The Crippled Wife They Tried to Erase - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
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Joining the Silver Crescent Pack felt like taking my first real breath. Zephyr didn't just welcome me—he handed me the head healer position with my own clinic and team. For the first time in forever, I was treated with genuine respect. After everything I'd survived, their kindness almost didn't feel real.
Lilith became my shadow, sprinting to the clinic daily to plant herself beside me. She'd call me "Mommy" while presenting fistfuls of dandelions or clumsily wrapped "gifts" (usually rocks she'd deemed special). I never corrected her—that kid's love was the healing I never knew I craved.
I quit the library job a week later when another attack seemed imminent. Zephyr agreed laying low was smarter. Life finally felt...steady. Almost peaceful. Until the mail arrived.
The clinic was quiet when the courier dropped off the unmarked envelope. Lilith glanced up from her crayon masterpiece. "Mommy, who's it from?" Her crayon hovered mid-sky as I unfolded the page—and my blood turned to ice.
Lyra,
You can't hide. Return or I'll reduce that pack to ashes. Zephyr, his brat, every last one of them—their suffering is on you. You. Belong. To. Me.
—Xavier
The paper crumpled in my shaking hands.
"Mommy?" Lilith's worried voice barely registered. I forced a smile. "Nothing, sunshine. Why don't you show Zephyr your drawing?" The second her tiny footsteps faded, I collapsed against the wall, fury and terror clawing up my throat.
Xavier didn't make empty threats. I'd seen his cruelty firsthand. If I didn't move fast, everyone who'd given me sanctuary would pay in blood.
Celeste's POV
I paced like a caged animal, nails digging into my still-flat stomach. My plan had been flawless—except for one glaring flaw. This baby wasn't Xavier's. Hell, it could've been any of the four guys from that bar hookup. Not that it mattered. All that counted was Xavier believing it was his heir. And the idiot had swallowed it whole.
I smirked remembering his revoltingly proud face when I'd "announced" the pregnancy. Like I was some prized broodmare. Joke's on him—his name and protection were all I wanted.
But my triumph was cracking. Xavier wasn't returning my calls. Wasn't eyeing me with that possessive hunger anymore. No, his obsession had shifted—to her.
Lyra.
Perfect, pathetic Lyra. She should've been dead. The car "accident" was supposed to fix that. Cut seatbelt, sabotaged airbag, hired rogues for cover—I'd orchestrated every detail. And it worked. She was broken. Discarded.
Until she wasn't.
Even the maid I'd paid to finish the job failed. That's when I realized—she'd been hiding her healing power all along. And now Xavier was obsessed with stealing it. With her.
My phone shattered against the wall. Fifth voicemail today. He was slipping through my fingers, just like everyone else always had.
"Damn it!" My scream echoed off the gilded walls of my prison.
All those years of being second-best crashed over me—the pack's endless comparisons, our parents' disappointed sighs. "Why can't you be more like Lyra?" Even after I'd taken her husband, her title, it wasn't enough.
Well, this time I wouldn't stop until she was erased. Permanently.
I stared at the broken phone shards. Funny—they looked exactly like my childhood.
Lilith became my shadow, sprinting to the clinic daily to plant herself beside me. She'd call me "Mommy" while presenting fistfuls of dandelions or clumsily wrapped "gifts" (usually rocks she'd deemed special). I never corrected her—that kid's love was the healing I never knew I craved.
I quit the library job a week later when another attack seemed imminent. Zephyr agreed laying low was smarter. Life finally felt...steady. Almost peaceful. Until the mail arrived.
The clinic was quiet when the courier dropped off the unmarked envelope. Lilith glanced up from her crayon masterpiece. "Mommy, who's it from?" Her crayon hovered mid-sky as I unfolded the page—and my blood turned to ice.
Lyra,
You can't hide. Return or I'll reduce that pack to ashes. Zephyr, his brat, every last one of them—their suffering is on you. You. Belong. To. Me.
—Xavier
The paper crumpled in my shaking hands.
"Mommy?" Lilith's worried voice barely registered. I forced a smile. "Nothing, sunshine. Why don't you show Zephyr your drawing?" The second her tiny footsteps faded, I collapsed against the wall, fury and terror clawing up my throat.
Xavier didn't make empty threats. I'd seen his cruelty firsthand. If I didn't move fast, everyone who'd given me sanctuary would pay in blood.
Celeste's POV
I paced like a caged animal, nails digging into my still-flat stomach. My plan had been flawless—except for one glaring flaw. This baby wasn't Xavier's. Hell, it could've been any of the four guys from that bar hookup. Not that it mattered. All that counted was Xavier believing it was his heir. And the idiot had swallowed it whole.
I smirked remembering his revoltingly proud face when I'd "announced" the pregnancy. Like I was some prized broodmare. Joke's on him—his name and protection were all I wanted.
But my triumph was cracking. Xavier wasn't returning my calls. Wasn't eyeing me with that possessive hunger anymore. No, his obsession had shifted—to her.
Lyra.
Perfect, pathetic Lyra. She should've been dead. The car "accident" was supposed to fix that. Cut seatbelt, sabotaged airbag, hired rogues for cover—I'd orchestrated every detail. And it worked. She was broken. Discarded.
Until she wasn't.
Even the maid I'd paid to finish the job failed. That's when I realized—she'd been hiding her healing power all along. And now Xavier was obsessed with stealing it. With her.
My phone shattered against the wall. Fifth voicemail today. He was slipping through my fingers, just like everyone else always had.
"Damn it!" My scream echoed off the gilded walls of my prison.
All those years of being second-best crashed over me—the pack's endless comparisons, our parents' disappointed sighs. "Why can't you be more like Lyra?" Even after I'd taken her husband, her title, it wasn't enough.
Well, this time I wouldn't stop until she was erased. Permanently.
I stared at the broken phone shards. Funny—they looked exactly like my childhood.
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