RICHARD'S POV
I only had one job.
One mission.
To end Agatha.
Agatha, the last standing witch of the Tribe of Rebellion, was my last hope to have eternity and restore the power of my bloodline. The ritual was clear—seduce her, finish inside her, and her power would flow right into you.
A silent kill.
The Pack of Izuras would rise, and the witches would fall.
Agatha's death would have made me unstoppable. The magic of the rebellion would live in me—not just freedom from the curse my pack suffered, but control over the whole werewolf council.
I had failed myself and my pack. I didn't know how to return and show my face.
If only Fiona had stayed in that boutique.
I RAN FROM HER
FIONA'S POV
All my life, growing up, the only safe space I had ever known was my mother. But now, it seemed like I didn't even have a mother at all.
After leaving the hotel, I stood on the streets—frozen, messy hair, worn-out clothes—thinking of what to do next, where to go.
I hated the fact that I still saw them.
Richard.
Agatha.
I still heard their voices in my head.
I still remembered all the moments I had with Richard—how he held my hand when he was proposing in front of Agatha. Was he screwing her ever since then?
I began to run.
The thought of still being in the same city with them made me want to run mad. I ran as fast as I could, with nowhere to go, no destination ahead—just me and my thoughts. I ran as far as possible.
I ran past billboards, small villages, traffic lights, and strangers.
I'm pretty sure everyone looked at me as though I was mad.
Hours passed—or so I thought.
My body began to beg me to stop. I was running out of strength. I slowed down and took deep breaths. I sat on a bench near the bus terminal.
I had no clothes, no money, and no destination.
But one thing was for sure—no matter how stranded I got, I'd rather die in the wilderness than go back to Agatha—my mother.
That night, I slept under a bridge on the outskirts of the city. It was cold. My teeth gnashing against each other, mosquitoes eating and feeding off me like I was some special delicacy.
Each time I tried to close my eyes, I remembered everything.
Until I prayed, and God finally gave me rest.
Morning came.
I continued my journey out of the city.
My clothes were torn, my mouth bitter, my stomach rolling, my body a den of mosquito bites, yet my heart still raced with questions.
Did Richard ever truly love me?
Why would Agatha do this to her blood?
Was I really of no value?
I didn't have any destination in mind.
I wanted to be far away from Richard,
far away from a backstabbing mother,
and far away from a stranger that I gave my body to—a stranger that would never look at me in his right senses.
I was pale. I hadn't eaten in two days.
If only I could find a job, maybe I'd be able to survive.
Finally, I was out of the city, and the first place I stumbled on was a restaurant. I rushed in through the front door, straight to the counter, and politely begged the receptionist if I could see the manager.
"You look like you just came out of the gutter. I can't have such smelly people working near my food! Who even let you in here? Security!!!" she yelled.
I was so ashamed. I bowed my head and walked swiftly out of the restaurant.
The nicer receptionist ran after me and handed me an apple.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. Two blocks away on your right, there's a hospital with an open vacancy—maybe you can check there."
I couldn't even speak. I just nodded.
The hospital wasn't fancy, but it was very large. I entered and spoke to the receptionist. After not many questions, I was hired. But I was shocked—what could my role here possibly be?
"These are your cleaning requirements. You start with the toilet," a firm, intimidating voice yelled. I assumed she was the head cleaner.
With the way I looked, I wasn't shocked anymore. Obviously, the only work I could come across was that of a cleaner.
This place wasn't so bad after all. They offered me a dorm to sleep in and new clothes (scrubs) to wear.
With each passing day, I kept on thinking about Michael. It was as if my body longed for him in ways I couldn't understand.
"Fiona, clean the toilets."
"Fiona, wash the clothes."
"Fiona, scrub the walls."
"Fiona, mop the floors."
I did everything!
But my body began to feel weak. I started becoming dizzy. I became tired so often, and my stomach always cramped. I didn't think much of it—I assumed it was probably because I was stressed.
Then it happened.
A patient had just thrown up, and I was called to clean it up. On my knees, using the rag to clean the vomit and pack it into my bucket, my vision began to blur, my head started spinning.
"Just breathe, Fiona. You are a strong girl," I whispered to myself, holding firmly to my bucket for support.
Everything suddenly went blank.
"Where am I?" My voice came out so low, as though I was struggling to speak.
"You collapsed while cleaning," the man said. "One of the nurses found you. You've been out for a few hours."
"Doctor, please, what's wrong…" I couldn't finish my statement.
A nurse walked in with a folder labeled with my name and handed it over to the doctor. His eyes widened like he had just seen something out of the blue. He turned and looked at me.
"Miss, congratulations—you're pregnant!"