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Comrade 43

Comrade 43

The next morning, Damien arrived at the Silverstone Pack as promised, his green eyes scanning the area as he walked toward the packhouse. His instincts had been on high alert since yesterday.

Something felt off.

He knocked once on the door before pushing it open, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Felicia was already waiting in the dining hall, her face drawn and tired.

Damien took one look at her and knew something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low.

Felicia inhaled deeply, crossing her arms over her chest. “There’s something you need to know.”

She didn’t waste time.

She told him everything.

That Danielle wasn’t really Danielle—that Lucien had a sister named Daphne, who had supposedly died years ago in a vampire attack. That Lucien had buried her with his own hands.

And yet, here she was. Alive. Or at least, something pretending to be her.

Damien listened without interrupting, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His face grew darker with each word.

When Felicia finished, a heavy silence filled the room.

Damien’s jaw tightened. “And you still feel comfortable staying here?”

Felicia’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”

Damien’s voice was sharp, his green eyes burning with frustration. “Felicia, this is insane. You and the boys are living in the home of a man whose sister—whether dead or alive—is the very person responsible for all of this. Do you really think that’s safe?”

Felicia’s stomach twisted. She knew Damien wouldn’t take this well, but she hadn’t expected him to react so strongly.

“Lucien isn’t responsible for what his sister has done,” she argued.

Damien shook his head, exhaling harshly. “You don’t know that.”

Felicia frowned, but before she could speak, Damien stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“Felicia, think about it. It’s his youngest sister. Don’t you think, when it comes down to it, he’ll side with her?”

Felicia opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, a third voice cut through the room.

“I would watch what you say, Damien.”

They both whipped around, their eyes landing on Lucien standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes flashing with annoyance.

He had heard everything.

Lucien stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Damien’s, his tone sharp and cold.

“Daphne is dead.” His voice was deadly calm, but Felicia could see the tension in his shoulders. “Whoever this woman is—whoever is cosplaying as my sister—is nothing but an evil spirit wearing her face.”

Damien’s lips curled in skepticism. “You’re so sure of that?”

Lucien’s eyes darkened. “I buried her with my own hands. I know she’s dead.”

Damien let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, that’s comforting. Except for the fact that we’ve all seen her walking around, murdering people, leading rogue attacks.”

Lucien stiffened, his jaw clenching. “Don’t drag Daphne’s name through the mud. She would never do this.”

Damien snorted. “Then why does she look exactly like your sister?

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. His hands curled into fists, his wolf bristling beneath the surface.

“I don’t know.” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “But I do know that the woman I called my sister was kind, loyal, and never would have done the things this imposter has. So whatever is walking around in her skin… it’s not Daphne.”

Damien’s wolf rumbled with unease, but he kept his voice controlled. “And you expect me to believe that?”

Lucien exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering toward Felicia for just a moment before returning to Damien.

“I don’t care what you believe.” His voice was icy, his expression unreadable. “But I know this—Felicia and the boys are safe here.”

Damien let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Safe? With you? The brother of the woman who has been trying to kill us?”

Lucien’s eyes flashed with irritation, but before he could respond, Felicia finally snapped.

“Enough!”

Both men immediately turned to her, surprised by the sharpness of her tone.

Felicia rubbed her temples, her exhaustion catching up to her. “I can’t do this right now. I am tired. I am overwhelmed. And I am sick of the two of you turning every conversation into a damn war.”

Lucien and Damien stiffened but remained silent.

Felicia sighed, her voice quieter now. “I need space. I need time to think.”

She turned to Damien, her voice firm but not unkind. “I know you’re worried, but you need to trust me. The boys are safe. I’m safe.”

Then she looked at Lucien. “And you—I don’t know what to think about all of this. I don’t know if you’re lying, or if you’re just as clueless as you claim. But right now, I need to be alone.”

She stepped back, her hands tightening at her sides.

“I’m going to my room.”

Neither of them stopped her.

Felicia didn’t look back as she walked away, leaving them standing in the thick tension they had created.

Her mind was spinning.

Her heart was torn.

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Comrade

Comrade

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Comrade Summary & Review: Comrade

Princess Evangeline of Morwyn sat in the quiet waiting room of the royal physician’s office, her mind a whirlwind of fear and fragile hope. The grand palace, bathed in soft afternoon light, felt both like a home and a cage. She had been married to Crown Prince Sebastian of Valdris for three years, but their union was nothing more than a political arrangement—an alliance forged by their fathers to secure peace between their lands.

From the very beginning, Sebastian made it clear that his marriage to Evangeline was purely out of duty, not affection. They slept in separate chambers, exchanged only polite words in public, and maintained a cold civility that masked the emptiness beneath. Evangeline had once dreamed that time might change things, that she might earn his heart, but years of distance had buried that hope deep inside her.

Recently, however, her body had begun to change. She felt nauseated in the mornings, dizzy, and uncommonly tired. These signs, though subtle, stirred a small flame of longing within her—a desperate wish that she might finally be carrying his child. Perhaps, she thought, a baby could soften Sebastian’s heart and give meaning to their lifeless marriage.

When the physician, Master Aldrich, appeared at the doorway, his kind smile gave her both comfort and dread. He led her into his study, a cozy room filled with the scent of herbs, the warmth of a crackling fire, and shelves of ancient medical texts. Evangeline sat nervously as the old man took a sealed parchment from his desk.

With a gentle voice, Master Aldrich delivered the news that would change everything: “Your Highness, I’m delighted to tell you that you are indeed expecting.”

Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat. Her trembling hands broke the royal seal and scanned the words written neatly across the parchment. Pregnant. She was truly with child. Before she could even absorb the shock, Master Aldrich continued, beaming with joy—she was not carrying just one baby, but twins.

The revelation sent a rush of emotion through her—relief, disbelief, joy. Twins! Two heirs for the royal family. The weight of that realization made her dizzy, but it also filled her with warmth and purpose. For the first time in years, she smiled with genuine happiness. Perhaps this was the miracle she needed to mend what had long been broken.

In that moment, she imagined Sebastian’s face lighting up with pride and excitement. She pictured him embracing her, maybe even thanking her. The thought filled her with renewed courage. She thanked Master Aldrich graciously and insisted that she would tell Sebastian the news herself. This moment, she decided, must belong to them alone.

Walking through the grand marble corridors of the palace, Evangeline’s heart felt light for the first time in years. Servants bowed as she passed, but she hardly noticed them—her mind was focused only on Sebastian and the life growing inside her. She wanted to see him, to share the joy, to believe that maybe, just maybe, love could still bloom between them.

As she approached the door of Sebastian’s private study, her steps quickened. She called out softly, “Sebastian! My lord, I have the most wonderful news to—”

But her voice faltered.

Through the half-open door, Evangeline froze at the sight before her. Her husband stood with Lady Cordelia Ashworth, daughter of the Duke of Greymont, wrapped in his arms. The woman’s fiery red hair cascaded over Sebastian’s shoulders as he held her close. Evangeline’s heart stopped when she saw him tilt Cordelia’s chin upward and press his lips to hers—a tender, passionate kiss filled with the warmth and love she had begged the heavens for all these years.

It was everything she had ever wanted—and it wasn’t hers.

For a long, unbearable second, Evangeline could only stare. The parchment with her pregnancy confirmation still trembled in her hand. Then, in a broken whisper, she said his name: “Sebastian…”

The Crown Prince turned sharply, surprise flashing across his features before being quickly masked by his usual calm. Cordelia paled and stepped back, though Sebastian’s arm lingered protectively around her waist.

“Evangeline,” he said evenly, as though she were a stranger interrupting him, “what brings you here?”

Her throat tightened. She forced herself to stand tall, even as tears burned behind her eyes. “I… I live here,” she managed, her voice quivering. “I’m your wife.”

Sebastian’s cold gaze didn’t soften. “Is there something you need?” he asked, the same way he might address a court official.

Something inside Evangeline broke. Just minutes ago, she had been radiant with hope, ready to tell him that she carried his children—the future of his line. But now, staring at the indifference in his eyes and the woman in his arms, she realized the truth she had avoided for too long.

He would never love her. Not even their unborn children could change that.

A calmness settled over her—a cold, regal resolve that masked the chaos in her chest. Straightening her shoulders, Evangeline met his gaze with all the dignity her title demanded.

“Yes, my lord,” she said clearly. “There is something I need.”

Sebastian raised a brow, perhaps expecting her to plead, to cry, to beg for an explanation. Instead, she spoke words that shattered the silence of the study.

“I want an annulment.”

Both Sebastian and Cordelia froze. The shock in their eyes was almost satisfying. Cordelia gasped aloud, pressing a hand to her mouth, while Sebastian’s expression turned dark and unreadable.

“What did you say?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

Evangeline’s chin lifted higher. Her hands no longer trembled. “You heard me perfectly,” she said. “I want our marriage annulled.”

In that instant, the timid princess who had once waited for scraps of affection was gone. What remained was a woman who had found her strength—not through her husband’s love, but through the pain he had caused.

Inside, she knew she carried the next heirs of the throne—his heirs—but she would not allow that to bind her to a man who treated her like a political pawn. She would raise her children with dignity, even if she had to walk away from the palace to do it.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the crackle of the fireplace and the unspoken consequences of her declaration. But Evangeline didn’t wait for a reply. Gathering her skirts, she turned toward the door, her heart broken yet unburdened.

Her steps echoed through the marble halls as she walked away from the man who had never seen her—and toward the freedom she was finally claiming for herself.

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