My daughter hid inside the cabinet, her trembling hands dialing her father—James, the Alpha of our pack.

"Mommy's bleeding a lot. Please, come back and save her," she pleaded.

"I'm busy. Don't bother me," James said coldly. "If she's going to die, make sure she does it far away."

As he wished, I never bothered him again.

Because I really did die, right in front of our wedding photo.

When he found out, he went mad, completely mad.

A crimson haze filled my vision as blood dripped from the corner of my forehead onto the floor.

Inside the cabinet, my daughter's terrified eyes froze my breath.

I watched as her trembling mouth opened soundlessly, forming the faint outline of words, "Mommy, I'm scared..."

I wanted to reach out, to touch her face and comfort her, but I didn't dare. The rogue was still in the room.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I forced a weak smile, hoping to reassure her. But my energy drained away quickly, and my head drooped again.

My consciousness began to fade, but one thought grew increasingly clear. I couldn't die. If I died, what would happen to my daughter? She was only four years old.

I lifted my head again, using my last shred of willpower to mouth the words to her. "Find... find your father."

Three simple words, yet they took me nearly ten minutes to utter.

While the rogue's attention was elsewhere, I shakily slid the phone into the cabinet. My daughter's small hands gripped it tightly, the faint glow of the screen illuminating her tear-streaked, flushed cheeks, making her look heartbreakingly fragile.

I pinned all my hopes on James. He was the Alpha of the pack. If he returned, there might still be a chance to save her.

Perhaps not finding what they were searching for, the intruders hurried downstairs.

Seizing this brief moment of quiet, I whispered to my daughter with the last of my strength, "Darianne, call Daddy."

James's number was the first in my contacts, and Darianne quickly found it. Her tiny fingers tapped on the screen, and within a second, the dial tone turned into an automated message. "Sorry, the number you've dialed is currently busy..."

James had hung up.

Darianne's trembling voice stammered repeatedly into the void, "I need to find Daddy... My daddy is James..."

The call disconnected automatically, and she never heard his voice.

I wanted to help her, but I had no strength left in me.

Her tiny fingers pressed the screen again, and the dial tone rang out once more. This repeated three or four times before the call finally connected.

James's cold voice came through. "I'm busy. Don't bother me."

Darianne shrank back at his tone, her small shoulders trembling as she sobbed, "Daddy, Mom's bleeding a lot... Can you come back and save her?"

Even after recognizing Darianne's voice, his tone didn't soften in the slightest.

"You and your mother are always putting on a show! If she's going to die, make sure she does it far away."

His words dripped with scorn, as if our lives were of no concern to him.

I wanted to scream at him, but the effort tore at my wounds, and fresh blood poured out.

Darianne didn't understand the contempt in his words, but she understood "die."

"Mommy's going to die. Daddy, please come back."

Before James could respond, a woman's coquettish voice interrupted, "Alpha, come over here and blow out the candles with me, will you?"

I recognized that voice. That was Helena, James's secretary and his Beta.

The wet, intimate sound of kiss soon followed, and the call abruptly ended.

While my daughter and I were fighting for our lives at home, he was celebrating another woman's birthday.

He really was busy, huh?

Darianne stared helplessly at me, then at the phone in her hands. She reached out, trying to touch my face, but the sound of footsteps outside made her pull back in fear.

I wanted to smile and tell her it was okay, that she didn't need to worry, but my stiff limbs were pressed helplessly against the floor. Even keeping my eyes open felt impossible.

It seemed I really was going to die.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating above everything, gazing down at the scene below.

Darainne tremblingly extended her tiny hand to touch my head. "Mommy, can I come out now? It's so dark in here."

I didn't respond. She pushed open the cabinet door with a soft creak, the sound slicing through the suffocating silence.

I rushed forward, desperate to close the door again, to keep her hidden, safe. My arm passed straight through the cabinet, through Darainne's frail body.

It was then I remembered—I was already dead.

Fortunately, the rogues had moved to another room, continuing their search, oblivious to the faint noises here.

Darainne stepped closer to my lifeless body. She shook me gently. "Mommy, why aren't you answering me?"

Her voice quivered, fragile and small. "I'm so hungry. I'm scared."

I lay there, unmoving, blood pooling beneath me, a dark halo expanding until it seemed to swallow what remained of me.

They say death brings freedom from pain, but at that moment, my heart ached with a piercing agony.

My child, not old enough to understand the world, had lost her mother. Who would love her now? Who would protect her?

"Mommy, are you just tired?" she asked, her voice soft and uncertain. "If I'm quiet, will you wake up soon?"

She retreated to the cabinet, curling into the cramped space. Her small voice began to sing a lullaby, one she likely remembered from nights when I had sung her to sleep.

I sat beside her in the dark, my ethereal form humming along to the familiar tune, as though we could still share that moment. She nestled against the cabinet door, her breathing gradually steadying. Tear-streaked lashes remained closed, though tiny droplets clung stubbornly to them.

Hours passed. The rogues, having found nothing of interest, finally abandoned their search.

They began discussing their retreat, but before they could leave, the sound of a door opening broke through the stillness.

Panic rippled through them as they scrambled into the storage room to hide.

The door slammed shut, the noise startling Darainne awake. Her small body trembled as she huddled inside the cabinet, her hands pressed tightly over her ears.

Then, James's voice rang out, harsh and cutting. "What's that stench of blood? What kind of lousy housewife lets things get this disgusting?"

Darainne hesitated, her feet padding across the floor. She came to my side, shaking my body with more urgency. "Mommy, wake up! Daddy's back!"