The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Lucian's POV

There was no warmth in her eyes. No guilt. Not even a flicker of shame. Just silence.

It wasn't the silence of someone who had nothing to say. It was the silence of someone who didn't need to say anything. Like she was watching a chicken being slaughtered and felt nothing.

Like she was watching me bleed.

I stared at her, and it was like a bad memory had clawed its way back into my life. One I thought I'd burned, buried, and left behind in the ruins of what used to be my pack.

But she stood here, alive and untouched. And all I could see was everything we'd lost.

There wasn't just disgust in me anymore. That would've been easier. Cleaner.

No. What I felt now was worse. Colder. It had festered in my bones over the years, buried under every scar, every nightmare, every betrayal. I didn't even recognize it at first. But now, standing here with her in front of me, it was impossible to ignore.

Hatred.

Not the blind rage kind—but the slow, calculated kind that came from knowing exactly who the enemy was.

I remembered the first time I saw her—four years ago. She was this quiet thing with eyes too wide for her face, voice too soft, posture too hesitant. I thought she was a bird too scared to fly, waiting for someone to show her how.

Back then, I thought I could be that person. Foolish, wasn't it?

I gave her kindness. Encouragement. Protection.

And she used it all.

Looking back now, I felt like laughing at myself. Not the amused kind. The hollow, bitter kind that curdles in your gut.

She wasn't a bird.

She was a snake. Coiled and patient. Watching.

She fooled us all.

Selene lowered her gaze when our eyes met, just like she always used to. Hands trembling at her sides, looking like she might break under a breeze. Still playing the role. Still pretending.

Pathetic.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll finish quickly. I'll go."

And there it was. That soft voice. So practiced. So familiar.

I let out a cold laugh. "You're still good at acting innocent, aren't you?"

She flinched. Not from fear. From being caught.

I stepped closer. I wanted her to hear every word.

"What happened to that perfect lady everyone adored?" I asked, tone sharp and mocking. "The sweet Selene Moonveil. Kind. Gentle. So well-loved. The kind of woman people would go to war for."

Her eyes widened. She didn't expect that.

Good.

"You played your role well," I said, tilting my head, letting my sneer show. "Everyone believed you were harmless. Graceful. Pure. But I saw the truth too late. We all did."

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Of course not. What could she say?

"You think I don't know what you were doing?" My voice lowered. "Even while hiding from your father's shadow, I heard everything. The capital never stopped talking about you. Selene Moonveil, the capital's darling. The perfect woman. No one could compare."

I stepped even closer, staring her down.

"And every time I heard your name, I started to remember the girl I once knew. The one I thought was just shy. Sweet. So easily hurt. But the girl in my memories didn't match the one they talked about in the capital."

I shook my head slowly.

"You weren't lacking confidence back then. You were pretending. You were playing us from the start."

Selene stepped back, looking like she might cry.

"That's… not true," she said, her voice barely audible.

But I wasn't listening anymore. I couldn't. Every word from her mouth felt like a thorn.

"Isn't it?" I hissed. "Then why was it always you? At every event. Every report. Earning praise from the royals, admiration from the council, and love from the people. Even after your father's crimes, they forgave you. Protected you."

I took a breath, fighting the heat crawling up my throat.

"You didn't even have to ask for it. That was your power. You made people want to protect you just by existing. That fragile little smile, that lowered gaze—it was all a trap. And we fell for it."

She opened her mouth again. Nothing came.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Stop saying that!" I snapped. The sound echoed, too loud in the quiet room. "Stop acting like you didn't know. Like you weren't raised by the most manipulative bastard the North has ever seen. And you turned out just like him."

She flinched, her shoulders curling in on themselves like a scolded child.

But it didn't matter.

"You were the reason we walked into your pack. Hoping to see you. Hoping to help you. And what did we get in return?"

I laughed—short and bitter.

"Our pack was slaughtered. Our people scattered. My brother nearly died."

I took a shaky breath and glared at her.

"And you? You walked away clean. Praised. Untouched."

"I never wanted that to happen," she whispered.

"Didn't you?" My voice dropped, barely above a growl. "I remember your face. You looked up at me like I was your savior. And all that time, you were just luring us in—exactly how your father planned it."

She looked like she couldn't breathe.

"I was a child," she said.

"So were we!" I barked. "But we were the ones who paid the price for trusting you."

I stepped back, shaking my head. Looking at her hurt more than I expected.

"Don't look at me like you're the one who's been wronged. Don't act like the victim. Not this time."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but none of them fell.

Of course they didn't. That wasn't part of her act today.

I turned away for a moment, trying to breathe, trying to stop myself from saying something I'd regret.

But when I looked back at her, something in me snapped.

"You fooled me once," I said slowly, each word hitting like a stone. "But not again. I see you for who you really are now."

I walked past her, ignoring the way her body tensed as I did. She didn't try to stop me. Good. I might have lost control if she had.

"Finish your work," I muttered. "Then leave."

I paused at the door.

"And next time… don't come near me unless you want to remember what your lies cost."

I didn't wait for a reply. I didn't want one.

The door closed behind me with a quiet click.

And I kept walking.

But deep down, as much as I hated her—hated what she'd done—there was a part of me that still burned with the memory of the girl I once thought I knew.

That was the worst part.

The betrayal wasn't just in what she did.

It was in the fact that a part of me still wanted to believe she hadn't, which makes me a real fool.