CHAPTER 117: CHAPTER 117: I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL, SELENE.

Prince Vaelen’s POV~

Moments later, I prepared to leave the Midnight Pack myself. My warriors are waiting. But just as I was about to depart, Alpha Marcus appeared with a flushed face and in a hurried manner.

"My prince!" Marcus called out, nearly tripping over himself as he ran forward. His tone was sharp with panic.

"Why so soon? You have only just arrived today. Did we offend you? Have we done something displeasing?" His voice cracked as he spoke, his pride forgotten, his words tumbling out like a beggar pleading for scraps.

I turned my head slowly; my eyes were cold and distant. A faint sneer tugged at my lips at the sight of the Alpha groveling. I said nothing for a long moment, letting Marcus stew in his own desperation.

Finally, my voice came, smooth but clipped. "I have urgent matters in the palace. That is all. Do not overthink what does not concern you."

I did not bother to soothe the Alpha’s fear, nor did I explain further. I simply ignored his lowered gaze and gave the signal to depart. Soon the Midnight Pack was left behind.

The journey home stretched long, the night giving way to dawn, the dawn to day. Yet when the palace gates came into sight, I did not feel relief. My mind was still restless, heavy with thoughts of my uncle’s sudden departure.

By the time I reached my chambers, my body was tired. The long journey from the Midnight Pack still weighed on me, and the palace air felt heavier than ever. Yet the moment my hand touched the door, a strange unease struck me.

The instant I entered, my steps froze. My expression hardened as I caught something strange.

The room felt wrong.

A heavy, cloying scent hung in the air, strange and sweet, curling through my senses like smoke. My wolf stirred uncomfortably, my head clouding, and my instincts sharpening. I knew at once—it wasn’t natural. It was a drug, a poison, something meant to weaken my control.

My eyes narrowed to ice.

And then I saw her.

On my bed, sprawled with shamelessness, lay a woman in a flimsy nightgown that barely hid anything. The fabric slipped off her shoulders, clinging only where it needed to, leaving the rest of her body open and displayed as if she were some kind of gift.

Her lips curved in a painted smile, her hair tumbled over the pillows, and her body was posed in deliberate seduction.

For a heartbeat, my blood boiled so hard that I wanted to choke the life out of her.

Arlena. The fucking audacity of this bitch to dare enter my chamber.

My hands curled into fists, my jaw clenched until it ached. Rage shot through me, hot and cold all at once.

How dare she enter my room, dare to drug me, and dare to think I would ever lower myself to touch her. The sight of her on my bed, the thought that she had planned this like I would worship her—disgust burned through every vein in my body.

"Get...out." My voice was low and sharp, a roar trembling beneath the surface. My eyes blazed like fire, and my wolf snarled within.

Arlena, instead of cowering, rose slowly from the bed. Confidence shimmered in her eyes, her body movements provocatively bold, the thin fabric slipping lower with every step she took. Her lips parted in a smile that sickened me.

"Alpha," she whispered sweetly, "let me help you."

She dared to lift her hand toward my chest.

My fury snapped. I smacked her hand away so hard the sound cracked in the air. "Do not touch me!" I thundered, my teeth bared, my voice rough with disgust. My whole body trembled with restrained violence. I closed my eyes, if only to shut out the revolting sight before me.

But Arlena did not falter. Her breath came fast, her eyes desperate. No—she was not going to lose this opportunity. After countless schemes and begging, she had finally reached this point.

If she left empty-handed, all her chances would be ruined. She knew this was her last opportunity to become the Lycan Queen. She needed him to mark her as his mate—only then would her position be secured.

She lunged at me, her body colliding against mine, her lips inches from my throat. She thought if she pressed herself on me, if she ignited my instincts, my control would snap. What alpha could resist a willing woman sprawled against him?

But I was not like them.

Before her lips could even graze me, my fury exploded. My leg shot forward without any restraint.

The kick struck her square in the stomach.

Arlena’s scream ripped through the air as she was sent flying, crashing across the floor. Her body slammed against the door, the impact rattling the wood before it swung open.

In an instant, she was outside—sprawled on the cold ground, her gown was twisted, and her hair was tangled in a mess.

I did not wait for a second before slamming the door shut on her face, blocking the disgusting sight.

***

She lay there gasping, tears stinging her eyes as pain racked through her. For a moment, she stared at the closed door in disbelief, her heart pounding with humiliation. Then desperation clawed its way up from her throat, and she scrambled to her feet, dragging herself toward the door.

"Alpha! Please!" She cried, her voice cracking, breaking apart. "Vaelan—"

But the door never opened.

He didn’t answer. Just silence.

She pressed her forehead against the cold wood, her fists trembling as they struck the door again, weaker this time. Her chest heaved with sobs, her body shaking from the weight of rejection. Tears spilled freely now, hot and bitter.

Why? Why wouldn’t he even look at her?

Her cries softened, but the agony stayed. She slid down the door, collapsing onto the stone floor like a discarded thing. Shame burned across her skin, mixing with rage and heartbreak. Her sobs turned silent with trembling shoulders.

Then her expression twisted—grief curling into something darker.

That bitch was already dead.

Why couldn’t he just forget her?

Why couldn’t he see her, Arlena, the one who was still here, still breathing, still fighting to love him?

Was she not better?

She was the daughter of one of the largest and most powerful packs in the kingdom. She was born with honor in her bloodline, with strength in her name. And Selene? That girl had been nothing. A criminal. A slave. A mutt who wasn’t worthy to lick his boots.

She had even served the Four Brothers. She had been used and tossed aside, and still, somehow, he had loved her.

And Arlena—who had kept herself pure for him, who had swallowed her pride and taken the most shameless path just to lie beside him—had been thrown out like filth.

Why?

Why couldn’t he see the good in her?

Why couldn’t he love her?

The hatred surged like fire in her chest. When Selene had been alive, she had always outshone her. Always taken everything. Even when she tried harder. Selene always won.

And now, even in death, she hadn’t left his heart. Even now, she still had him.

Arlena’s lips curled into a snarl, her tears still falling, but her voice turned cold in the silence.

"I hope you rot in hell, Selene."

"Serves you right that you died a bitch’s death."