Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 522

Chapter 522: Hate Me

Sofia’s POV

My heart was beating so loudly I could hear it in my ears.

Damien didn’t sit. He didn’t rest. He just stood there, eyes fixed on the map-covered desk as if he were still chasing Rebecca’s ghost.

"After that suspicion," he continued, voice low, "I placed spies around the Thorn Pack. Quietly. Carefully. I didn’t want Alpha Nigel to know I was watching his brother."

I wiped my face quickly. "Damien—"

He ignored my interruption.

"For weeks, nothing happened. Nobody knew anything. Nobody talked. Nobody slipped."

His jaw tightened.

"But two days ago... I finally got confirmation."

My breath caught.

"Confirmation of who killed Rebecca," he finished.

My knees weakened.

Damien looked up at me with eyes that were dead tired, emotionally drained, and still burning with fury.

"It was him," he said. "The bastard you saw downstairs. The head warrior of Thorn Pack. The man who took her. Tortured her. Murdered her."

He ran a hand across his face.

"I took permission from the Council, gathered every proof I had—and brought him here to be punished."

My voice trembled. "W-What... what are you going to do to him?"

Damien scoffed. A cold, humorless sound.

"What will I do to him?" he repeated. "Or what I have already done?"

My stomach twisted. "W-What do you mean?"

Damien walked to the small glass bar in the corner and poured himself a drink. His hands were steady now, as if all the rage had already been burned out of him in the basement.

"He’s dead, Sofia," he said calmly, lifting the glass. "He died a few minutes before you came upstairs."

I gasped.

Damien took a slow sip.

"And his headless body," he added quietly, "will be dropped at his pack border... exactly the same way he left Rebecca at mine."

My hand flew over my mouth.

An eye for an eye.

A head for a head.

Damien placed the drink down and finally looked at me.

Coldly.

Emotionlessly.

And that’s when I knew his heart was shutting down...

Not because of Rebecca.

But because of me.

I swallowed hard and stepped forward. "Damien... I got an email. A scheduled mail. From Rebecca. She—she told me everything. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know."

His jaw flexed.

I kept talking, desperate. "And someone... someone called me. A man. He told me you were the one who—"

Damien let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "A man called you?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes. He said—"

"That man," Damien snarled, "was Rebecca’s killer."

My heart stopped.

My mouth slowly opened. "W-What?"

"Who else?" he barked.

His eyes were burning now—anger mixed with hurt, betrayal, exhaustion.

"He saw you as an easy tool. He used your pain. He used your fear. He used the fact that you don’t trust me."

"No," I whispered, shaking. "Damien, no—"

He looked away from me.

"You believed him."

My chest cracked wide open. "Damien, I didn’t know—please—"

He finally stepped closer, and his voice dropped into a cold whisper.

"You believed I killed your best friend."

Tears blurred my vision. "I made a mistake—I’m sorry, Damien, I’m so sorry—"

"You believed I had an affair with her," he pressed.

"No," I cried. "I was confused—he tricked me—"

"And you stabbed me, Sofia."

I froze.

His voice didn’t break.

His expression didn’t change.

He just said it... flatly.

Like he was listing facts.

"If you could believe something that horrible..." he said quietly, "then you don’t know me."

My breath shattered. "Damien—please—"

"And if you could stab me that easily..."

His eyes narrowed, full of pain.

"...then you don’t love me."

The words slammed into me like a physical blow.

"Damien, don’t say that," I begged. "Please, don’t—"

He stepped back, as if my presence burned him.

"There is nothing left," he said firmly. "Nothing between us except co-parenting."

My knees buckled. "No. Damien, please—please, I love you—"

"Stop." His voice snapped like ice. "Don’t use that word."

I reached for him.

He stepped away again.

"Damien, forgive me," I cried. "Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll prove—"

"You can’t," he said simply.

My heart stopped.

He pointed toward the door.

"Please leave my room."

I shook my head, tears falling uncontrollably. "Damien, don’t do this—please, don’t push me away—"

"I need privacy," he said coldly. "Please leave."

I stumbled backward, unable to breathe, unable to think.

He turned his back to me again—the same way he did in the basement—and this time the message was clear:

I meant nothing to him.

Not anymore.

I stood in the doorway, broken, shaking, destroyed.

"Damien..." I whispered one last time.

He didn’t turn.

He didn’t respond.

He didn’t even move.

So I left.

I walked out of Damien’s room like a ghost.

My legs didn’t feel like my legs. My chest hurt. My eyes were burning. My throat felt tight, like someone tied a rope around it.

I went straight to my room. I closed the door. Then I fell on the floor and cried into my palms.

Big tears. Hot tears. Tears that came from my heart, not my eyes.

"Damien hates me," I whispered. "He really hates me."

My whole body shook.

I cried until my throat hurt, until no sound came out again.

I wanted to stop, but my body wouldn’t listen.

After some minutes, something strange happened.

My head started spinning.

The room became blurry. My ears rang. My chest felt heavy.

I grabbed the side of the bed and sat slowly.

"Why... why am I feeling like this?" I whispered.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but the dizziness didn’t stop.

Then another thought hit me—a small thought...

a scary thought.

"When last did I see my monthly flow...?"

I froze.

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