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“Yes,” she whispers back. “And eventually himself.”

One thing is clear in the chaos of my feelings: Nothing will ever be the same again. Accepting this truth about Grandpa will be like trying to swallow a bitter pill that can never be spit out again.

“I’m sorry, baby.” mom whispers. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” It suddenly all makes sense now.

Staring at my mother, there’s an ache in my chest as she sits here so defeated. Her fingers wrapped around my hand are warm yet the look in her eyes is as cold as the dead.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, yet it feels hollow, like the part my sister took from me when she passed. That piece suddenly feels colder with the realization. Looking at my mother I see Brielle took so much more from her. She lost her daughter, her mother and father, but the most destructive loss was her sense of self.

It’s with wide open eyes I truly see the damage of her loss, that my childlike mind back then couldn’t. Why and how my mother became robotic after her death. My father became sterner, colder, like he was too scared to love me in case he lost me also. I can’t imagine living with that kind of grief or fear.

None of it matters now, the only thing I guess I can be grateful for is that Brielle never met this version of my parents, this hollowed out broken version they became. She died with cherished memories, she died loved. Yet at the same time I wonder if she were still here if I would have had the same.

Grief does that, changes people. Some sit in that grief stagnant, never changing, while some have a new look on life and appreciate every moment. Others die with them, decaying while still alive.

Standing, I leave her alone in the bedroom, the silence heavier now than before.

I move toward the guest room, a terrible emptiness settles within me as if something essential has been ripped away from my soul. Everything feels surreal and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at family photos again without thinking about this night and my mother’s confession. How Grandma never said a word for all that time I was with her. Was suggesting I pretend to be her just a way for her to reconcile what her mate and husband had done, is that why she helped me? I feel betrayed by everyone, this news has just rocked my entire world once again leaving me to scramble to pick up the remnants of what I know.

The image of Brielle’s radiant smile is the last thing I see before I close my eyes. And there is no comfort in that memory for the first time in years. Only a sharp pain that digs deep into my heart. Suddenly I’m no longer remembering her life because now all I can see is her death. I can only see what I wish to forget.

I remember my sister’s last gasp of life, my mind refusing to believe she wouldn’t be saved. Mom could fix anything, but the sound that left my mother when the doctor spoke to her, sounded just as broken as Brielle, it fractured the air—a sound so tormenting I never wish to hear it again. A sound so broken it left no doubt at what became of my sister. That sound wasn’t just grief, it was my mother’s soul dying alongside her.

Chapter 15

• King Soren •

The sun rises over the castle, casting long shadows as I pace my room, trying to make sense of Bree’s abrupt decision to end our engagement. It doesn’t sit right with me; there has to be a reason, something deeper than just her fears. My thoughts churn as I step out of my room, heading toward the dining room for breakfast, I find it eerily empty. The staff usually bustling about are nowhere to be seen. I peer around, confused. Where is everyone?

I call out, but there’s no answer. I take a step back; something’s wrong. I turn on my heels and head toward the lounge, where I find my parents, and Damian gathered around the television, their expressions tense.

“What’s going on?” I ask, stepping inside. The moment I see the news anchor on the screen, my heart sinks. The banner at the bottom reads:

“King Soren’s Fiancée Exposed as Rhett Miles’s Mate: The Shocking Truth About the King’s Fiancee, Bree.”

I feel my stomach drop as I listen to the report unfold. My gaze darts between my family’s worried faces and the screen. “This woman, believed to be an up-and-coming member of the royal family, has been linked to a robbery and violent altercation at the Miles pack,” the anchor states, her tone grave. “Concerns are growing over her deception and the implications for the kingdom.” A mix of disbelief and betrayal sits heavy in my stomach, my mind racing to process the revelation. How could Bree have kept such a significant part of her life hidden from me? Anger bubbles up inside me, but beneath it lies a profound sadness at the thought of losing the future we had envisioned together.

As the footage plays, I see Bree’s face—my Bree—alongside Rhett’s image. They show clips from the day of the attack, painting her as a criminal, as the anchorwoman continues to speak about how a thief cannot be expected to become a queen. My blood boils. This is how they want to portray her? I struggle to reconcile the woman I fell in love with and the one being portrayed on the screen. Our entire relationship feels like it’s under scrutiny, each memory suddenly tainted with doubt.

“What the hell is this?” I explode, my fists clenching at my sides. Stepping forward I snatch the remote, flicking the channel and finding every single one reporting similar. Is this why she sent those messages? How was I not informed about this last night? My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and anger, battling with the love and trust I thought I knew. Each breath feels heavier, laden with the weight of betrayal and disbelief. I want to defend her, to shout that this isn’t the Bree I know, but doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind, leaving me paralyzed with uncertainty.

Damian smirks, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “Told you so,” he says, crossing his arms. “I knew there was something off about her.” Without thinking, I lunge at Damian, my anger taking control. My fists swing wildly, driven by a need to defend Bree and silence his gloating. Our father steps in before I can land a blow, pulling us apart with surprising strength.

“Stop this!” he commands, his voice stern. “This isn’t the time for fighting amongst ourselves.”

“This isn’t just gossip—this is Bree’s life!”

“Aubrey, Brielle is dead and her sister. I warned you. Did you know she was the same girl who saved Max that morning?” Damian asks.

“What?” I ask him. Damian steps forward with another news report on his phone, one from last night, revealing footage of Max nearly being hit by a car and the woman saving him. It suddenly hits me why she always felt familiar despite not smelling the same. She was no longer surrounded by Rhett’s pack scent, she changed her hair color, and looked normal rather than the well made woman back then.

The revelation leaves me reeling, struggling to comprehend how she managed to hide her true identity for so long. The woman who saved Max was confident and carefree, exuding a sense of fearlessness that Bree never showed. Bree was always reserved, cautious, as if haunted by shadows of a past she never spoke about. How could they be the same person? The disparity between the two personas is jarring, and I find myself questioning everything I thought I knew.

She’s Rhett’s mate, the one who robbed his pack. It all clicks into place. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. All those secrets, all those fears, it all makes sense now.

“Where is she?” My demand hangs heavy in the air, punctuated by the frustration coursing through me. I fumble to dial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail—her phone still switched off, amplifying my rage.

“Damian, pull up the tracker on her car. We’re going to find her,” I command, my voice cutting through the tension.