Selene's POV.

Damon's gaze was cold—almost amused—as he stepped closer to my bed. His eyes gleamed with something vile, something I had never seen before… not even in our worst moments.

“Who did you send for help?”

His voice sliced through the silence like a blade. I blinked, disoriented, his shadow looming too close—his tone too calm, too rehearsed. The warmth that once lived in his eyes was gone, replaced by nothing but sharp, calculated suspicion.

“Was it Santino?” he pressed. “No… doesn’t seem like it. You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you… my dear wife?”

I tried to sit up, but my arms trembled violently. My body refused to cooperate—drained, sluggish. The poison was working faster than I’d thought. Or maybe it was the constant syringes that witch, Dalia, kept stabbing at me.

“You demon…” I managed to rasp, my throat raw and trembling. “I trusted you… I loved you. Why are you doing this? What about our baby—?”

“Our baby?” Damon laughed. Not kindly—no, it was a low, condescending chuckle that chilled me to the bone. “Selene, don’t delude yourself.”

He moved closer, crouching beside me. I turned my face away, but his fingers gently tucked a stray hair behind my ear. The tender motion made bile rise in my throat.

“I am thankful, truly,” he whispered, like he was offering some sort of mercy. “You served your purpose. But the child Eliah carries… that is my legacy. That child will rule—not the cursed spawn of the Arkwell bloodline.”

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks. My heart shattered with every word.

Damon leaned in closer, his breath warm on my ear. “So please… just be good. Don’t struggle. And I’ll grant you and your child a peaceful death.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe.

Then he stood, brushed imaginary dust from his robe, and walked away without looking back.

The moment the door clicked shut, I broke.

My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms until I felt blood drip from the cuts. Rage boiled inside me—hot, unbearable, suffocating. How could I have been so blind?

He was going to let me die slowly, day by day, hidden behind false tenderness and poison.

I couldn’t let that happen. Not when Santino was out there trying to bring help. Not when I still had a chance to survive—for my baby.

I threw the covers aside and tried to move. Sitting up was torture; every inch of my body felt like it had been crushed under a mountain. But I clenched my teeth and gripped the rails, dragging myself to sit.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself, “you can do this…”

I managed to swing my legs off the bed, but the moment my feet touched the floor, my knees buckled.

I collapsed.

The cold tile bit into my skin, but I barely felt it. I sobbed—not from the pain, but from the sheer helplessness clawing at me. Curled on the floor, arms wrapped protectively around my belly, I just cried.

I used to be strong. I used to fight.

I had to remember who I was.

Get up, I begged myself. Move. Survive.

I lay there for what felt like an eternity, the chill seeping into my bones, before I finally dragged myself toward the wall—one inch at a time.

Please, I prayed silently. Let that person receive my letter. Let them come. Let someone come.

And then, through the fog of pain, my mind drifted to the beginning—how all of this had started.

Damon and I had once been classmates—barely friends. He was cold, broken after Eliah left him. I was the quiet outcast from the cursed Arkwell clan, ridiculed by everyone except the Moon Seer who foretold a future none of us understood.

A son born from me and Damon will lead the kingdom.

And so, Damon’s parents had arranged our marriage.

I was never wanted—only needed.

Even then, life in the Moonvil household was truly brutal. Whispers of my cursed blood haunted me. Every look, every comment, every silence was a knife.

Damon had been cold too, at first. Still bitter from Eliah leaving him.

But I stayed. I loved him. I believed we could build something real.

I was a fool.

A bigger fool for believing he ever loved me back.

My body ached. My belly throbbed, the baby barely moving now. Still alive… still fighting.

I gritted my teeth, one hand clutching my belly protectively. “I’ll get us out of here,” I whispered to the child inside me. “Even if it kills me.”

I clenched my fists, crawling toward the nightstand, trying to reach anything—anything—that could help me escape.

The door opened again.

I froze, trembling, praying it wasn’t Dalia with another syringe.

It wasn’t.

She stepped inside slowly, her heels clicking across the floor.

A woman with striking beauty and venomous eyes.

“Eliah,” I whispered.

She smiled with twisted grace.

“It’s been a while…” she said, her voice silken and cruel.

Then she tilted her head.

“…Sister.”

My blood turned to ice.

Eliah. Beautiful, graceful, deadly. She wore a silk robe, her long dark hair perfectly styled, her amber eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Damon’s been keeping you in such poor condition,” she said with a soft laugh. “You look like hell.”

I wanted to crawl away, but I couldn’t move.

Eliah crouched beside me, tilting my chin up with her manicured nails. “You were always the moon’s favorite. The prophecy. The kingdom. Damon. That damn place. But all of that ends now.”

She stood and pulled something from her pocket.

My heart stopped.

It was a necklace. Mine.

The one with the enchanted feather.

The one I used to send a message.

“No…” I breathed.

Eliah smiled as she twirled the charm between her fingers. “You thought you were clever. Sending out secret messages...”

My stomach churned. If she had it… then it hadn’t reached—

But then something strange happened.

A wind stirred in the room. The feather shimmered. Eliah looked down in confusion, her fingers trying to tighten around it.

Too late.

The charm glowed, turned into a stream of silver light, and vanished through the open window.

“No,” she gasped.

I smiled.

Tiny. Defiant.

“You didn’t catch it in time,” I whispered. “It’s gone.”

Eliah spun to me, her expression darkening, but I didn’t care.

The message was delivered.

The world would know the truth.

And maybe—just maybe—we still had hope.

Selene's POV.

Eliah’s eyes went wide with panic. The glow from the feather was gone.

That could only mean one thing: it had reached its recipient.

Her lips curled in rage. “No… no, no, no—”

She lunged at me and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard my scalp burned.

“Who did you send it to, huh?! Tell me! TELL ME!” she shrieked.

I glared into her eyes and spat on her face.

“You little—!”

She shoved me to the floor, and my knees scraped against the cold marble. Her hand lifted, ready to slap me across the face.

“HELP!” I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. “SOMEONE—!”

Her eyes widened at the sound of footsteps.

Panic seized her.

On instinct, she snatched the silver tray from my bedside table.

And before I could understand what she was doing—she slammed it into her own forehead.

The sound was sickening. Blood immediately began to trickle from the wound.

The door burst open.

Damon. Thorne. Dalia. Damon’s parents. And a stranger—someone I’d never seen before, with intelligent, suspicious eyes.

Damon froze for a split second at the chaotic scene. Then he remembered himself.

There were witnesses.

He rushed toward me. “Selene! Are you okay? What happened?” He shouted, loud and theatrical.

But as he leaned in and grabbed my arms, his lips brushed my ear and whispered coldly:

“What the hell did you do, my Eliah? You’ll pay for this.”

Behind him, Eliah collapsed dramatically, sobbing with fake tremors.

“I—I was just worried about her!” she cried. “We grew up in the same orphanage, and I thought she might be hurting… But she screamed at me! She was afraid I’d take Damon from her—so she threw the tray at me!”

I stared in disbelief as her performance continued.

Damon turned back to me, his expression full of concern, but his eyes narrowed with warning. “Is it true?” he asked sweetly.

I opened my mouth to answer—but someone beat me to it.

“That doesn’t seem likely,” the unfamiliar man said, his voice calm and sharp. “Your wife doesn’t look like she could throw a tray, Mr. Moonvil. She’s barely conscious.”

All eyes turned to him.

Even Eliah stilled.

“I’m Mr. Varkas,” he added. “Here on behalf of the Council to assess the health of the Luna and the child. And frankly—this doesn’t look right.”

My heart pounded.

Hope. It flickered for the first time in days.

But Dalia scoffed, loud and mocking.

“You’ve got it backward, Mr. Varkas. Eliah is the kindest woman in this entire kingdom we've known. That girl? She’s an Arkwell. That blood is cursed. We should be asking what she did.”

Mr. Varkas turned to me, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re… an Arkwell?”

I felt the shame crawling up my spine. I couldn’t lie. I nodded.

Disgust twisted his face. “No wonder.”

The hope I felt shriveled instantly.

I looked away, teeth clenched, nails digging into my palms.

But then—he surprised me.

“Even so,” he said firmly, “you should treat her with more dignity. She’s bearing the chosen moon child. If this is how you treat its mother, what will that say when the child rules us one day?”

Felicity’s saccharine smile returned. “Don’t worry, we’ll teach her her place. Come along, now. We have more important matters to discuss.”

Dalia sneered at me as she followed her aunt and uncle. Mr. Varkas spared me a last glance—less cruel, more calculating—before exiting too.

Thorne lingered at the door. His eyes held pity. But when Damon shot him a warning glance, he looked away and left.

And then it was just Damon.

Eliah.

And me.

Damon’s hand shot out and wrapped around my throat.

I gasped, clawing weakly at his arm. I was too dazed, too weak.

Damon’s hand shot out and wrapped around my throat.

I gasped, clawing weakly at his arm. I was too dazed, too weak.

He leaned down, his voice venomous. “You dared humiliate her. You ruined everything.”

Eliah stood behind him, crying dramatically for effect, but her eyes glinted with triumph.

“She scratched me,” she sobbed. “She pushed me. I thought she was going to kill me.”

Damon’s eyes burned into mine. “Enough. I’m done. At midnight, you're going to have surgery. I won’t let you threaten Eliah or my heir again.”

“No!” I choked out, my voice shaking. “S-Santino… my brother… he’s coming tomorrow. If you kill me now, the world will know—!”

Damon sneered, tightening his grip before shoving me back. “Even if the world knows you died in surgery, what could they do? We’ll say we had to operate because your condition was critical. Because we tried to save you. Poor Selene.”

His voice dripped with malice.

I shook my head, struggling to breathe through the crushing despair. “No… he’s coming. My brother will stop you—”

Damon chuckled cruelly. “Do you really think your precious brother will make it back in time?”

The words froze in my throat.

“What… what did you do to my brother?” My voice trembled.

“I set a bounty on his head,” Damon said coldly. “A generous one. And let’s be honest… everyone out there would love to be the one to take down an Arkwell.”

My breath hitched.

My vision blurred—not just from the pain or the blood on my face, but from the fear curling into every bone.

They were going to kill me. And now… maybe my brother too.

Damon turned away, gently guiding Eliah like she was something fragile. She leaned on him dramatically, still playing her part. From over his shoulder, she looked back at me with the softest, sweetest smile.

Triumphant.

The door shut behind them with a sharp click.

And I was left trembling, barely able to lift my own body.

W-What should I do...?

Selene's POV.

The door creaked open again. A maid returned to the room to clean me up after Damon and Eliah left, her eyes skimming over the bruises blooming across my body. I could tell she was scared. They all were.

I sat up as best I could, blood still dried on my temple from where Eliah had slammed the tray on her own forehead and framed me for it. My limbs trembled, but I forced my voice steady.

“I can give you all of my treasures,” I whispered, nodding to the vanity where a velvet box lay tucked behind the mirror. “They’re all in there. Gold, gems... the ones my mother gave me before she died.”

The maid froze. Her eyes flicked to the box, then back to me.

“It’s nothing hard,” I added quickly. “Can you just do me a favor? Please. Find me something that can boost my strength. Anything. Just an hour, that’s all I need.”

She hesitated again, biting her lip. But then, slowly, she nodded. Her eyes darted toward the door, then she scurried out like a shadow.

I exhaled shakily, my hands trembling in my lap. I had to survive tonight. I had to. My brother—Santino—was still out there. He would come back. I had to hold on.

Later that night, Thorne returned, eyes cold and distant, as the same maid quietly helped lift me onto a stretcher. My body felt like dead weight. I struggled, trying to resist, but I was too weak. They strapped me down as if I were some wild animal.

“Eliah,” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “You’ll never win.”

She only smiled and stepped forward, humming a cheerful tune. The sound sent a chill down my spine. Everyone in the room flinched. Is this the kind woman they believed in? Is this the "angel" Damon defended?

She leaned close, her breath brushing against my cheek.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, her lips curling into a vicious smile. “Enjoy the show. I’ll be standing on the balcony with my son, watching the entire kingdom bow to us. You? You’ll be just a whisper of a mistake.”

They pushed the stretcher forward. My breath came in shallow gasps. Every bump sent pain up my spine. We stopped near the main hall where Mrs. Moonvil stood in regal silence.

“I accepted you into this family,” she said coolly, “but you turned out to be worse than we feared. All this poison… and treachery.”

Lies. All lies. But no one here wanted the truth. Eliah had wrapped them all in a neat little fantasy where she was the saint, and I was the curse.

“I will pay you all back,” I said, voice raw, eyes burning. “Tenfold.”

That was all I managed before Thorne dragged the stretcher forward, away from the judgmental glares, away from the whispers of the court that had already decided my fate.

Mrs. Moonvil’s face twisted in rage. “We tried to help you. And this is how you repay us?”

Outside, the halls filled with panic. Staff and maids—those not in the know—rushed about, clearly unsettled by the sight of their Luna being wheeled into the emergency wing like a dying animal. They didn't know what was happening. Not yet.

The poison coursed faster through my veins. The world tilted, spinning wildly. I clenched my hand into a fist, digging my nails so deep that blood welled up. I had to stay awake. I couldn’t pass out now.

I looked to the maids pushing me and saw Thorne already ahead, preparing the surgical instruments. He wouldn't dare defy Damon. Not anymore.

Then—my pocket. I tapped it with my fingertips. Yes. The vial was still there.

Now.

With one swift motion, I slipped my hand in and pierced myself with the hidden syringe. Fire tore through my body, hot and violent. The serum worked. My limbs twitched, strength slowly trickling back.

Not much time.

I lunged, elbowing one of the maids and sending the stretcher lurching. I rolled off it, hitting the floor hard, but I didn’t stop. I scrambled up, staggering through the corridor. My heart pounded like thunder in my ears.

Ten minutes. That was all I had.

I ran, weaving through empty halls, past stunned staff too shocked to react. My bare feet slapped the cold tiles as I rushed toward the eastern gate—the one guarded by the fewest wolves. If I could just reach the forest. Just ten more steps…

But something slammed into my back with brute force.

I hit the ground with a grunt, pain exploding in my ribs.

A hand grabbed my ankle and yanked me back.

Damon.

His eyes burned with fury, his breath hot against my neck as he hauled me up like I weighed nothing.

“Did you really think you could escape me?” he snarled. “You picked the quietest route—foolish. That just means I can drag you back without anyone asking questions.”

He flung me over his shoulder and marched back through the halls.

“Fight all you want, Selene,” he said, his voice cold. “Your time is up.”

The sterile light of the surgical room blinded me. I was thrown onto the table, my wrists strapped down. Thorne stood above me with a scalpel in one hand, hesitation in his eyes.

“Don’t do this,” I croaked. “Thorne… please.”

But he didn’t respond.

My stomach tightened with dread. The baby inside me shifted—faint, but still alive.

No. No, please.

My womb burned. My baby squirmed inside me weakly.

Not my baby.

Thorne injected the anesthesia once. Twice. A third time. My mind began to fade, but I gritted my teeth.

Not yet. Not like this.

I screamed. Or at least, I thought I did. My throat burned, but no sound came out. My eyes were heavy, my limbs numb. I felt the scalpel. I felt them opening me.

My baby…

Then—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion rocked the walls. Smoke filled the room.

The lights above me flickered. Alarms blared. I heard shouting—wolves running, someone coughing, glass shattering.

What—?

What just happened?

My mind screamed to stay awake, but the potion had worn off.

I tried to move.

Tried to speak.

Tried to reach my baby one last time.

Then darkness swallowed me whole.