The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 142: Freedom With A Price

Easter~

"Please... beg him. Don’t let him trap here. I swear—I’m sorry."

When I looked down at Ruben, it hit .

He wasn’t a monster anymore.

He was nothing.

Dust in the wind—blown away from a life I had finally walked out of.

Everything that had ever shackled to this man—every insult, every cold shoulder, every twisted manipulation disguised as love, every beating—had dissolved. I couldn’t feel the weight of his voice anymore. It no longer burrowed under my skin.

I was free.

And freedom... was quiet.

There was no storm in my chest. No fear rising like bile in my throat. Just peace. Strange, still, golden peace.

I slowly lifted my gaze from the man who once owned my every breath, my every step. And when I t Jacob’s eyes, I felt sothing stir again inside —It felt deeper, warr.

God, those eyes.

His brown eyes held galaxies. Fire. Wisdom older than ti itself. But when they settled on , all I saw was gentleness. A question flickered in them, unspoken.

"Do you want to let him go?" he asked aloud, voice soft—like a breeze moving through tall grass. Calm. Centered. A god waiting for my command.

I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t expected the question. I hadn’t even imagined having a say in a man like Ruben’s fate.

My eyes flicked back to Ruben, still groveling. Still shaking. And for a second, just a flicker of one, I rembered the girl I used to be—the one who would have wept just seeing him like this. The girl who thought she couldn’t live without his approval.

But I wasn’t her anymore.

I turned fully to Jacob, and when I spoke, my voice was steady. Clear.

"I don’t want to have anything to do with him again. Not now. Not ever."

Jacob tilted his head slightly, watching like a hunter admiring the strength in his weapon. I could see it in the way his lips twitched into a hint of a smile—proud. Protective. Curious.

I kept going. "If he stays trapped, if he’s locked away... I’ll think about it. About him. About whether he’s eating, or if he’s still begging, or if maybe I’m being too cruel."

I clenched my hands at my sides, breath tightening. "And I don’t want him in my thoughts. Not even like that. He doesn’t deserve that space in my head, Jacob. Not even as a passing shadow."

Jacob’s gaze darkened for a heartbeat—his jaw flexed like he was restraining the divine fury that lived inside him. But then he nodded slowly.

"You don’t want guilt," Jacob said gently, his voice dipping like a whisper across water. "Even when you have none."

"I’m done carrying things that don’t belong to ," I murmured, barely trusting my own voice. "So if letting him go ans wiping the last trace of him from my conscience... then yes. Let him go."

The room held its breath. No windows were open, but the curtains stirred anyway, slow and deliberate, like the air itself bowed to Jacob’s will. His power humd softly, golden and quiet at first—like sunlight warming glass. The shimr wrapped around his fingers, pulsing gently, alive.

Jacob bent to Ruben’s level, his fingers twitching ever so slightly, and the golden shimr that always danced around him when he used his power humd into life. He pulled Ruben away from my feet and I stepped back giving them room. Then, he spoke. His voice, low and lodic, wove through the air like honey.

"Ruben Morgan," Jacob intoned, his voice low, clear, and soaked in power. "By Easter’s rcy, not mine, you are free."

The words cracked the silence. Ruben’s body jerked—then collapsed, forehead smacking the wooden floor with a dull, painful thud. A raw sob clawed its way out of his throat, brittle and pitiful, like sothing shattered underfoot.

Jacob didn’t even look at him.

He turned to .

And just like that, the air changed.

The light from the cracked window struck his face just right. His tousled dark hair frad his face like a storm cloud, and the glow from his magic still curled around his fingertips, lazily, like it knew it had done sothing important.

"You are," he said, each word wrapped in reverence, "the bravest human I’ve ever t."

My heart fluttered wildly in my chest.

"Jacob..."

I whispered his na like a secret—like a prayer I didn’t know I’d been keeping locked in my chest. His eyes darkened when he heard it, and the room suddenly felt smaller, hotter, like all the oxygen had been pulled toward him.

He moved toward .

One step.

Then another.

And I couldn’t move. The air between us was thick—charged—like lightning was about to strike and we’d both welco it.

"You didn’t just break your chains today," he murmured, voice velvet-soft. "You lted them."

A laugh slipped from , shaky and thin. My throat ached with held-back emotion. "I feel... lighter," I breathed. "Not just free. New."

He reached up, knuckles grazing my chin with the gentleness of a prayer, tilting my face toward his. "That’s because the girl who walked into this house isn’t the one leaving it."

"You’re right." My lips curved. A real smile. "She died the mont I signed that paper."

Jacob’s voice was a whisper and a vow. "And in her place... is a woman who makes gods hold their breath."

Then, with a soft smile curling on his lips, he turned briefly to Ruben. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "Easter might’ve forgiven you, but I haven’t."

Ruben flinched.

Jacob narrowed his eyes, the warmth in his voice cooling like steel subrged in ice. "Don’t mistake her kindness for a clean slate."

Ruben looked up, confused, blinking tears from his swollen eyes. "You said I was free..."

Jacob smirked. "I said I’d release you, not that I’d spare you."

My eyes widened. "What do you an?"

Jacob turned back to , eyes still glowing faintly with golden light. "He’s being released from this physical prison... but from now on, he’ll live inside a ntal one."

Ruben froze.

Jacob’s voice dropped lower, sharper. "He will relive every ounce of pain he inflicted on you—over and over again. Every scream, every broken mont. A loop that no one can break. Not even the best doctors in the world."

Ruben’s face drained of color. His lips parted, but no words ca.

"And when people see him," Jacob continued coolly, "they’ll instinctively stay away from him. There’ll be no comfort. No connection. No more victims."

The silence that followed was thunderous.

Then—Ruben broke. He collapsed again, sobbing into the floor, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Please," he croaked. "Please, Jacob. Easter—tell him to stop. I’m sorry! I’m really—please—!"

But Jacob had already turned to .

He extended his hand. I placed mine in his without hesitation, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

We walked out of the house without a backward glance, the sound of Ruben’s pleas echoing behind us like a ghost we’d left behind.

Outside, the evening air was cool and sweet. The setting sun blinked high above like it was watching.

Jacob opened the passenger door for , still wearing that damn smirk that sohow managed to look good on him. I slid in silently, heart still racing. He joined behind the wheel, hands steady, eyes forward.

And without a word, he started the engine.

The car purred to life.

And we drove away.