The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 89: Just a Friend

Easter~

I sat on the edge of the couch, clutching my hands together so tightly that my fingers began to hurt. My heart pounded in my chest, beating against my ribs like it was desperate for freedom. Any other morning, my husband would have been gone by now—out of the house by seven, like clockwork. But today? Today, of all days, he sat slouched on the couch, scrolling through his phone with an expression I couldn’t understand.

It was already 9:00 a.m.

He was supposed to be gone.

I stole a glance at the clock on the wall, my stomach twisting. I was supposed to et Natalie at ten, drop Rose off at daycare, and finally—finally—take the first step toward escaping this nightmare. But he was still here. A heavy presence, a shadow looming over every fragile hope I had managed to build.

I fidgeted, my fingers pulling at the hem of my shirt as if that would sohow stop my anxiety from consuming . If I asked him outright where he was going or why he was still ho, he’d get suspicious. And suspicion always led to punishnt.

Just when I thought my chances were slipping away, he suddenly exhaled sharply, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I’m going out," he muttered, pushing himself up.

I froze, barely able to process his words.

Out?

He was actually leaving?

The relief that washed over was dizzying, but I forced myself to stay calm. I nodded, keeping my expression neutral as I whispered, "Okay."

He walked past toward the door, pulling on his jacket. He hesitated for a mont, glancing back at with a scrutinizing gaze, as if debating whether to say sothing. My heart nearly stopped. Then, just like that, he grunted, "I’ll be back late."

The mont the door shut behind him, I nearly collapsed. A breathless laugh bubbled up in my throat, half hysteria, half overwhelming gratitude. It was like God himself had heard my prayers.

Wasting no ti, I rushed to get Rose dressed, my hands trembling as I buttoned up her tiny coat. She cooed up at , completely unaware of the storm raging inside . "We’re going on an adventure, baby," I whispered, forcing a smile as I kissed her chubby cheek.

I ordered a ride imdiately. Five minutes away.

That was all I needed.

With shaking hands, I adjusted my large sunglasses, the only thing shielding the world from the fresh bruises painting my skin. The last thing I needed was strangers staring at in pity. I wasn’t so helpless woman—I was a mother, a survivor, and I was going to get out.

I stepped outside, clutching Rose close, my eyes flicking anxiously toward the road. Any minute now, my ride would turn the corner. I just had to be patient.

But I never saw him coming.

One second, I was standing there, lost in thought. The next, a shadow lood over , and a voice—one that made my blood run cold—spoke from behind .

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?"

I turned sharply, my heart dropping to my stomach.

My husband stood there, arms crossed, his face twisted into sothing dark and cruel. It was as though he had been hiding, waiting, just to see what I would do.

"I—I was just—" My throat closed up. I couldn’t even form a proper excuse.

His eyes narrowed. "So this is what you do when I go to work, huh? You sneak out like a whore, running off to et so man?"

"No—no, I swear, I was just—"

He didn’t let finish.

His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my hair. Pain exploded through my scalp as he yanked backward into the house.

Rose started crying.

That sound—it shattered sothing inside .

"Shut that kid up," he growled, slamming the door behind us before shoving onto the floor.

I curled around Rose protectively, trying to shield her from him, but he didn’t care.

The first blow landed against my ribs. A white-hot flash of agony shot through . I gasped, barely able to breathe before the next strike ca—this ti, his fist connecting with my cheek.

He was enjoying it. I could see it in his eyes.

Every hit, every kick, every twisted grin.

I wanted to scream, but what was the point? No one ever ca. No one ever cared.

Until today.

The front door suddenly burst open.

The air in the room change, thickening like a storm rolling in. My husband froze mid-motion, his fist still raised. I blinked through the pain, my swollen eyes barely able to focus.

Oh my God! It was her! Natalie stood in the doorway.

And she wasn’t alone.

Behind her was a man I had never seen before—tall, handso, with a presence that made the very walls seem to tremble. His warm brown eyes locked onto my husband with sothing cold, sothing rciless.

Natalie’s voice shot through the silence like a bullet.

"That’s enough."

My husband turned, sneering. "Who the hell are you? Why are you—"

The man with Natalie stepped forward. The air around us grew heavier. Colder. My husband flinched, though he tried to hide it.

The man smiled—but it wasn’t kind. "Finish that sentence," he dared, his voice like a whisper before a storm.

My husband opened his mouth. No words ca out. His body refused to obey him. He shuddered, as though unseen hands were gripping him in place. It was absolutely terrifying.

Natalie tilted her head, studying him with detached amusent. "I saw what you’ve been doing," she murmured. "And I don’t take kindly to n who think their wives are punching bags."

Natalie lifted a hand. No words, no hesitation—just a simple, effortless gesture.

Then ca the sound.

A sickening crack.

My husband’s arms wrenched backward at an unnatural angle, bones snapping like dry twigs. His scream ripped through the air, raw and agonized.

I flinched, my breath hitching. My heart pounded so violently it drowned out everything else. Who was this woman?

Natalie stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Her voice, when she spoke, was silk wrapped around steel. Dangerous.

"That’s just a taste," she murmured. "Tell ... do you enjoy feeling powerless?"

Beside her, the man—the one who made the air bend around him—chuckled, low and nacing. "I say we let his worst fears eat him alive."

Natalie exhaled like she was considering it, then shook her head. "No. I was thinking sothing worse."

She moved like a phantom, closing the space between her and Ruben in an instant. A single finger pressed against his forehead, light as a whisper.

His body locked up. His pupils blew wide. Then—

A bloodcurdling scream.

It wasn’t just pain. It was terror. Whatever she did, whatever she showed him—it shattered him from the inside out. He collapsed, trembling, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. His eyes were unfocused, staring into so unseen nightmare.

Natalie turned to the man, her voice like a command woven into the wind. "Jacob, you know what to do."

The man—Jacob—smirked, the kind of smirk that promised things you didn’t want to know about. "On it."

He crouched to Ruben’s level, tilting his head with an unsettling kind of amusent. "Hey there. Na’s Jacob. But you can call Mist." He flashed a grin that held nothing warm. "We’re about to have a lot of fun, you and I."

And then, before I could process what was happening—they vanished.

One second, they were there. The next, nothing but empty air.

My mouth went dry. My hands trembled. What just happened?

Natalie knelt beside , her touch featherlight as she traced a hand over my bruises. A warmth spread through , gentle and unfamiliar, like standing in a sunbeam after years of rain. White light seeped into my skin, erasing every mark, every trace of pain.

I sucked in a breath. "What... what are you?"

Natalie smiled, soft but knowing. "Just a friend."

Rose clung to , her baby voice small. "Mommy... angel."

I didn’t know if she ant Natalie or Jacob. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

All I knew was that for the first ti in forever...

Ruben was the one living in fear.