Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 117

POV: Sylvie

The past few weeks had been the most glorious of Sylvie's life. After three long, cold years of being treated like little more than a decorative ghost in the Blackwood manor, she was finally living the life she was always meant to have. She was no longer just Sylvie; she was the Alpha's chosen.

Her mornings began not with lonely silence, but with the breathless delivery of the daily news feeds by her personal maid. She would spend an hour poring over every society page, every gossip column that featured her and Damian. The picture from the Starlight Gala was her favorite. She had it framed on her vanity. Damian's intense, adoring gaze, the possessive way his hand rested on her waist—it was all the proof she needed. She had won.

Her confidence, inflated by the hot air of public speculation, had transformed her. She now walked the halls of the manor with an unmistakable air of ownership. She critiqued the menus planned by the head chef, she ordered the rearrangement of furniture that had been in place for generations, and she spoke to the staff with a new, sharp authority that bordered on disdain. She was no longer a guest. She was the mistress of the house, in practice if not yet in title.

Her ascent, however, was not as universally accepted as she believed. The new blood, the younger pack members, were dazzled by her beauty and her apparent favor with the Alpha. But the old guard, the conservative elders who formed the bedrock of the pack's traditions, were not so easily swayed.

Their disapproval came to a head at a small, formal tea hosted for the pack's senior female members. Sylvie, as the Alpha's companion, sat at the head of the table, expecting to be the center of fawning attention. Instead, she was met with polite, icy smiles.

The final, crushing blow was delivered by Elder Maeve. The ancient shaman, her eyes cloudy but missing nothing, raised her cup in a mock toast.

"I must admit," Maeve said, her raspy voice carrying across the silent room, "it was a great source of pride for our pack to see the reports from the energy summit. To know that a woman once connected to our own Alpha Damian, the brilliant strategist known as 'Siren', could command the world stage with such intellect and grace. A true credit to the Blackwood name, in her own way."

The compliment was a dagger, and it was aimed directly at Sylvie's heart. The mention of Siren—of *her*—in this room, praised by this woman, was an unbearable insult. Sylvie felt the blood drain from her face, her carefully constructed smile freezing into a brittle mask of fury.

She endured the rest of the tea in a state of silent, seething humiliation. She was a replacement. A pretty, vapid stand-in for the real queen. The elders knew it. And they would never let her forget it.

She stormed back to her lavish suite, her silks rustling with her rage. The door slammed shut behind her. And her eyes fell upon the source of all her frustrations, the living, breathing reminder of the woman she could never truly replace.

The boy flinched as if struck. "I... I was trying my best."

"Your best is not good enough!" she hissed, striding over to him and snatching the book from his hands. "You are a reflection of your father. And a reflection of me. I will not have my position undermined by your mediocrity."

Tears welled in Nico's eyes.

"There will be no dinner for you tonight," she declared, her voice cold and hard. "You will stay in this room and contemplate how you have failed your Alpha. Perhaps a little hunger will sharpen your memory."

She turned and swept out of the room, leaving the boy alone with his tears. In the hallway, an elderly Omega servant, who had been on her way to turn down the evening linens, pressed herself back into the shadows of an alcove. She had heard everything. And her old, wrinkled face was a mask of horrified, resolute loyalty to the true Luna of the house.