The Triplet Alphas' Secret Mate-Chapter 66: Thought You Were Dead
Scarlett’s POV
They left, the heavy click of the door echoing their departure. My wolf, Zoe, was practically screaming, a low, murderous growl vibrating in my chest. She wanted to tear through the door and rip the silk off their backs, but I held her back with everything I had left. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞
They will pay, I thought, my hand trembling as I touched my stinging cheek. They will pay for touching me, but not tonight. I was too exhausted to fight anymore tonight.
I crawled onto the bed, the room still tilting slightly from the alcohol, and pulled the covers up to my chin. I forced my eyes shut, trying to drown out the sound of the party downstairs and the high-pitched threats of the Silver Lake sisters.
But as the darkness of sleep began to pull me under, the image flashed in my mind again.
The hand.
The pale, delicate hand I had seen in the woods, clutching Alpha Lennox’s shoulder. It wasn’t just a hand.
I had seen that hand in the grand hallway. I had seen it in the oil painting that hung above the fireplace in the Alpha’s private study—the one we were told never to touch, the one we were told to respect as if it were a shrine.
It was Luna Olivia’s hand.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, even in my semi-conscious state. But that was impossible. Luna Olivia had been dead for two years. My parents had been blamed for the assassination that led to her death. I had spent my life as a traitor’s daughter because of her.
But the hand... the familiar scent...
"No..." I whispered weakly, shaking my head against the pillow. "That’s not possible..."
I let the thought slip away, sinking into a heavy, black sleep—my last memory still clinging to that hand.
The next morning, I was woken not by the sun, but by the cold splash of water hitting my face.
I gasped, sitting up abruptly, my head throbbing with a hangover that felt like a thousand hammers. I groaned, the light from the balcony windows feeling like needles in my eyes. I squinted through the droplets of water dripping from my lashes, finally focusing on the face hovering over me.
It was Alpha Ethan.
His expensive shirt was slightly wrinkled, and his brow was pulled low in a deep, anxious line. He wasn’t wearing his formal jacket anymore, and his hands were trembling slightly as he reached out to steady me.
"Scarlett, for a moment I thought you were dead," he breathed, his voice thick with relief. "I’ve been knocking for ten minutes and got no response. I finally had to climb through the balcony only to see you lying there like a corpse. I tried calling your name, shaking you... nothing worked until I had to pour that water on you."
I frowned, rubbing my eyes and trying to push back the pounding in my skull. Memory after memory started to flood back—the triplets devouring me, the sisters slapping me, and that pale, ghostly hand in the woods.
Ethan’s gaze shifted away from my face, scanning the room. His eyes landed on the empty bottles of heavy alcohol rolled under the chair, then moved to the red dress crumpled on the floor. He let out a low, disappointed huff.
"You’ve been drinking," he stated, his voice dropping from a worried tone to a disappointed one. "Alone? After everything that happened at the ceremony?"
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a wet strand of hair behind my ear, but he froze. His thumb grazed the edge of my cheek—the spot where Camila had slapped me. Even through the haze of the hangover, I felt the sharp sting return.
"Who did this?" Ethan’s voice turned dangerously quiet. The worried friend vanished, replaced by the lethal Alpha who had stood up for me in the hall. "Someone hit you. Was it one of the brothers?"
"No," I croaked, my voice sounding like I’d swallowed glass. I pulled the damp sheets tighter around myself. "The sisters. The... fiancées. They barged into my room and attacked me."
Ethan’s jaw tightened so hard I heard the bone pop. He looked as if he wanted to go downstairs and tear the mansion apart. But then he looked back at the empty bottles and shook his head before returning to face me.
"Go get ready," he said, his voice softening but remaining firm. "I came to call you for breakfast. I’ll be waiting outside the door. Don’t take too long."
I nodded silently, my head still throbbing. I waited for the click of the door as he stepped out, then I scrambled into the bathroom. I washed the remnants of the cold water and the night’s tears from my face, staring at the faint red mark on my cheek.
I picked out one of the outfits Ethan had bought for me—a pair of high-waisted, cream-colored linen trousers and a soft, sage-green knitted bodysuit. It was casual but elegant, making me look expensive.
I pulled my chocolate brown hair back into a sleek, high bun to keep it out of my face and slipped on a pair of simple leather sandals.
When I opened the door, Ethan was leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the bun that exposed the faint bruising on my cheek. He nodded once, a silent gesture of approval. "Better. Let’s go."
I followed him through the winding corridors of the packhouse. My heart was a drum in my chest, and my palms were sweating. Usually, at this time, I would be in the kitchens, lugging heavy trays of bacon and eggs for the high-ranking members. Now, I was walking toward the main dining area as a guest.
As we neared the double oak doors of the dining hall, the scent of expensive coffee and sizzling meat hit me—but so did the thick, suffocating tension of the Alpha’s table.
We stepped inside, and the room went deathly quiet. Every eye turned to me.
