Connor's lips curled into a mocking smirk. "You really think she'd die that easily? I know better than anyone how tough she is."

Belinda laughed, her voice dripping with amusement. "That's right. Our Luna is the kind of woman who could stomach a live snake. She may have gone days without food or water, but I believe she'll survive."

The gathered maids giggled at the remark, but Connor's smile faltered for just a second.

Watching his expression stiffened, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. "So, you do feel a little guilty after all."

I remembered the day when Connor had been captured in a battle against the rogues. To save him, I infiltrated their base camp alone.

By the time I reached his cell, I was bleeding, barely standing. But when our eyes met, there was no mistaking the shock and gratitude in his gaze.

We disguised ourselves as low-ranking rogue soldiers, blending in to make our escape. It might have worked—until the rogues handed out food—snakes and centipedes—still raw, crawling, and alive.

We hesitated. Even as werewolves, we weren't feral. We weren't like them. We had standards. Nobility did not stoop to eating like the mindless beasts we fought against.

Connor's hesitation drew suspicion, making them question our identities.

I had no choice. Before anyone could question us, I tilted my head back and swallowed those filthy creatures, earning the rogues' trust.

Connor appeared shocked.

Later, after we successfully escaped, some of the witnesses spread the story. Over time, rumors began to circulate that I had eaten raw snake flesh just to survive.

But within our pack, the mere mention of it drew Connor's furious ire; he wouldn't tolerate a single word of it.

For a while, things between us were good. I saw it in the way he looked at me, in the rare softness of his smile. For the first time, I thought I had finally cracked through the ice around his heart.

But then Belinda returned.

She was his childhood sweetheart, the girl who had once comforted him when he was at his lowest.

Three years of marriage, three years of effort—shattered the moment she stepped back into his life.

I snapped back to the present just as Connor waved Duncan off impatiently. "Tell her if she doesn't come out now, she can rot in that well for another month."

Duncan visibly flinched but did not move to follow the order.

Connor's voice sharpened, laced with undeniable authority. "Why are you still standing there? Or do you want to join her too?"

Duncan trembled and backed away quickly as Connor turned, slipping a possessive arm around Belinda's waist.

"Belinda, don't go easy on her when she comes out. Make her apologize to you. I don't care if she's Luna. She needs to learn what happens when she crosses someone I care about."

"Clara… you really think this little stunt will fool me?" Connor's words were barely audible, and within them, a subtle, almost swallowed hesitation.

As the minutes passed, his patience began to wear thin.

"Why is it taking so long? Is she still testing me?" A sharp edge crept into Connor's voice, betraying his annoyance.

"I'll see what she's doing," he stated, his voice a chilling blend of coldness and suppressed rage. Connor then marched toward the well. But as he neared the well's edge, a revolting odor assaulted his senses.

His brow creased in disgust, and his golden eyes flashed with revulsion. "What is that stench?"

Connor's tone turned sharp and demanding. "Clara, what are you doing? I'm letting you out, and you're still refusing? What, planning to live down there forever?"

He stepped closer, peering into the darkness. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the bottom.

And then he saw it.

My lifeless body lay there, still and broken—like a discarded, ruined doll.