MAEVE'S POV
She wanted me to break. To lash out. To crumble.
It was what she wanted. Why she had finally decided to reveal this to me. And goddess, it was tempting.
The truth was shocking, a blade plunged straight into my past, twisting everything I thought I knew. But I had prepared for this.
Did it even matter now since she'd woefully failed?
When I decided to return to Ash Creek, I knew I would have to face the ugliest parts of my past.
I had braced myself for the worst.
And for Devon's sake—for Asha's—I did the last thing Serena ever expected.
I laughed.
I threw my head back and laughed so hard, my shoulders shook and tears sprang to my eyes.
Serena's triumphant expression faltered. She narrowed her eyes at me, clearly unnerved.
"What the fuck is so funny?"
"You," I gasped between chuckles, wiping the corners of my eyes. "You're fucking hilarious."
Her jaw clenched. "What did you just say?"
"You're so far gone, you actually believe your own delusions."
She took a step toward me, but I didn't budge.
"You really think Asha isn't Ivan's?" I mused, shaking my head. "And yet, you just admitted to poisoning me five years ago. Now tell me—how exactly are you planning to prove that he isn't Ivan's son without exposing yourself as the sick, desperate bitch who nearly cost Ivan his heir?"
Serena's face drained of color. I smirked, watching the exact moment panic seeped in.
"You're fucked either way," I whispered. "A typical loser bitch."
She gaped at me. Tried to speak. No words came out.
Her body trembled with suppressed rage, but she couldn't refute it.
I had won. For now.
I knew better than to believe this was the end—but for the moment, it was enough.
I adjusted the basket in my hands, sighing dramatically.
"Look, as fun as this has been—" (hardly) "—I actually have important things to do."
Serena fumed as I held up the basket.
"So, if you'll excuse me, I have an ailing Luna to attend to." Then, just because I could, I leaned in one last time. "And don't worry— I won't tell Ivan you poisoned me and nearly cost him his heir." I smiled sweetly. "Frankly, I'd hate to see what he'd do to you if he ever found out."
The fear in her eyes was delicious. She opened her mouth—probably to spew more venom—but I was done.
With one last mocking smile, I brushed past her and resumed my walk.
Behind me, I felt the intensity of her murderous glare burning into my back. But I didn't turn around. She wasn't worth it.
By the time I reached the Alpha Queen's chambers, Lydia was awake. She was still in bed, looking frail, helpless, and miserable.
Her skin pale as parchment, her nightdress hanging off her bony shoulders. It suited her. A perfect look for a heartless bitch like her.
A mousy-looking maid stood near the French windows, folding laundry, her hands trembling as she tried to make herself invisible in the presence of the furious Luna.
I knew that look of terror well. I had once been at Lydia's mercy, just like her.
Every day, I had prayed for nightfall—because it was the only time I could escape Lydia's cruelty.
At my entrance, Lydia's scowl deepened. Her pale lips curled in disgust.
"Maeve," she spat, hissing my name like it physically wounded her to say it. Her gaze burned with hatred. "What the hell are you still doing in Ash Creek? I thought you'd be gone by now."
I smiled.
"Good morning to you too, Lydia."
"Answer me," she snapped, voice grating with venom. "Why do I have to suffer your presence first thing in the morning?"
I shrugged, letting her stew in her own bitterness.
"You should ask your son."
She frowned.
"Believe it or not," I continued, watching her closely, "he wants me here. To heal you." I leaned in. "I hear you've got the pitting."
Lydia sat up abruptly, her covers shifting to reveal her legs—swollen twice their original size.
She was in no condition to move, much less fight me.
"I don't need your help," she fired back. "I'd rather die than receive treatment from a whoring scum like you. So pack up and get the fuck out of my sight."
I chuckled darkly, unfazed by her rage.
"You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get rid of me."
Her gaze narrowed, and for a moment, I saw it—the panic behind her fury. She wasn't just angry. She was scared.
"Wait a minute." Her voice turned calculating. "Is this really about waiting for the DNA test?" Her lips curled. "You think that brat of yours is going to be named heir?"
I tilted my head. "I have no such thoughts."
That wasn't entirely true. I had every intention of ensuring Asha became heir—but Lydia Cross didn't need to know that.
I set my basket at the foot of her bed, rummaging through it. Found it. I pulled out a slender vial, holding it out.
"Here. This should help with the pain. Reduce the swelling."
Lydia's face twisted with disgust. Then, in a violent burst of strength, she lunged.
With a sharp, hissing snarl, she snatched the basket and flung it across the room. Glass shattered. Vials of herbs crashed against the floor, spilling liquid like blood across the pristine tiles.
The maid gasped—slapping her hands over her mouth as the red stain spread. For a moment, she stood there, frozen in fear.
Then, she dropped to her knees, scrambling to pick up the broken shards. Before she could touch them, I caught her by the wrist.
"Don't."
Her breath hitched.
"I-It's fine," she stuttered.
"It's not," I said firmly, pulling her up to her feet. "What's your name?"
She blinked, surprised by the question. "Theresa."
I offered a small, reassuring smile.
"Leave us, Theresa."
She hesitated. I tightened my grip just slightly, my voice softer—but leaving no room for argument.
"I've got this."
She swallowed. Nodded. Then scurried out of the room. Leaving me alone with Lydia.
I locked the door. And then, I turned.
Lydia was still sneering, but there was something else now—a sliver of uncertainty creeping into her stare.
Perfect.
I moved toward the bed. Slow. Leisurely.
Lydia's sneer twitched.
"What are you doing?" she snapped.
I didn't answer.
Not until I reached beneath my dress—and pulled out the dagger hidden in my thigh holster.
Lydia paled. Her lips parted.
"W-What are you—"
I pressed the tip of the blade against her throat. The soft whimper that slipped from her lips was delicious.
I leaned in closer, watching her pulse hammer against her fragile, paper-thin skin. And I grinned. Slow. Feral. Vengeful.
"I'm going to kill you, Lydia." I whispered it sweetly. "And this time?" I dragged the blade just slightly, feeling her tremble with immense satisfaction. "No one is coming to save you."