The Alpha's Silent Bride: Seventh Time's The Charm novel Chapter 121

Chapter 121: 121: Lazy bone.

~ ROSELLE ~

The guards drag me through the pack hallways despite my repeated attempts to look back and make sure Celeste is alright. Every time I twist my head, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her, one of them yanks me forward before I can see anything.

After several futile attempts to pull free, I finally stop struggling because I know this fight is one I can’t win. Wasting what little strength I have left won’t help Celeste, and it certainly won’t help me.

My wrists ache under their iron grip as they march me through the pack house like a common criminal. The humiliation burns far deeper than the pain in my cuts ever could.

Every servant I pass stops what they’re doing to stare at me. Their eyes follow me down the corridor, curiosity and judgment written all over their faces.

Whispers begin spreading the farther we walk, and although they’re hushed, they’re loud enough for me to hear.

"That’s the girl from Westbrook."

"I heard she’s the one who brought the curse upon Alpha Ronan."

"They say she’s a witch."

"No, I heard she bewitched the Alpha with some kind of spell."

Each rumor pierces so deep, and not a single person questions whether any of it is true. They’ve already decided who the villain is, and unfortunately, that villain is me.

I keep my head facing forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. If today has taught me anything, it’s that tears only make people like Mara and Ravenna feel victorious.

The guards eventually lead me outside the main pack house and toward a large stone building behind the warrior barracks. The closer we get, the stronger the unpleasant smell becomes.

One of the guards pushes open the heavy wooden doors, and a wave of humid air immediately slams into my face. The stench of lye, sweat, damp wool, and old blood is so overwhelming that I instinctively wrinkle my nose.

The laundry wash-house stretches out before me, its stone walls echoing with the constant sounds of water splashing, clothes being scrubbed, and fabric slamming against washing stones. Dozens of servants move from basin to basin without sparing me more than a brief glance.

Towering piles of filthy clothing are stacked throughout the building, making the room feel even smaller than it already is. Warriors’ tunics are stiff with dried blood, training trousers are caked with mud, and sweat-soaked undergarments are thrown into overflowing baskets waiting to be washed.

My stomach sinks as I take in the impossible amount of work waiting for me. Even without my injuries, this would take an entire day.

One of the guards gives me a rough shove between my shoulder blades, forcing me farther into the building. His voice so cold and utterly devoid of sympathy.

"Welcome to your new job."

"Garrick," one of the guards calls.

A man steps forward from the far end of the wash-house, wiping his hands on a stained cloth as he makes his way toward us.

"This is going to be your overseer," the guard says before releasing his grip on my arm. "You’ll answer to him from now on."

A beacon of hope stirs inside me eveb though I should be feeling hopeless. Maybe... just maybe... he would be one of the decent people in Blackshadow.

I slowly lift my head. The moment our eyes meet, every bit of color drains from my face.

No. By the moon goddess, this can’t be. My throat goes painfully dry as recognition crashes into me with full force.

It’s him, one of the guards from the shack, one of the guard who tried to assault me on the night of the Blood Moon Ceremony. The same night Ronan tore through them like a force of nature and killed one of them right in front of me to save me.

My heartbeat slams violently against my ribs. For a second, I can’t breathe.

A slow, mocking smirk spreads across his face as he purposely looks me up and down, his gaze lingering just long enough to make my skin crawl.

"Well..." he drawls, amusement dripping from every word. "Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?"

He takes another step closer until only a few feet separate us. "It’s nice to meet you again, Roselle."

I bite back the overwhelming urge to tell him to go fuck himself. Right now, I’m painfully aware that I’m alone, injured, and completely at his mercy. Without another word, the guards turn on their heels and walk out of the wash-house, the heavy wooden doors swinging shut behind them with a dull thud.

Just like that... It’s only the two of us.

Garrick lets out a quiet chuckle, clearly enjoying whatever twisted fucked up game he thinks this is.

"Fate is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?" he muses, slowly circling me. "Remember those exact words? I certainly do."

He stops directly in front of me, a cruel grin spreading across his face.

"I mean... look at you." His eyes gleam with satisfaction. "Fate has delivered you right back into my hands."

His smile darkens. "And this time..." He tilts his head. "My friend is finally going to get the justice he deserves."

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