CHAPTER 330: DEVIL’S PIE

Her steps were extraordinarily slow, each one deliberate, as though she was moving through water.

The thin garment she wore swayed faintly with her movement. It was long and soft, covering every inch of her skin in a way that hid the scars she knew she would find if she dared to take it off.

The knowledge of them sat on her shoulders like a weight. It didn’t hurt anymore — not in the way it once had — but looking at it did. Seeing what she had become was its own kind of agony.

’How can someone like me get revenge?’ Fiona mumbled to herself under her breath, the words barely audible even to her own ears. She knew the truth of her situation all too well.

Most of the power she had once possessed came not from brute strength, but from her beauty and the status of being her father’s daughter. That beauty had been her armor, her influence, and her weapon. Now... it was tarnished. And as a werewolf, she was much weaker than even the elite guards who stood watch in the halls.

She had found absolutely no reason to train her body — why would she, when she had once been untouchable without lifting a claw?

Worse still was the constant ache, a slow-burning pain that lived deep inside her chest and flared each time she thought of William. The betrayal was sharp, unrelenting, and it had taken root inside her.

He had discarded her like she was nothing after he had gotten what he wanted. He had used her for his own purposes while she had been willing to give him her life without question.

That wound cut deeper than anything else — deeper even than her father’s cruelty, which she had always expected. Cruelty from him was inevitable. ’You can’t ask a leopard to change its skin!’ she told herself bitterly. Asking her father for tenderness, compassion, or even fairness would have been asking the impossible. It was something he was never capable of giving.

Her gaze lifted slowly towards the mirror. The reflection staring back was hers, yet felt distant, like the image of someone she had once known but could no longer claim to be. She wasn’t ugly — not entirely. Her features still held their shape, her black hair still long, waist-length, and silky, catching the light with a faint sheen. Her body remained tall and slender. But none of that mattered. The scars were all she could see, etched into her as reminders of what had been taken. They were what anyone would see. Beneath the fabric, she knew exactly what she would find — and she hated it.

"Getting revenge on William?" she murmured aloud, her tone caught somewhere between disbelief and mockery. "He’s dead!" She let the words hang in the air like a curse. There was no way she could take revenge on a corpse. Even the spawn of a baby he had implanted inside her was gone, leaving her with nothing but the hollow ache of loss and humiliation.

But as the thought drifted through her, she froze. Something shifted in her expression, her eyes widening slightly. A new thought began to unfurl within her mind — slow, deliberate, and dangerous. Her own child was gone... but hadn’t Carissa claimed that the baby in her own stomach belonged to William?

Hadn’t Carissa gone as far as to brag openly about it, speaking with that air of smug certainty that made Fiona’s teeth clench? The more she thought about it, the darker her expression became.

Her mind turned towards Fervor. She knew him — knew that he had been William’s friend. And she knew he had allowed William to do the things he had done to her without lifting a finger to stop him.

’I can use him!’ The thought came sharp and clear, slicing through her like a spark in the dark. ’Crush Carissa and ensure that Father never gets his hands on the territory he so desperately wants! How can he if I ensure that half of it belongs to me?’

Her heart began to pound faster, beating so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. The longer she let the thought settle, the more intoxicating it became. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins harder than before, stirring something inside her she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Her expression darkened further as she kept her gaze locked on her reflection in the mirror. It was as though she wanted to memorize it — every line, every shadow, every scar — to ensure she never forgot the face staring back at her.

She opened her mouth, speaking to Huria in the same breath.

"Get me a dress! Something with a V-neck and a stringy strap. Something that accentuates my figure!" Her tone left no room for hesitation.

Huria, still kneeling on the ground, stiffened. She was sweating — the weight of her earlier words still fresh in her mind — realizing she had spoken far more than she should have.

But she was beyond taken aback when, instead of receiving a harsh rebuke, she heard Fiona speak with the same commanding pride she had once carried with ease.

It was the tone of a woman who believed the world and everything in it belonged to her, and that those around her existed only to serve and admire. Huria was surprised... but more than that, she was relieved. She didn’t dare ask questions. She simply moved to obey, rising quickly to help Fiona into the dress she had chosen.

It was a light blue dress that clung in all the right places, making Fiona’s figure look phenomenal. The fabric fell gracefully, flattering her body in a way that almost seemed to reclaim a fragment of the beauty she thought she had lost. If only her face wasn’t... But Huria cut the thought short before it could fully form.

She moved to gather jewelry, laying out pieces for Fiona to inspect. Fiona’s eyes studied them carefully, her hands selecting the ones that best complemented her skin tone and the color of the dress.

The process was not as easy as it had once been. There was no joy in it now. Her left fist curled tightly at her side, the tension in her body visible, as though she were restraining herself from throwing the jewelry box to the floor in frustration. Tears threatened at the edges of her vision, but she forced them back as thoughts assaulted her mind like poisoned whispers.

’You’re ugly.’

’Playing dress-up... such a dumbass.’

’No man would ever look at you like before! This is stupid!’

’Cover up! Monster!’

She ignored them all, locking them away in the furthest corner of her mind. She straightened slightly and instructed Huria to fix the clasp of the pearl necklace she had finally decided on. Once it was secured, Fiona rose to her full height.

Unlike before, she didn’t bother reaching for shoes. She kept on the soft slippers she was already wearing, their muted sound following her as she stepped towards the door.

The guards, who had been standing watch and following her every move, instinctively prepared to fall in behind her. But they stopped short when Fiona spoke — not loudly, but in a way that carried the unmistakable weight of command. It was the voice of someone used to being obeyed without question.

"Keep your distance!" she ordered, her gaze sharp. She spoke as though she were the one granting them the privilege to guard her. "You can watch from afar! I’m heading upstairs to see Fervor!"

She didn’t bother to attach the word Lord to his name. She didn’t care that some of the guards bristled at the omission, their expressions betraying a flicker of offense.

Fiona didn’t wait for them to decide how they felt about it. She stepped out, her movements purposeful, heading straight toward Fervor’s office — the very one that had once belonged to William. She knew it was where he would be.

’I guess I’ll give myself to the devil... as long as I can have half of his pie!’ she thought, the words ringing in her mind like a pact with herself. Only then, she knew, could she aim for his throne.