Phoebe’s Perspective
“You’re not going anywhere,” Kevin snapped sharply, yanking the bag I had carefully packed right out of my hands. He stormed into the room like a violent tempest, cutting off any hope I had of slipping away unnoticed. His presence was overwhelming, oppressive, filling the space with a suffocating weight that pressed down on me.
“Stay away from me!” I hissed, my voice cracking under the strain of exhaustion and fear. “Why won’t you just leave me be?”
“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice low and menacing, a cruel smile creeping across his face — the same twisted grin that haunted my dreams and nightmares alike. “Remember the promise I made to you?”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. That smile always came just before the pain.
Rage surged through me like wildfire. I lashed out, swinging both fists at him, the sharp smack of knuckles slicing through the tense air. “Get away! Just leave me alone!” My voice broke, raw with desperation and terror tangled together.
What had I ever done to deserve this endless torment? Why did he harbor such hatred for me — so complete, so unrelenting?
Kevin didn’t even flinch. My weak punches barely grazed his chest before he caught my wrists effortlessly, his grip like iron. He slammed me backward against the dresser, the wood groaning and cracking beneath the impact. A sharp pain shot through my shoulders, stealing my breath away.
With one hand, he pinned both my wrists high above my head, his strength unyielding, making any escape impossible. “You’re not going anywhere, Phoebe,” he said softly, his breath warm against my face. “I won’t let you go.”
“Why keep me here?” I spat through clenched teeth, fury bubbling beneath my words. “You hate me—and I hate you!”
His grin widened, eyes sparkling with a cruel, twisted amusement. “Because watching you suffer delights me. Every breath you take is proof that I’ve won.”
“You’re sick!” I burst out, my voice trembling with raw emotion. “No wonder Viola ran from you!”
For a moment, his expression hardened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. I knew I had struck a nerve.
The struggle drained me completely, leaving my body trembling and hollow, as if I were nothing more than an empty shell — broken beyond repair.
—
Time slipped by, though I couldn’t say how long. Days blurred into nights, and the hours that passed between felt meaningless, like a never-ending haze.
Today was the day of the ceremony — the moment when Alpha Sterling would step down, handing over the leadership of the Obsidian Claw pack to his son, Kevin. Though young for an alpha, Kevin’s ruthless efficiency had earned him the title well before this day. Sterling’s health had been failing, making the transition inevitable.
The weak morning sunlight filtered through the window, casting a pale glow across the room, but instead of comfort, it only made me feel smaller, more insignificant. I sat on the edge of my bed, numb and hollow, my eyes fixed on the faint bruises and marks on my skin — scars that would never truly fade.
Kevin entered the room with the air of someone who owned the place — and, in truth, he did. His expression was calm, confidence radiating from every deliberate movement. “Bloodmoon suits you,” he murmured with a lazy smirk. Gently, he wiped a smear of blood from my lip — a mark he’d left when he bit me too hard earlier — then brushed his thumb softly across my cheek.
I flinched at the touch. He caught the reaction and smiled faintly, a hint of mockery in his eyes. Then, leaning down, he pressed a mocking kiss to my forehead before straightening again.

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