She-Devil
The council chamber the next day was cloaked in a heavy, uneasy silence. Not one official dared meet Theo’s eyes. The new of Peter’s head rolling before Alpha Damian had traveled faster than wildfire, burning fear into the hearts of all who had once whispered against him.
Theo entered with calm authority, his expression unreadable, though his very presence pressed against them like an iron weight. He did not need to raise his voice; his silence was louder than any words.
One of the older officials cleared his throat nervously. “Alpha Theo… about the—”
Theo’s gaze cut to him, sharp and cold, and the man immediately looked down at his notes, his lips snapping shut.
Every member of the council remembered how Peter had strutted in arrogance after Theo had seemingly favored him, only to be led straight to his doom. Now, none of them could be sure who Theo truly trusted—or who he had already condemned in silence.
That uncertainty bred terror.
Some became cautious, bending over backward to show loyalty to Theo. They praised his decisions, supported his every motion, and even tried to outdo one another in proving their loyalty.
But others… others grew desperate.
Late at night, in darkened corridors, whispers curled like snakes. The men who had once conspired with Peter muttered in hushed voices, their fear twisting into paranoia. If Theo had been clever enough to trap Peter, what if he already knew of their treachery too? What if they were next?
One slammed his fist against the wall, whispering angrily, “If we don’t strike first, Theo will pluck us off one by one. Just like Peter!”
Yet another trembled, replying, “And how do you strike against a man who even Alpha Damian favors so high? We’d be digging our own graves.”
The conspirators’ unity began to crack. Some urged retreat, to lay low and wait for Theo’s shadow to pass. Others, cornered by their own fear, pushed for bolder action—a final strike to eliminate him before he eliminated them.
Theo, meanwhile, already anticipated this. His trap had only begun with Peter. Now, every frightened whisper, every trembling denial, every crack in their alliance would reach him through the spies he had quietly positioned.
The game of wolves was not yet finished.
And Theo was winning.
\---
Meanwhile...
The morning had started like any other. The estate buzzed with the quiet hum of duties being carried out: floors scrubbed, linens folded, meals prepared. But beneath that calm surface, Samantha’s mind was a storm of calculated malice.
She had chosen her timing with care.
While assisting briefly in the kitchen that dawn, she slipped the finely powdered poison into the meal set aside for Luna Rina. Not enough to kill instantly—just enough to create a convincing scene. Just enough to ensure her target, Priscilla, looked guilty beyond redemption.
By midmorning, Priscilla balanced the ornate tray carefully in her hands, her steps light but nervous. She had always been proud of serving Luna Rina directly, eager to prove her loyalty and worth. She had no idea she was carrying her own downfall.
Then it happened.
Samantha, eyes brimming with false urgency, broke into a sprint. She shoved past the startled guards at Rina’s chamber doors, their hands grabbing for her but unable to halt her desperate cries.
“Luna! Luna, please don’t eat that food!” she wailed, collapsing dramatically onto her knees. Tears streamed down her face—tears she had practiced in the mirror a dozen times before.
Inside, Rina raised her brows, her hand pausing mid-motion as she turned toward the commotion. Priscilla froze by the doorway, the tray trembling in her hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” Rina asked, her voice calm yet edged with steel.
Samantha pressed her forehead to the floor, sobbing, “Forgive me, my Luna! I couldn’t stand by and let you be harmed. That food is poisoned. Priscilla… she’s behind it. She wants to take your place!”
The chamber chilled.
Priscilla’s eyes widened in horror, nearly dropping the tray. “Luna! No—that’s a lie! I swear on the Moon Goddess, I would never—”
But Samantha wasn’t done. With trembling hands, she pulled out a folded parchment. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but I… I found this in her room, written in her own hand.”
Rina took the paper, her sharp eyes scanning the lines. It was a carefully crafted “confession” of Priscilla’s supposed feelings for Theo, her longing to replace Rina, and her willingness to remove the Luna by any means necessary.
Priscilla’s knees buckled. “No! That’s not mine—Luna, you must believe me!”
Rina’s gaze shifted between the sobbing Samantha and the pale, stammering Priscilla. Doubt flickered in her eyes, but the evidence in her hand weighed heavily.
And then Priscilla, desperate to prove her innocence, made a fatal mistake.
“Please, let me eat the food,” she insisted, setting the tray down with trembling hands. “If it is poisoned, then let me bear the punishment of death to prove my loyalty.”
“No, don’t—” Rina began, but it was too late.
Priscilla lifted a spoonful of the broth to her lips and swallowed. At first, nothing happened. She turned to Rina, voice breaking. “You see, my Luna… there is nothing wrong with it—”
Her words cut off. A violent cough shook her chest, and within seconds, her face paled as her body began to tremble. The spoon clattered to the floor, and she collapsed, gasping.
“Priscilla!” Rina called sharply, springing to her side. Guards rushed in, carrying her away to the healer’s chambers.
Samantha lowered her head, hiding the small, victorious smirk that ghosted across her lips.
Her scheme had worked perfectly.
Now, while Priscilla battled for her life under suspicion, Samantha’s own image before Rina glowed with loyalty, selflessness, and sacrifice.
The seed of doubt had been planted.
And Samantha knew how to water it until it bloomed...