Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 267: _ The Secret Lair II

Chapter 267: _ The Secret Lair II

Oh, dear Moon Goddess... Rosa doesn’t just deserve hell—she deserves to rot in a place even hell wouldn’t touch.

But still... as I stood there staring at the photograph of her and her lover who had his arm around her like he was proud to burn for her, I felt something ugly twist inside me.

It wasn’t anger or jealousy. This was colder. Regret, maybe, or pity. Because in another world, if we hadn’t been raised like dogs in Don Diego’s bloody kingdom... maybe she could’ve had him. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to lie or trap Axel or turn her womb into a battleground just to survive.

Her lover was... beautiful. I hate saying it, but he was. Young, maybe a little older than Rosa, with thick black hair that curled at the ends like he couldn’t be bothered to tame it. High cheekbones. Golden brown skin. A scar just under his left eye, like something out of a romantic war story. And his eyes—gods, his eyes were soft. Gentle. Like he only knew how to love things, not destroy them.

He didn’t look like someone from our world. He looked like someone we weren’t allowed to have. I blinked, swallowing a lump I didn’t remember forming in my throat.

Rosa, despite how bad and evil it was, found love. The depths she had gone for her love made me a little jealous. It made me question my own efforts. What have I endured for Axel?

How have I proved my love to him?

"You feel bad for them," the imposter said behind me, and I flinched.

I didn’t hear him move. Didn’t feel his footsteps. Just his voice, slithering into my thoughts like it belonged there.

"I didn’t say that," I replied, quieter than I wanted to be.

"You didn’t have to. You’re wearing it all over your face. That same soft pity that makes you dangerous."

"I’m not dangerous."

"Not yet."

I turned, ready to snap something sharp back—but he was crouching in front of a small wooden chest at the foot of the bed, ignoring me completely. His fingers brushed over the iron latch like it was familiar, like he knew exactly what he was looking for.

A dreadful feeling coiled in my stomach. "What is that?"

He didn’t answer. Just flipped it open with a click and slowly lifted the lid. And that was when I saw it.

I didn’t mean to gasp. I tried not to. But the sound tore out of me before I could strangle it. Inside the chest were nails. Not iron ones. Not wooden. Fingernails.

Dozens of them. Some were still caked in dry blood. Some cracked. Some curled like they’d been ripped out while screaming. All of them rested on a velvet cloth like they were precious stones.

I staggered back, a hand clamped over my mouth. My lungs refused to work. My brain screamed at my feet to run, but they refused to move.

"What... what is this?" My voice could barely be heard. "Whose are they?"

He didn’t flinch or even blink.

"According to Rosa’s journal," he said, tapping the edge of the chest like he was pointing out wedding rings in a catalogue, "this was a ritual. A tradition, really. Each fingernail belonged to someone they had to silence. Anyone who got too close to the truth. Anyone who suspected them."

I tasted bile. "Silenced how?"

He smiled. "What do you think?"

Oh, no, no, no. That was way too many nails to belong to victims of murder. Was theirs in there too? Ruben, Gonzalo, and Pedro’s?

I turned away before I vomited. My head buzzed. I couldn’t tell if it was from rage or horror or some feral mix of both.

He went on like he was narrating a bedtime story.

"Apparently, her witch lover believed pain purified secrets. Said that real love had to be built on something stronger than lies. Had to be tested. Broken. Reforged. So every time someone threatened their truth... they made a vow." He gestured to the chest. "And a sacrifice."

My knees buckled and I dropped onto the edge of the bed. The mattress groaned beneath me like it was tired of holding things, too.

"They’re insane," I whispered.

"They’re in love," he corrected. "A kind of love that bends reality and snaps necks. Romantic, isn’t it?"

"No. It’s sick."

"They’d agree with you," he said with a chuckle. "They thought everyone else was too weak for love. That the world would never understand theirs. So they stopped explaining."

The silence crawled between us right after. I was damn speechless. I lived with that monster for years. Called her my sister, looked up to her, even though all she had ever felt for me was unadulterated hatred.

I stared at the picture again. Oh, look how radiant she was. I had never seen such a glow on her face before. Not in the eighteen years of living under the same roof.

Her lover was smiling like he’d found something worth dying for. They looked happy. They looked like a dream. And yet, here was a box full of mutilated truths sitting just inches from that photograph like a cursed offering.

"What did you bring me here for?" I finally asked the burning question in my throat.

Maybe because I didn’t trust him to do this out of the Goodness of his heart. He had said this was because he cared about my happiness, but don’t blame me if I no longer trust people who pretended to be something they weren’t

"Why show me all this?"

He stood and faced me, brushing dust from his palms.

"To help you see things clearly and provide evidence to stop the wedding in two days."

I narrowed my eyes. As much as I wanted to venture into why he wanted the wedding to be stopped, his words about helping me see things clearly piqued my interest.

"What things?" I inquired, already dreading the answer.