Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother Chapter 29

Elara’s POV

“I’ll raise the child myself, of course.”

Harold’s voice oozed across the room like sothing rancid. He stood by the Baroness’s parlor window, thumbs hooked into his waistcoat pockets, chin tilted at an angle that suggested he genuinely believed he was being generous.

“A boy needs a father figure,” he continued. “I’m prepared to provide that. Education. Discipline. Structure.” His lips peeled back into a smile. The teeth were too white—unnaturally so, like porcelain caps hiding rot underneath. “And you, my dear, won’t have to worry about a thing.”

My stomach turned.

The sll of him reached from across the room. Thick cologne layered over sothing sour. Sweat, maybe. Or just the natural stench of a man who believed money could mask anything.

“I’m not interested, Harold,” I said. My voice was steady. Flat. “In your offer. In this arrangent. In any of it.”

Harold chuckled. The sound was wet. “Now, now—”

“She said she’s not interested.” I turned toward the door. “This conversation is over.”

I only made it a few steps.

The Baroness moved faster than a woman her age should. Her hand clamped around my wrist like a manacle—bony fingers digging in with shocking strength, nails biting into skin. I felt the crescent marks form instantly.

“You’re not going anywhere, dear.” Her voice was silk wrapped around a blade. She positioned herself between and the doorway, her thin fra blocking the exit with practiced precision. “We haven’t finished discussing your future.”

I tried to pull free. Her grip tightened. Pain shot up my forearm.

“Let go of .”

“Don’t be dramatic, you little beast.” The Baroness’s lips curled. Not a smile. A calculation. “You’ve always been ungrateful. I fed you. Clothed you. Gave you a roof and a na. And how do you repay ? You run off, get yourself knocked up by so stranger, and then waltz back into society like you’re above the rest of us.”

“I said let go, Baroness.”

“You’ll listen.” Her voice dropped. Lower. Sharper. “Your little brat—what’s his na? Valerius?” She said it slowly, savoring each syllable. “Enrolled at the Royal Primary Academy, isn’t he? Lovely school. Very prestigious.” Her eyes glittered. “And your friend Brenna picks him up every afternoon. Sa ti. Sa gate.”

The world tilted.

Inside , sothing ancient stirred. Moonlight—my wolf—surged against my ribs like a caged animal slamming into bars. A flood of heat poured through my veins. Protective. Primal. Violent.

“If you touch my son—” My voice ca out different. Rougher. Lower. Barely human. “—I will rip your throat out with my bare hands.”

The Baroness flinched. Just barely. A flicker of sothing—fear, maybe—crossed her face before she smothered it.

Harold laughed from behind . A big, booming laugh, like I’d told a wonderful joke at a dinner party.

“Spirited!” He clapped his aty hands together. “I do like that in a woman. Don’t worry, my dear. Once we’re settled, all that fire will find proper use.”

They moved together—coordinated, rehearsed. The Baroness still gripping my wrist, Harold’s clammy hand landing on my shoulder, steering through the parlor and down the narrow hallway toward the back of the house.

The bedroom door opened, and the sll hit like a wall.

Camphor. Stale linen. Dust.

I knew this room.

The low ceiling. The warped floorboards. The single window too small to climb through. I’d slept here as a child, cramd into a narrow bed with Isolde on the other side, listening to her breathing in the dark while I stared at the crack in the plaster above and pretended I was sowhere else.

Nothing had changed. The sa faded curtains. The sa iron bed fra, now stripped to a bare mattress.

They pushed inside.

Harold released my shoulder and turned to the Baroness. His voice shifted—businesslike now. Transaction mode.

“I’ll wire the first installnt imdiately. Fifty thousand gold coins. That should cover the Baron’s dical expenses.”

The Baroness’s eyes went bright. Hungry. “And the rest?”

“Upon the signing of the marriage contract.” Harold adjusted his cuffs. “You’ll have the full amount after the ceremony.”

Fifty thousand gold coins. That was my price. The amount it cost to buy a woman and call it marriage.

The Baroness released my wrist at last. The crescent marks throbbed, already bruising. She smoothed her dress and stepped back, positioning herself near the door like a prison guard on duty.

Harold turned to .

His smile was different now. Softer. Hungrier. His thick fingers reached for the lacing at the back of my dress.

“Co now, my dear. Let’s not make this difficult.” His breath hit my neck—hot, fetid, cutting through the cologne like sewage through perfu. “Consider it a preview of our arrangent.”

His fingers found the first tie. Tugged.

Moonlight howled inside . Every nerve scread. Every instinct roared a single word: fight.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

I let my shoulders drop. Let my body soften. Let the tension drain from my posture until I looked like a woman surrendering.

“You’re right,” I whispered. I lowered my eyes. Bowed my head. Made my voice small. Compliant. Grateful. “I should be more thankful. You’re offering so much. I’ve been foolish.”

Harold’s grin widened. His fingers relaxed on the lacing.

“There we are,” he murmured. “That’s much better.”

He leaned closer. His eyes half-closed. His guard completely down.

My hand closed around the neck of the empty wine bottle on the bedside table. Heavy. Solid. Thick glass base designed to survive being dropped.

I swung.

The bottle connected with the side of Harold’s skull with a sound like a lon hitting cobblestones. Glass didn’t shatter—the base was too thick for that. But the impact was devastating. His eyes went blank. His knees buckled. He crumpled sideways, hitting the floor in a heap of expensive fabric and cologne.

Blood. Imdiate and dark. Spreading from a gash above his ear.

The Baroness scread.

She lunged at —nails out, teeth bared, that thin body suddenly all sharp angles and fury. Her hands clawed for my face.

I caught her forearm in both hands and bit down.

Hard.

My teeth sank through skin, through muscle, through sothing that resisted and then gave way with a muffled crack. The taste of blood flooded my mouth—iron and salt and sothing chemical, like old perfu absorbed into flesh.

The Baroness shrieked. A real shriek—animal, uncontrolled, nothing like the composed cruelty she wore like a mask. She wrenched backward, and I let her go. Her forearm hung at an angle. Wrong. Broken.

I didn’t wait.

I stepped over Harold’s unconscious body, shoved past the Baroness as she cradled her arm against her chest, and ran.

Down the hall. Through the parlor. Out the front door. The evening air hit my face like cold water. I tasted blood and bile and freedom.

The carriage was still where I’d left it. My hands shook so badly it took several tries to get the reins untangled. Moonlight pulsed inside —triumphant, feral, still hungry for violence.

We did it, she growled. We’re free.

I whipped the horse forward. The carriage lurched onto the road, rattling toward the capital.

Halfway back, my breathing ca in ragged gasps. Blood still stained my teeth. My wrist throbbed where the Baroness’s nails had carved half-moons into the skin. But I was out. I was free. I was going ho to my son.

The communication crystal on the seat beside flared.

Brenna’s sigil. Pulsing frantically. Erratically. Not the calm, asured rhythm of a routine check-in—this was panic.

I activated it with trembling fingers.

“Elara!” Brenna’s voice exploded through the crystal. Shattered. Hysterical. “Elara, please—I went to the Academy—I went at the usual ti—”

“Brenna, slow down. What happened?”

“The Academy said soone else already picked Valerius up!”