Even through her hazy vision and muffled hearing, Addison could still make out their figures and catch fragments of their conversation. It was then, in her dazed state, that the cruel truth began to dawn on her—Claire had truly gone that far.
She hadn’t just framed Addison... she had willingly thrown herself down the stairs with her, even risking the pup in her own belly, all to get the outcome she wanted.
Addison could hardly believe it. Claire was willing to hurt herself, to endanger her unborn child, just to turn Zion further against her. But why? Claire already had everything—Zion’s attention, his care, even his child. It was only a matter of time before Zion cast Addison aside completely.
Was this all because of those nights Zion mated with her? Was that enough for Claire to hold such a bitter grudge? Enough to hate her so deeply for something she never intended—to steal Zion away?
But could Addison ever have truly stolen Zion when he hated her this much? He hated her so deeply that he didn’t even care whether she lived or died? Even now, with her body already broken and her life hanging by a thread, the pack had already heard the twisted version of the story—and they were preparing to torture her for it. Was this Zion’s way of punishing her for harming his fated mate?
Addison didn’t know anymore. All she felt was the exhaustion sinking into her bones and the sharp, endless ache of betrayal. It hurt—more than anything else ever had.
The fever was making Addison’s mind hazy, like a thick fog settling over her thoughts. She could barely make out what the others were saying anymore. The fragments of conversation she did catch only made her heart ache more.
She had thought she’d finally freed herself from Zion—that she was done being hurt by him, no matter what he did. But all it took was a moment of closeness from him... just a flicker of warmth.
And then, just as quickly, he snatched it away. He lifted her up, made her hope—only to slam her back down into the dirt.
It hurt.
Her heart throbbed with a pain deeper than she expected, and the decaying mate bond was worse than ever.
Now, she couldn’t even tell if the pain wracking her body was from that decaying mate bond or from her actual broken bones. Everything burned. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and the pain swelled within her, unbearable and wild.
It wasn’t just the fever anymore—it was the suffocating weight of betrayal, of heartbreak, of her own broken body turning against her.
Her breaths came in shallow, ragged pants. Each inhale tugged at her fractured ribs, sending sharp jolts of agony through her chest and causing cold sweat to bead on her skin. She was barely hanging on.
Then, the cell door creaked open.
Beta Greg and the others stepped inside, eyes filled with contempt and loathing as they stared down at her like she was nothing. And in that moment, despite all the pain and confusion, Addison could still feel the sting of humiliation burning just as deeply as the fever itself.
"How dare a worthless, wolfless omega like you hurt our future Luna?!" Beta Greg growled through clenched teeth, his voice thick with venom. His jaw tensed, muscles twitching as if the sheer act of spitting those words at Addison wasn’t enough to vent the storm raging inside him.
Addison was already broken—her body battered, her life hanging by a thread—but to Greg, it wasn’t nearly enough. No, he wanted her to suffer more.
Much more.
If he could, he’d drag her down to the eighteenth gate of hell himself, watch her be torn apart piece by piece, and drink her blood if it meant extinguishing the fury burning inside him.
But why?
Was there even a reason? Or was it just pure, festering hate? Maybe he truly believed someone like Addison—a wolfless, disgraced omega—didn’t deserve someone like his Alpha. Maybe her mere existence was an offense to everything they stood for.
He’d already begun calculating the advantages if Zion chose Claire instead. After all, Claire was the Alpha King’s only daughter. The alliance, the power, the resources—it could restore their pack to its former glory, the greatness they lost when their former Alpha died. A death Greg blamed on Addison.
Maybe that’s why he hated her so much. Maybe, deep down, he didn’t just want her gone—he wanted her erased, punished for a sin she hadn’t even meant to commit.
He hated Addison for being the reason their former Alpha died—a loss that plunged their once-proud pack into ruin. Because of that, Greg had been mocked, belittled, and looked down upon by werewolves from stronger packs. Once feared, they had become a shadow of their former glory.
And Greg... he remembered what it felt like to beg. To drop to his knees and plead for food, for mercy—just to survive. He remembered the shame of being humiliated, the searing pain of being tortured, and the helpless rage that came with it.
All that suffering had carved deep scars into him, and every ounce of it, he pinned on her.
Addison was the symbol of everything they had lost.
And he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Many in the pack shared the same bitterness. So now, as she lay there broken and weak, this wasn’t just punishment—it was an outlet. An excuse to release years of pent-up hatred, anger, and resentment. To make her pay for every humiliation they’d ever endured.
"Addison, you can’t blame us for this," Beta Greg said coldly, his voice low and sharp as his eyes gleamed with dangerous intent. "You deserve this—and everything that’s about to happen."
Nearby, Claire’s omega attendant sneered, egging them on with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Back in the Packhouse, Zion remained unaware, consumed with fear for Claire and her unborn pup’s life as he paced outside the door in the second floor.
Down in the dimly lit dungeon, more pack members began to gather—those who harbored long-standing resentment toward Addison. Without the slightest concern for her burning fever or the broken bones beneath her bruised skin, they dragged her up from the cold floor.
Her limp body offered no resistance as they shackled her wrists to the chains hanging from the ceiling, leaving her back exposed.
A low, sinister chuckle rumbled from Greg’s chest as he extended a hand. The man beside him immediately stepped forward and placed a silver whip into his grasp.
Without another word, Greg stepped closer and cracked the whip.
The cruel weapon sliced through the air, its tiny barbed thorns sinking into Addison’s back before ripping away with brutal force. Blood spattered across the floor.
Addison’s body convulsed—but she didn’t scream.
She bit down on her lip so hard it split, trembling violently as her vision went black. And with that single, vicious strike, she passed out, dangling limply from the chains.
"How weak. Truly pitiful," Greg muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A real werewolf wouldn’t crumble like this. You? You’re not fit to be Luna of this pack."