Freda's POV
Pain greeted me before my eyes even opened. A dull, aching throb in my head and a weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe. My body felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else, someone broken. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint hum of machines buzzed at the edge of my awareness, pulling me back to reality.
I forced my eyelids open, blinking against the harsh white light above me. The room was unfamiliar, its clean, minimalist design offering no comfort. My gaze landed on a woman standing nearby, her face soft but serious. She wore a uniform—a nurse.
“Where am I?” I croaked, my throat dry and raw.
The nurse’s eyes widened slightly, and she stepped closer, her movements careful. “You’re awake,” she said gently. “You’re in the Red Moon Pack’s medical wing. You’ve been unconscious for a long time.”
Red Moon Pack. The name sent a jolt through me, chasing away the fog in my mind. My heart raced as memories of the accident flooded back. The argument. The curve in the road. The car spinning out of control. Falling.
I gasped, my hand flying to my stomach. “My baby?”
The nurse’s expression softened. “Your baby is fine. You’re lucky—both of you are. Alpha Drake and his warriors found you at the bottom of the cliff and brought you here. You’ve been in a coma for a hundred days.”
A hundred days. My mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what she was saying. Three months. I had been gone for three months, lost in the void while life went on without me.
“Drake?” I echoed, the name sticking in my throat. It couldn’t be.
The nurse nodded. “Yes. Alpha Drake Morgan. He’s the one who saved you.”
My stomach churned, a mix of disbelief and something sharper, more bitter. Drake Morgan, the man I had rejected as my mate, the one I had chosen Willard over, had been the one to find me? The irony was cruel.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the door to the room swung open, and there he was. Drake Morgan. His presence dominated the space, his tall frame and piercing eyes as commanding as I remembered. He stepped inside, his gaze locking onto mine.
“So, you’re finally awake,” he said, his voice low and clipped. There was no warmth, no relief, just the cold detachment of a man who had done his duty and nothing more.
I struggled to sit up, the effort sending sharp pain through my ribs. “Why?” The word escaped me in a rasp, barely audible.
Drake leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “Why did I save you?” he asked, his tone almost mocking. “Maybe I have a soft spot for broken things.”
The sting of his words was immediate, but I bit back my retort. I had no strength for a battle of wits with him, not now. “I need to go back to my pack,” I said, forcing the words out despite the lump in my throat. “I can’t stay here.”
Drake’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “Go back?” He straightened, taking a step closer. “You think the Greystone Pack will welcome you with open arms after what happened?”
My stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”
“They’ve moved on, Freda,” he said, his voice cold but steady. “Willard has moved on.”
His words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I clenched my fists, trying to steady my trembling voice. “I have to go back. My life is there.”
“Your life?” Drake’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “The same life that led you to a car crash and left you for dead at the bottom of a cliff?” He shook his head. “You’re safer here.”
“Safe?” I snapped, anger flaring despite my weakness. “With you? The man who hates me?”
Drake’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Hate you?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost dangerous. “Don’t flatter yourself, Freda. Saving you was an act of decency, not affection.”
The tension between us crackled like a storm, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on it. My priority was my child and finding my way back to the life I had left behind, no matter how fractured it was.
“Thank you for saving me,” I said, forcing the words past my pride. “But I can’t stay here. I have to leave.”
Drake stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. “Do whatever you want. It’s not my place to stop you.”
His indifference stung, but I pushed it aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My body protested every movement, but I forced myself to stand. The nurse rushed to my side, her hands hovering as if she wanted to help but didn’t dare.
“You’re not ready to leave,” she said, worry etched across her face.
“I don’t have a choice,” I replied, my voice firmer than I felt.
I took a shaky step forward, then another. Each one felt like a victory, a step closer to reclaiming what I had lost. But as I reached the doorway, Drake’s voice stopped me.
“You’ll regret going back,” he said, his tone colder than ever. “They won’t want you. Not after everything.”
I didn’t turn around. “That’s for me to find out.”
As I crossed the threshold, Drake’s final words followed me, lingering like a warning: “You don’t know the half of what you’re walking into.”
Freda's POV
The journey back to Greystone Pack was a blur of pain and determination. Every step felt like a battle against my body’s protests, but I pushed forward, clinging to the thought of my child and the life I needed to reclaim. The forest loomed around me, its familiar scent a mix of comfort and dread. When the pack’s gates came into view, my heart raced, torn between relief and trepidation.
I hesitated for a moment, staring at the gates that once symbolized safety. Now, they felt like the walls of a prison, a place where I’d been betrayed and abandoned. But I had no choice. I needed answers, closure, and my life back. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward.
The guards at the entrance stiffened at my approach. Their eyes widened in recognition before narrowing in suspicion. One of them stepped forward, blocking my path.
“Freda?” His voice was filled with disbelief. “You’re supposed to be…” He trailed off, his expression unreadable.
“Dead?” I finished for him, my voice sharp. “Well, I’m not. Now move.”
He exchanged a glance with his companion but stepped aside. I didn’t wait for further discussion, pushing past them and heading straight for the pack’s main hall. My heart pounded with every step, each one bringing me closer to the confrontation I both dreaded and craved.
The sound of celebration hit me first. Laughter, music, and the hum of voices filled the air as I neared the grand hall. My steps faltered, confusion washing over me. What could they possibly be celebrating?
When I reached the hall’s entrance, the answer hit me like a blow to the chest. Willard stood at the center of the room, his arm wrapped around Sybil. Her radiant smile matched the glow of the ceremonial garb she wore. Around them, the pack cheered and applauded. A wedding. They were celebrating their union.
My vision blurred, my mind refusing to process the scene before me. The man who had promised me the world was standing there, binding himself to someone else as if I had never existed. My hands clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms.
“Willard...” I stepped into the hall, the noise dimming as those closest to me noticed my presence. Whispers spread like wildfire, heads turning to follow their gaze. Willard’s eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by confusion and…disdain.
“Who is this?” he asked, his voice cold and detached. “A rogue?”
The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on me. A rogue. He didn’t know me. He didn’t recognize me. The realization hit me harder than the crash that had brought me here.
“Willard,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s me. It’s Freda.”
His brow furrowed, and he turned to Sybil, who placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Guards, remove her.”
“No!” I cried, stepping forward. “You know me, Willard. We were…we were everything to each other! How can you not remember?”
The guards moved to grab me, but I fought against them, desperation fueling my strength. “Please! You have to remember! I—”
“Enough!” Willard’s voice boomed, silencing the room. He stepped closer, his expression hard. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you’re not welcome. Leave, now.”
Tears streamed down my face as the guards dragged me toward the exit. The pack’s whispers grew louder, their judgmental eyes burning into me. I looked back one last time, hoping for some sign, some shred of the man I had loved. But Willard’s gaze remained cold, his arm tightening around Sybil.
Outside the hall, the guards released me, their expressions a mix of pity and contempt. I stumbled away, my legs weak and my heart shattered. The realization that Willard truly didn’t remember me—or worse, didn’t care—left me hollow.
As I reached the edge of the forest, a familiar figure stepped into view. Tina, one of the pack’s servants and my only friend during my time here, rushed to my side.
“Freda,” she whispered, her voice filled with urgency. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come back.”
I shook my head, my words failing me. Tina’s expression softened, and she guided me to a nearby log, sitting beside me.
“Willard…he doesn’t remember you,” she said carefully. “After the accident, he was in a coma. When he woke up, he…he lost parts of his memory. Everything about you is gone.”
The truth felt like a knife twisting in my chest. “And no one told him?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Tina hesitated, then shook her head. “Helen didn’t want him to know. She said it would only confuse him, and with Sybil helping him recover…”
Of course. Helen. Willard’s mother had always hated me, blaming me for every misfortune that befell their family. She must have seen this as the perfect opportunity to erase me from his life entirely.
“I’ll find a way,” I said, my voice gaining strength. “I’ll make him remember. I have to.”
Tina’s grip on my arm tightened. “Be careful, Freda. Helen won’t let you back into his life so easily.”
As Tina’s warning echoed in my mind, a new resolve took root. I wouldn’t let Helen or anyone else keep me from the truth. I would make Willard remember—no matter the cost.
Freda's POV
The smell of the damp stone walls in the maid’s chambers was suffocating as Tina led me inside. My heart pounded, a mix of dread and determination coursing through me. I had barely crossed the threshold when a voice sliced through the stale air.
“So predictable,” Helen drawled, her figure emerging from the shadows like a predator who’d been lying in wait. Her icy gaze locked onto mine, and a cruel smile curled on her lips. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”
Tina froze beside me, her face pale as she dipped her head. I squared my shoulders, refusing to cower under Helen’s piercing stare.
“You have no right to keep me from this pack,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “This is my home, and I won’t leave.”
Helen let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “Home? You’re mistaken, Freda. This isn’t your home. You’re nothing but an unwanted ghost haunting what doesn’t belong to you.” She stepped closer, her presence suffocating. “But I’ll allow you to stay… under certain conditions.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, unwilling to let her see how her words cut. “What conditions?”
“You will serve Sybil as her personal maid,” Helen said, her tone laced with mockery. “She’s pregnant, you know. With Willard’s child.”
The air left my lungs as if I’d been punched. “What?”
Helen’s smirk deepened. “Yes, you heard me. And she’ll need extra care during her pregnancy. A maid… and a blood donor. Convenient, isn’t it, that you share her blood type?”
My mind reeled, disbelief crashing over me like a tidal wave. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am,” Helen said, her voice as sharp as a blade. “And let me make one thing clear. If you so much as breathe a word to Willard about your past with him, or about your pathetic little feelings, there will be consequences. Grave consequences.”
“You can’t stop me,” I said, though my voice trembled slightly.
Helen’s expression hardened, her eyes gleaming with menace. “Try me, Freda. I’ll make you regret every moment you remain in this pack.”
Her words settled over me like a dark cloud, but I swallowed my fear. No matter what, I wouldn’t let her win. Not completely.
.....
Being Sybil’s maid was a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. Every day brought a new humiliation, a new reminder of how far I’d fallen. Sybil took every opportunity to flaunt her position, her soft hands gesturing to the tasks she deemed beneath her.
“Freda, the floors need scrubbing again,” she said one morning, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “And make sure it’s spotless this time. Willard likes everything perfect.”
I gritted my teeth as I knelt on the cold floor, scrubbing until my fingers bled. Sybil sat nearby, sipping tea and chatting with Helen as if I weren’t there.
“It’s amazing how some people think they can rise above their station,” Helen said, her tone casual but pointed. “Only to end up right where they belong.”
Sybil laughed, a delicate sound that grated against my ears. “It’s almost sad, really. But at least she’s useful for something.”
Their words burned, but I kept my head down, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Each insult, each cruel order, only strengthened my resolve. They wanted to break me, to make me disappear. But I wouldn’t let them. I'll find a way to end their cruelty.
Weeks passed in a haze of endless tasks and whispered taunts. My body grew weaker under the strain, the stress gnawing at my strength. The sight of Willard and Sybil together, their closeness flaunted at every turn, was a dagger to my heart. But I held onto the hope that I could find a way to reach him, to make him remember.
One evening, as I carried a tray of tea to Sybil’s room, the world tilted. My vision blurred, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. The tray slipped from my hands, the shattering of porcelain echoing in the hallway as I crumpled to the floor.
“What is this mess?” Sybil’s voice cut through the haze of pain, her tone annoyed rather than concerned. She stepped into the hallway, her expression sour as she looked down at me. “Can’t you do anything right?”
“I… I need help,” I managed to whisper, clutching my stomach. Warmth seeped between my fingers, and my heart froze as I realized it was blood.
Sybil’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Pathetic. Clean this up before someone sees.”
She turned on her heel, leaving me there, broken and bleeding. Desperation clawed at me as I dragged myself down the hall, each movement a battle. I needed to find someone, anyone who could help.
And then I saw him.
Willard stood at the end of the corridor, his broad shoulders rigid as he turned toward me. Relief flooded my chest, hope sparking for the first time in weeks.
“Willard,” I gasped, reaching out to him. “Please, help me.”
His gaze met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes—concern, recognition, anything. But then his expression hardened, and he walked past me without a word.
The hope that had burned so brightly flickered and died, leaving only darkness in its wake.
As I lay there, my strength fading, one thought consumed me: if I survived this, I would make them all pay.
