Chapter 181

Chapter 181
{Lisa’s POV}

“There’s only one thing I want to do…” I replied. “I want to know all of it. Every single thing that was kept from me.”

I let out a shaky breath. “No more secrets.”

I sat back in the chair, still reeling from the photograph of the wolves and the baby cradled between them. My fingers trembled where they rested on the edge of Mistress Arlena’s desk. For years I had carried the certainty that I was human, that I was different from all the creatures who had torn apart my life. And now, with only a few words and a faded picture, I realised my history was far more than that.

My story began long before Bryan and Selena's betrayal.

Mistress Arlena leaned back in her chair, her face as unreadable as ever. “You may not like what you hear.”

“That’s fine… It’s worse not knowing.”

Her gaze held mine for a long time, then she gave a short nod. “Very well.”

I swallowed, steadying myself. “Am I the only one left from Saint Crest?”

A flicker passed over her face, so faint I might have imagined it. “No. There are others. Some scattered, some hidden, all surviving as best they can.”

Relief pricked at me, but it vanished when she continued.

“They will not want to see you though. Not yet.”

The words hit harder than I expected. “Why not? If we’re the same blood, if they’re our people—”

“Because it was my brother that brought the curse down on us,” she said quietly. “The others blame us for all that was lost… and they're right to.”

The deadpanned at the thought of it. “Your brother…”

I repeated. “Your brother…? Wait, just how old are you?”

She smiled. “Old enough to be three times whatever number you’re thinking of now.”

I stared at her, the thought almost blowing my mind. “Three times…”

“Appearances are kind,” she said, though her tone was weary.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. “Is your brother still alive?”

Her eyes dropped, the first true crack in her composure. “No. He carried his guilt to the grave.”

I sat in silence, the air heavy. The Mistress had always been the pillar of the orphanage, the one who never faltered. To see her show even that flicker of grief made the truth heavier.

But there was one thing I needed, and I had to ask before fear stopped me. “Can you tell me where my parents are buried?”

She blinked, surprised by the question.

“I never visited,” I admitted. “When I was little, you all said I was too young. When I grew older, I didn’t… I didn’t want to know. But now I need to.”

Mistress Arlena’s gaze softened in a way I had never seen before. “Yes. I will take you.”

“Thank you.”

▪︎▪︎▪︎

The drive to the cemetery was quiet at first. The hum of the engine filled the silence, my thoughts turning in heavy circles. I pressed my palms against my knees, grounding myself.

“What were they like?” I asked finally. “My parents.”

Mistress Arlena’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel, then eased. “Your mother was gentle, you took after her. She had a way of listening that made people feel heard. Your father… he was silly and dependable at the same time. A man who believed in justice more than power. He was our Alpha.”

It was one bomb shell after the other.

“My father was… royalty?”

“In our world, yes. He bore the Alpha’s mark of Saint Crest. You are his daughter, and that makes you heir to the line.”

I stared out the window, the world sliding past in a blur of trees and roads. Royalty. Cursed bloodline. It was too much and yet not enough. “Is there anything else I need to know?” I asked, more wary now than curious.

Mistress Arlena’s mouth tightened. “There is one more thing. But we'll get to that soon.”

I turned to her. “Why wait?”

Her eyes flicked from the road to me, heavy with something I could not name. “Because some truths must be spoken in the right place.”

The cemetery lay on a hill outside town, ringed by tall trees that rustled from the slightest wind. The iron gates creaked as we stepped through.

The air seemed to be colder here, the silence reverent. Rows of headstones stretched before us.

Mistress Arlena led me with slow steps until we reached a small corner, secluded and half-shadowed. Two graves lay side by side, the stones plain but carefully tended. My heart thudded as I read the names.

“Jack and Marla Hart…”

I sank to my knees, fingers brushing the carved letters. The weight of everything I had never known pressed down until tears blurred my vision. For years I had carried a hollow place inside me where they should have been, but seeing their names made it worse.

Beside me, Mistress Arlena stood silent. I looked up, expecting her usual composure, but what I saw stunned me. Her lips trembled. Her hands shook as she clasped them before her. And then, to my shock, tears spilled down her face.

“I told you they were humans who died because of the carelessness of wolves,” she said, her voice breaking in a way I had never heard before. “That… that was a lie I told you because the truth was worse.”

I stared at her in disbelief  “What?”

Her chest rose and fell, each word dragged out like it weighed a hundred pounds. “They were hunted down, Lisa. They were murdered.”.

“Murdered,” I repeated, the sound foreign in my own voice.

She nodded, tears streaking her face. “It wasn't some accident. It wasn’t misfortune. They were tracked, cornered, and slain. Because they were Saint Crest. Because they were your parents.”

For the first time in my life, I saw her as more than the stern Mistress. She was human in her grief, raw and unguarded. The woman who had raised me, who never wavered in discipline or duty, now broken by the memory she had carried alone.

My own tears fell freely then, hot and unrelenting. I reached up and grasped her hand, needing the contact as much as she did. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

The wind stirred the trees, whispering through the graves. The names of my parents seemed to glow under the low light.

All my life I had wondered who I was. Now I knew. I was the child of a cursed pack. The daughter of murdered parents. An heir to blood that had been hunted and despised.

And yet, as I knelt there with Mistress Arlena’s hand clasped in mine, I felt something stir. Not despair, though I was grieving all over again… It was a promise.

A promise that I would not let their deaths… their story, end as a tragedy.