~ ROSELLE ~
I’m scared. Hell... I’m fucking terrified. Why wouldn’t I be when that girl already walks in and reminds exactly how I’m going to end up dead?
I try to sweet-talk myself into believing he’s kind... that he’s nothing like Warren and my forr pack. I try every sane reason to convince myself, but there’s no logical explanation strong enough for to hold on to the idea that Ronan wants to save because he loves for .
There isn’t. She ntions his brides-to-be who are won with stronger genes, won who can talk, won who are better princesses than I’ll ever be.
And hell yeah, they end up dead. They fucking do.
There’s no possible way in the universe that all he feels for is anything more than so twisted, drawn-up need for a bride. Because what am I? Nothing but a mute who’s useless. And if I add murderer to the list...
Hell. I don’t even know what that makes anymore.
Like I’m sinking deeper into my fears, I’m certain it’s all going to end the sa way it does with Warren. That’s how the fucking ga keeps circling back.
Dad dies, and I’m smothered with pity. People always look at with those sad eyes, reminding every day that I wasn’t the cause, that I was just a child.
Those looks of pity that tell I’m not at fault and shouldn’t be taking the bla for sothing I didn’t do. The care that makes feel so fucking helpless. The guilt burns deep inside , like I’m being seared with a fucking iron.
Every fucking bit of it makes despise myself.
And then the sudden switch cos; The hate. The rumors spreading around that I’m a murderer, and the looks people give in return... like I’ve committed so unforgivable cri. Those scorching stares that feel like they’re burning straight through my skin.
The bla, being accused of my parents’ deaths. Being told how unfortunate and cursed I am, reminded that Mom dies giving birth to a cursed child like , and that I end up burning my father alive.
Every word sinks its claws deeper and deeper into until I can’t contain it anymore, spreading through every part of like a sickness I can’t cut out, can’t outrun, can’t escape, and then the punishnt follows.
The voices in my head are loud, questions piling up while mories I’ve fought so hard to bury keep resurfacing. This might end up being the sa fucking cycle all over again.
Ronan is all over , trying to feed , trying to take care of , showing every act of kindness possible, the pity, the concern. All of it.
His voice. Those soft looks in his eyes that tell he isn’t the demon they paint him to be.
I believe it. By the goddess, I do. But I’d be stupid. I’d be fucking stupid if I lean on it.
It would only be a matter of ti before these gestures, this softness, this tenderness eventually switch up... especially when he finds out about the real . About what I did.
That’s enough to end quickly. Warren was nice once, the young little boy who always gave flowers, played alongside , and dread of us running the pack together one day. I rember believing him, believing every smile and every promise because back then it never crossed my mind that people could change so completely.
Until the switch cos.
The sa hands that once wiped away my tears are the ones whipping my back. The sa boy who used to bring flowers is the one holding a candle over my skin, watching the wax burn deep enough to leave marks behind. Every strike of the whip tears into , every punishnt coming one after another until I lose count of them. Those sa eyes that once looked at with kindness never hesitate when it cos to hurting , and no matter how much I scream or cry, it never stops.
That’s what terrifies the most. I know how quickly kindness turns into hatred. I know how concern turns into disgust. I know how easily people stop seeing as a person and start seeing as a curse, as a murderer, as the reason everything around falls apart.
And if Warren can change, if the boy who once swears he’d spend the rest of his life beside can beco the person I fear most, then what’s stopping Ronan from doing the exact sa thing?
Mara, as he calls her, is right. I need to escape, but where do I go? Where do I run? I don’t have a fucking place to go.
Going back to my pack only ans getting locked up... or being dragged right back to Ronan.
Why does fate have to make end up this way? I need to fight back for my pack. The pack needs , even if they hate , even if they bla , even if I’m nothing more than a cursed reminder of everything they’ve lost.
They’re still my people. And if there’s even the slightest chance that I can do sothing to help them, then I have to try.
Breakfast is done, my stomach full from Ronan feeding , even though the bitter voice in the back of my head keeps whispering to enjoy it while it lasts. Enjoy your ti now, because when he turns against you, don’t forget any of this.
I try coming up with several excuses to stop him from feeding , but he doesn’t listen. Every protest dies on my tongue before it can go anywhere, and sohow he keeps finding a way around it. If I look away, he waits. If I hesitate, he pretends not to notice. If I try to take the spoon from him, he simply gives that stubborn look that tells he’s already made up his mind.
It’s ridiculous. No one has ever taken care of like this before.
Yet, he acts as though feeding breakfast is the most natural thing in the world, as though I’m not a burden sitting across from him, or so broken thing he should have grown tired of by now.
And that’s why it scares so much, because, honestly, a part of wants to enjoy this. A part of wants to lean into it and let myself believe that those gentle looks are real, that the concern in his voice isn’t forced, and that the hand brushing against mine isn’t part of so elaborate act. I want to believe that, for once, soone’s kindness doesn’t co with an expiration date attached to it. But I’ve believed in kindness before, and look where that gets .
The pinging of Ronan’s phone makes blink back to reality. He holds up a hand before glancing at the screen. "Please excuse , I need to take this."
I nod, and he answers the call.
It’s easy to see the change in him almost imdiately. The soft expression he wears around disappears, replaced by a hard, tight frown. His jaw twitches, a clear sign that whatever the person on the other end is saying isn’t good news.
He rises to his feet and paces a few strides away, one hand dragging through his hair.
"I’ll be there in a few minutes," he says before hanging up.
When he turns back to , those stormy gray eyes et mine, and I catch the flash of anger there before he tries to bury it.
"I’ll be back in a few hours. I have an important eting to attend to. If you need company, I can ask Celeste to stay with you, and Elias will be here later."
I shake my head, signing. "I’m fine. I’ll be fine alone."
The answer earns a wary look, one that tells he doesn’t want to leave, but whatever just happened doesn’t give him much of a choice.
"Are you sure?" he asks again.
I nod. "Sure. I’ll be fine and right here."
A sigh leaves . He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath of relief. "Okay. I’ll be back."
I watch him walk toward the door, only for him to glance back at one last ti, as though making sure I’ll still be here when he returns.
Then he finally leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.
For several long seconds, I continue staring at the spot where he stood, half expecting him to walk back in and tell he changed his mind.
But he doesn’t. And when enough ti passes for that hope to die, I finally let out a slow breath.
I need to run. I know it sounds stupid, and reckless, maybe even impossible, but I fucking need to leave to anywhere possible. Maybe a nearby pack, a random town, or so forgotten corner of the world where nobody knows my na.
My pulse pounds as I push myself to my feet and walk toward the window.
The windows is secured, with a burgalry raised up so highand escaping through it is impossible. The only possible way out is the door, right now.
I stare at it, my mind racing.
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