Lethia flung her bedroom door open, seized her suitcase, then yanked her wardrobe open, hurriedly grabbing her clothes. But…
'Wait, this is my father's house—his land. Why should I be the one to leave?'
She hurled her clothes onto the bed and sank onto its edge. The burning sensation in her chest gradually subsided, replaced by a dull cramp twisting in her stomach.
She bit her lower lip, trying to process what had just happened. Crying wouldn't solve anything, even as her damned warm eyes threatened to spill over.
Ever since she had learned she was wolfless, she had fought not to dwell on how her cursed fate had damned her.
Thanks to her father's power, she had lived a spoiled life, shielded from society's cruelty—an Alpha's daughter still held the status of a she-wolf.
Her confidence had soared when the supposedly smart and handsome Alpha's son from an allied pack claimed he could feel the mate bond and made the first move.
Indeed, she was not like any other wolfless who blindly trusted a bond she couldn't feel herself.
But despite her strict judgment, tonight she regretted the decision to accept Varrel into her life.
For two years, their marriage had felt too good to be true—until her father's sudden death last month.
Her thoughts reeled with suspicion. She had to connect the dots, and everything traced back to that bloody genetic test result.
She grabbed her phone, intending to call her gynaecologist—the one whose signature was on the report. 'She must know something.'
Gnawing at her thumb, she listened to the dial tone, only for the grating voice of the operator to cut in—The number you are trying to reach is unavailable.
"Shit! C'mon, Lethia… think… think… think…"
A notification popped up on her screen. She opened the message—it was from Lana Ashcroft, her second cousin.
[Lana: Is this true?]
[Lana: (Open the link)]
Lethia clicked the taut link, leading her to a Videotube page. Her eyes widened, her jaw slackening in disbelief. The chaos of her frantic shoe-throwing had become the thumbnail, while an edited video of her humiliating evening played out seamlessly—from the very start to the moment she mocked her husband and the pack.
[Lethia: Those viral leech bitches! Yeah, it happened.]
[Lana: You're leaving that house then?]
[Lethia: Why should I?]
[Lana: Let's meet up. I'm at Brookwood for the festival. Bet you need someone to vent to!]
[Lethia: Sure… Share the loc!]
[Lana: (Open the location)]
Their grandfathers were brothers, though never on good terms, each choosing a different path.
Lana's family had settled in the Capital, while Lethia's grandfather had embraced the quiet life of a cattleman in the countryside.
Still, despite rarely meeting in person, she and Lana had always got along as cousins.
Brookwood was three villages away from her father's ranch—just a two-hour drive. A brief escape might do her good, and two heads were better than one when it came to finding a way out of this mess.
Lethia set her phone down, quickly changed into casual clothes, grabbed her bag and car keys, and headed for the front door—only to be blocked by a group of lowly omega lackeys, Varrel's usual bodyguards.
They informed her that Varrel had ordered them to escort her to the temple that very night.
She recoiled, snapping at them to move aside.
But the moment she turned for the garage, two of them lunged, gripping her arms in a bruising hold and forcing her towards the waiting black van.
Lethia screamed, cursing frantically—but no one came to help.
Lethia sat powerless in the van, wedged between two omegas.
"How dare you," she panted, rage burning through her veins. "Let me talk to Varrel first."
"Alpha Varrel is too busy right now. He'll meet you at the temple… next week, maybe," he scoffed.
"What the fucking hell?" Lethia panted in rage. What kind of demon had possessed her idiot husband to go this far—imprisoning her like a mutt?
The omega behind the wheel smirked. "You're just a wolfless reject, discarded without a second thought. Be grateful for Alpha Varrel's mercy. And don't worry, he made sure we'd keep you comfortable. No harm will come to you."
"But you already have." Lethia shot a glare at the two beside her, their hands still gripping her arms like shackles. Only then did they finally let go.
"You still belong to Ashcroft Ranch & Cheese Farm. Do you really think you'll be safe after doing this to its heiress?"
Ashcroft wasn't just any ranch—it ran the best cheese farm in the country.
All three omegas burst into laughter, mocking her as if she'd just told the funniest joke.
"Yeah, well… think whatever you like, ma'am. We just follow orders. Thinking is your job, not ours," the mouthy one sneered.
Lethia exhaled sharply, her pulse spiking. Right, there was no point in reasoning with brainless clowns.
She glanced out the window, taking in the road. The temple Varrel mentioned was in a village just before Brookwood.
That meant she had two villages—at most—to get out of this shitshow before she was trapped.
She bit the inside of her cheek, and with a surge of adrenaline, she threw out her first bait.
"I need to pee," she demanded.
"Ma'am, don't try anything funny. We're not stupid."
"Yes, you are! Do you not know pregnant women need to pee constantly? And if I hold it, it'll hurt like hell. You said you wouldn't harm me, didn't you?"
The omegas exchanged glances, whispering among themselves about stopping at a rest stop.
Even though werewolves shared a similar biology with humans, they were still overwhelmingly powerful in their strength and senses.
A mere discomfort couldn't possibly damage their bodies as long as their wolf spirits remained intact.
But for Lethia, her healing ability was weaker than that of normal werewolves—though still stronger than a human's.
Lethia smirked, knowing these brainless omegas would believe her words without question—all because she was wolfless.
It was a custom that the Alpha needed omegas who were ignorant, obedient, and willing to follow orders like slaughterhouse workers, blindly swearing their slaughter-bound loyalty without question.
The driver pulled into the first rest stop—it was quiet, poorly maintained, and dimly lit.
Lethia refused to get out, insisting they stop at the next one instead.
She claimed the toilets were too dark and that she suffered from nyctophobia.
Once again, the omegas exchanged glances, nodding along as she explained her condition—a fear of the dark that could make her faint.
She leaned hard on the fact that they'd been ordered to keep her unharmed.
Whether her claim was true or not didn't matter, their dimwitted brains would cling to a single objective—deliver her to the temple without causing her harm.
The black van continued toward the next rest stop, one that was bright, bustling, and well-maintained, complete with a sizable convenience store. Lethia smiled knowingly.
As she stepped out of the van, she noticed three cars parked at the charging station, their LED screens displaying the remaining charge time.
Just as she predicted, the three omegas trailed her, even when she pointed out that they looked like perverts stalking a woman to the restroom. They waited outside as she walked in.
Inside the women's restroom, Lethia turned on the sink, splashing cold water on her face.