Jilted Dragonless Wife? The Genius Alchemist!

Azura Holt POV:

"Spread your legs a little wider, so your sinews can stretch—so it won't hurt when you lie with him."

I woke to the pain of being stretched. The scent of dragon's breath and expensive silk filled my lungs.

It was the scent of my cage. The scent of the Pace family estate. I was alive.

The old duenna from my past life was pressing down on my waist, working my limbs loose.

Nausea clawed its way up my throat, drowning out the ache. This was the night of my consummation.

The night my husband, Dragon Lord Gavyn Pace, returned from war. The night I would become his possession.

My throat tightened.

The memories flooded back. In my past life, after lying with him through the night, trembling with nervous hope, he threw me out of our chambers the next morning—naked—and accused me of not being a virgin.

I could not understand why he would do this to me. He had taken my innocence with his own body.

In the bitter dawn, the snow falling thick, I huddled on the cold stone floor. In front of the entire household, he kicked me, again and again—his boot driving into my belly until my blood stained the white snow.

Then came the "purification ritual," a cruel farce orchestrated by my mother-in-law, Lady Pace, to punish me for the sin of not bleeding on the wedding sheets. It left me barren.

Only later did I learn the truth. It was all to make room for Gavyn's true love—my "sister," Isabela Holt.

I spent the rest of my days in a cold, forgotten corner of the estate, where even the servants could curse me and spit. I died broken, my heart filled with nothing but hate.

A sharp, cold hatred cut through the fog of panic.

I would not let it happen again.

The old duenna shuffled out not long after. Then came the footsteps—heavy, rhythmic, each one a hammer blow against my heart. It was him.

Even through the thick oak door, I could feel his presence, the oppressive weight of a powerful dragon pressing down on the air itself. His scent seeped through the cracks—that familiar reek of heat and sulfur, thick and suffocating. It had once terrified me. Now it only made me sick.

I had to stop the consummation.

My bare feet hit the cold marble floor, the shock of it clearing my head. I moved to the dressing table, my hands steady. From a hidden compartment in my jewelry box, I retrieved a small, sharp blade.

It wasn't enough to kill a dragon. But if I failed to stop the consummation, it would be enough to cause some chaos—enough to let me flee.

My eyes landed on an unopened bottle of magnolia perfume on the table. A vicious plan bloomed in my mind. Isabela, my dear sister, was severely allergic to magnolias.

My personal maid, Clara—the only person I trusted in this gilded cage in my past life—rushed in. Her eyes widened at my pale face, at the desperate resolve burning in my gaze.

"Clara," I said in a low, urgent whisper. "Spill some of that perfume at the crack of Lady Isabela's door."

She stared at me, confused. "But my lady..."

I grabbed her arm, my nails digging into her sleeve. "No questions. This is an order. After Gavyn comes in, tell her maid that Lady Isabela has fallen ill with a fever from an allergic reaction."

I knew Isabela's maid. She would embellish. "High fever" would become "at death's door."

Clara saw the madness in my eyes, the cold hatred I no longer bothered to hide. She gave a sharp nod and hurried out.

I slid back into bed, pulling the heavy dragon-scale-patterned duvet up to my chin. I forced my breathing to even out, arranging my face into the mask of a dutiful, waiting wife.

My heart pounded—not with anticipation, but with the sharp thrill of a desperate gamble.

The footsteps stopped outside my door.

The brass handle turned with a soft click.

I tightened my grip on the cold blade hidden beneath my pillow.

Gavyn Pace filled the doorway, his broad frame a dark silhouette against the light in the hall.

The dragon had entered my den.