Alice pov
He looks at me as if I'm a disease he contracted some time ago and almost lost his life to. Jermin Hunt: the one I loved, now stands in front of me, gun pressed an inch from my temple, stroking his finger as if weighing the value of my life.
Noah puts his arms around me and squeezes his hands over mine. I can feel his heart racing within his fingers. It is frantic. Scared.
And hers: her claw-like fingers are still lightly placed on his shoulders as if presenting him to the wolves.
Except she is the wolf.
Jermin's tone is low but poisonous. "Alice."
The bile rises in my throat, and I swallow. I have nothing to say. My body won't move, and my tongue is sandpaper. My constant struggle with my head keeps me from speaking. But I can't say the most important thing because it will take everything from me.
Noah.
My life.
My lie.
His eyes-the ones Noah received-cut through me like ice. He inches closer, gun still clutched tightly, lips curling with incredulity. "Is he mine?"
And voila, ten years younger. In that room. That night. That sin.
"No," I whisper. A lie. Pitiful. Weak. My only defence. He isn't deceived. Of course, he isn't. He never did trust me. "Don't lie to me." Noah's hand flails in mine, and that is the only reason I lie. "Yes."
The silence that ensues is deafening. My ears are ringing as if I have just entered a vacuum. Jermin looks at the boy, his son, like he was just another bug in the system that he spent his whole life trying to keep under control. His jaw is clenching, his fingers tremble once near the trigger, but he eventually throws it back into the holster.
He just takes that, and this boy, he never asked, becomes the spitting image of the man who once tried to own me, rejected me, and replaced me.
Not saying "son." Not saying "mine." Just staring blankly behind the eyes. His mother advances like the goddamned puppeteer she has always been, pushing Noah to the side of her like he is a game piece she has been playing since before I was born.
"He's been well-bred," she says smugly, her voice silky-smooth. "He has Hunt blood. No matter how hard she tried to stamp it out." "I didn't try to stamp anything out," I spat, standing between my child and her. "I defended him."
Jermin's mom-elara if we are going to pretend like she's still human-tightens her eyes at me. "You hid him. You lied. You let him think he wasn't part of something greater." "Greater?" I laugh-bitter and harsh. "You mean your empire of backstabbing, blood money, and dead bodies? That's what you wanted for him?"
"He is for the future," she says sweetly. "For power. And he will rule it."
The blood runs cold.
To her, he does not see a boy.
He sees an heir.
A bargaining chip.
And Jermin? He doesn't blink. Doesn't protest.
That's when I know, really know.
He doesn't care. Not about me. Not about Noah.
Only about what this means for him.
A war he didn't train for. A complication he didn't sanction.
And his mother woman he loves-just gave him a means to void our marriage contract with good sense. A bastard child conceived in secrecy? Repudiation of the marriage, shame, shame. All the alliance tried to avoid.
"I saw you," I whisper, my words shaking. "With my father's blood on your hands. That night. How could I ever have explained the baby to you?"
Jermin's eyes flame, but not with shame. With rage. "I didn't kill him." "You were there!" I cry out. "He was dead! You had the gun!" "I didn't shoot it," he snaps.
"Oh?" I laugh once more, sourly this time, already knowing the truth I've always feared. "Then who did?" A hesitation. Then, as softly as death, Elara speaks. "I did."
The room tilts. "What?" I gasp. "I ordered it," she says as if she is talking about wine. "Your father was a threat. His ideals would have brought everything down. So I took care of him."
I nearly dropped to my knees. I look at Jermin. He does not dispute. Does not flinch. He knew.
"You made me believe it was him," I spat, glaring at Elara, fury bubbling in my stomach. "You made me go away pregnant and broken. And you? You didn't say anything." Jermin crosses his arms. "You didn't let me."
No remorse. No apology. But only wariness, as if he's trying to decide whether or not it's worth killing me versus having to handle the repercussions.
"She's your mom," I hiss, voice breaking. "You'd destroy the world for her instead of saving what's left of us."
He doesn't dispute me.
Elara moves closer, her face contorting into a vile grin. "You never belonged in this world, Alice. But now your son does. And now we're going to cleanse the mistake that got you here."
I lunge at Noah, grabbing hold of his hand, between him and the woman who holds him hostage. "You don't get to have him."
"You don't get to choose anymore," she tells me in a calm voice.
Jermin doesn't budge. Noah is trembling. I can sense it in his grip.
He's bewildered, but not afraid.
Not one of them.
He's used to darkness. To danger. That's my fault. But he's alive. He's mine.
Then he utters something that tears apart everything. "Are you going to take me away from my mom?"
The silence that follows is brutal.
Jermin regards him. Not lovingly. Not warily. Just observing. Scrutinizing. Measuring. "I should," he says eventually. "But you're not worth the war she's demanding." That is it. That is all my son gets.
I lean down to brush my forehead against Noah's. "I'll never let them get you, sweetie. Do you hear me?"
He nods, always the hero. Then he leans in and whispers, "Can we go somewhere else? I don't like the lady with the ugly smile."
I look up at Elara, and I realise that time has run out.
"Go," she tells Jermin, her voice hard. "Take the boy. Or kill the woman. Just finish this farce before it disgraces the council any further."
"She is still my fiancée," he replies, his voice cold.
"For now," Elara says. "But the contract never mentioned bastards, did it?"
And there it was.
The setup.
She brought Noah here to kill the alliance. To kill me. To show betrayal and sever the last tie of loyalty I had to this family of monsters.
Jermin's gaze meets mine again.
But I know that look.
It's not love.
It's a calculation.
"Get out of here," he says.
Flinching, I whisper, "What?"
"You have ten minutes. Before I change my mind."
He's letting us go?
No. She's letting us go.
Because right now, I am nothing but a loose end.
And Noah?
A piece she hasn't finished carving out yet.
I reached for my son's hand and stepped back slowly.
"I'm taking him and going," I said, as much to myself as anyone. "There's nothing for us here anymore."
"Don't be dramatic," Jermin muttered.
My back straightened. He thinks this is "drama"?
I held Noah closer, stepping by him.
"You think you can just take off now?" his voice sliced through with a sharp, threatening tone. "After everything? You wanna just turn your back and disappear like you did last time?"
I stopped, not because I wanted to, but because I wanted him to believe I was doing something else.
I inhaled slowly. Let the tension resonate through me. Then I crouched slowly to place Noah on the floor. "Go in the other room for a bit, sweetie."
He paused. "Why?"
"I just need to talk to him. I'll call you in a bit."
His silver eyes—his eyes—lingering on me a moment longer than any child should, he nodded and went.
The second the door closed, I let my shoulders fall. Let the tears I'd been holding burn into place. One. Two. Long enough.
"I have nowhere else to go," I whispered.
He doesn't move. But I feel it. That barely perceptible movement in the air. That moment when the arrogance of a man who believes he's won starts to breathe.
"Without my father's estate." My voice cracked. "Without the contract. Without him, I'm nothing."
He said nothing. But now I can hear the triumphant intake of breath.
"I never wished it to be like this," I told him, gulping down the sob that was welling up in my throat like a melody. "But I'm IMPRISONED. And you"—I faced him, looking at him with tears in my eyes, my voice shaking—"you are the only one who can prevent it from getting any worse."
At last, he moved closer.
"Stand up," he said to me, not cruelly or coldly, like he was doing me a favour.
I did, slowly, cautiously, like I was surrendering.
He wiped a tear from my cheek and SMILED—goddamn smiling—like I'd just kneeled and offered him my soul.
"The wedding goes on," he says, without hesitation. "We'll get through this together."
I look down. Swallow my scream.
He thinks we have a chance.
He thinks I desire him.
He is sane.
But I supinely nodded, meek and broken, the word escaping like a whisper, "Yes." "We'll get married."
Because he needs to believe he is in control.
Because I need to be close enough to kill them both.
Not with a bullet.
With a crown.
I wonder if he could feel the dagger that I have kept hidden behind every breath since I returned, as his hand wrapped around my waist.
If he can feel it…
He's too stupid to care.
Procee
d with the wedding.
Let the empire flourish.
Let the Hunt legacy decay from within.
'Cause I'm gonna burn it all down.
And I will smile when I do.