that vividly. Not because of the cold or the pain, but because it is Rhea. My cousin. My blood.
“Please,” I say. “If I ever did anything to hurt you, I didn’t mean to. Just help me.”
She steps closer, reaches through the bars and slaps me. Hard.
Then she spits. Right in my face.
“You look better this way,” she whispers. “Reduced to nothing. Just how I like it.”
I curl into myself as she leaves, humiliation choking me more than the chains ever could.
Now, standing in my office, she weeps like she is the one who has been wronged.
Her once-perfect hair is unkempt, her eyes red-rimmed and wild. But it isn’t her disheveled state that makes my chest tighten, it is how clearly I can see her now. All the times she shadowed me, mimicked me, lingered where she didn’t belong. I used to think it was loyalty. Admiration. But it has always been resentment.
Why have I been so blind?
“I’m not going to forgive you,” I say finally, my voice even. Cold. “You know, there were a lot of betrayals I could stomach. But yours? Yours cut. Because you were my family. You had my trust, and you spat on it. Just like you spat on me.”
She flinches, and that should satisfy me. But it doesn’t. Not yet.
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, voice shaking. “You forgave Sabrina.”
My jaw clenches. “Sabrina didn’t laugh when I was bleeding. Sabrina didn’t mock my pain or slap me while I begged.”
“No,” I cut her off, standing slowly. “If you want to stay here, you’ll earn it. On your knees. As a maid. The same people you looked down on will look down on you while you scrub their floors.”
Her face pales, horror blooming in her eyes.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.
“Oh, I do,” I say, stepping closer. “You want forgiveness? Then crawl for it. Let’s see how humility tastes after years of bitterness.”
She breaks into fresh sobs, her legs giving out as she sinks to the floor, weeping into her hands.
Nothing about her cries tugs at my heart; it infuriates me more than ever. If I don’t have the last laugh then would she come to beg for forgiveness?
