Olivia’s POV
The moment Lennox took the handkerchief from me, I spun around and walked away before I did something reckless. Luckily, he didn’t call me back. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if he had.
I returned to my room, closed the door behind me, and let out a long, shaky breath. Dropping onto the bed, I pressed my palms to my face.
How much longer can I keep this up?
How much longer can I pretend to be someone else—someone I’m not?
Before I could gather my thoughts, the door creaked open. Damien stepped inside with a familiar scowl on his face.
"What you did at the table," he said sternly, "should never happen again."
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. I just stared past him at the wall.
He stood silently for a moment, then added, "You should get ready. We’re attending the first funeral ritual."
My head snapped toward him. "Hell no," I snapped, my voice sharp. "You expect me to stand there and watch while they perform a funeral service for me when I’m still alive?"
Damien’s eyes darkened with frustration. He stepped closer, towering over me. "You don’t have a choice," he said coldly. "You’re no longer Olivia. You’re Rebecca. And you’re my wife now. So act like one. You have ten minutes. Be downstairs."
He left before I could say another word.
Shaking, I forced myself up and went to the wardrobe. My fingers trembled as I pulled out a white gown.
I dressed quickly and made my way downstairs, my heart thudding in my chest. Damien was already waiting by the entrance. He didn’t speak, just gestured for me to follow him.
We walked through the corridor in silence, and then stepped out into the garden where the ceremony was being held.
Everything stopped in me when I saw it.
My photos—everywhere.
There were flowers, white cloth draped from the trees, candles flickering in soft circles. A large framed photo of me stood at the center of the altar, with a golden ribbon tied across it.
The pack was gathered—dressed in white, heads bowed, lips trembling. Some were crying. Real, heavy tears.
And there... just a few feet away, I saw them.
The triplets.
Lennox, Louis, and Levi. All dressed in ceremonial white. All standing still, like statues carved from grief.
Lennox’s face was blank, but his eyes told a different story. Red, puffy, broken.
Louis stood with his arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together.
Levi’s hand covered his mouth, like if he opened it, the sob might escape.
I stood there frozen.
Did they ever love me like this?
Why did it take losing me for them to show it?
The Elder began to chant, starting the first funeral ritual. Everyone lowered their heads, murmuring the ancient words of passing.
A tense silence hung in the air as neither of us said a word. The air in the room was heavy—almost too heavy to breathe in. I could feel Damien’s presence just across the room, sitting on the couch with that familiar stiffness in his posture, like he was calculating his next move.
For a while, neither of us said a word.
But I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
My voice came out hoarse. "You know, don’t you?"
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look my way.
I sat up slightly, ignoring the pounding in my head. "Gabriel and his sister... they tried to kill me. And you know why."
Still, he was silent, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.
"I deserve to know," I pressed, louder this time. "I saw the hate in their eyes. I felt it. That kind of rage isn’t born out of nothing."
A long pause, and I thought he wouldn’t answer me at all.
But suddenly, he exhaled and leaned back slowly against the couch, tilting his head to the ceiling like he was debating how much truth to spill.
"It’s because of your mother," he said finally, his voice low.
My heart skipped. "What about her?"
"She slit their mother’s throat, Olivia. And their father... never spoke again after that night."
I stared at him, stunned. "What...?"
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