Jeanne’s breath hitched as she tried to steady her nerves. Her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest. Then—she saw it.
A body.
Still. Lifeless.
Sprawled across the thorn garden.
Amid the lush chaos of blooming roses and wild vines, the sight of a bloodied figure jarred her to the core. “Who the hell is that?” she mouthed silently, eyes wide as she crept down from her hiding place. Her limbs trembled, but she forced herself forward.
Just then, two men appeared, walking casually—too casually—through the garden path. Jeanne ducked behind a cluster of hedges, ears straining.
“She’s so shameless,” said the taller of the two, Matt. His tone oozed mockery. “Can you imagine? A breeder stealing from another breeder. Absolutely disgusting.”
The other snorted. “I wonder where she’s hiding now. Coward.”
Jeanne’s pulse quickened. Jasmine? Their words confirmed what her gut had feared. Gathering her courage, she stepped out.
“What exactly are you talking about?” she asked, her voice a picture of innocence. “Who is this breeder you’re referring to?”
Matt was just about to answer when his gaze shifted—and froze.
There, tangled among the thorns, was Jasmine.
Broken.
Bleeding.
“New breeder’s a damn disgrace,” he muttered, jaw clenched.
Jeanne tilted her head, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Maybe you should check in with the breeder she supposedly stole from,” she suggested sweetly. “See if she has anything... enlightening to share.”
A wicked grin danced on her lips as she turned toward the thorn garden, a plan already blooming in her mind like a poisoned rose.
In hindsight, she should have verified the claims. She should’ve waited. But her loathing for Jasmine burned too hot. It wasn’t just about punishing a thief—it was about public disgrace, a fall so humiliating that even Lycan Ardor wouldn’t want to look at Jasmine again.
“I don’t know who helped me... but I’m grateful,” Jeanne muttered mockingly as she reached Jasmine. She nudged the girl's head—and her hand came away bloodied.
Jeanne recoiled, wiping her palm furiously on the dirt. Jasmine’s body was a canvas of torment: crusted blood, bruised skin, and the distinct outline of fingers across her face.
Jeanne smirked.
“I don’t care. She deserves to be humiliated.”
Soon, the other breeder arrived—right on cue. Dropping to her knees, she wept crocodile tears.
“I’m sorry, ma. I didn’t mean to slap her... but she tried to steal my necklace—my most valuable possession. I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”
The act was flawless. Jeanne didn’t believe a word, but she didn’t have to. The lie had already taken root.
Satisfied, she turned and bolted from the garden, headed straight for Lycan Ardor’s chambers.
But the room was empty.
She frowned. “Where is he?” she demanded, catching a passing maid by the arm.
The maid’s expression twisted in horror. Jeanne never spoke to staff. The mere sound of her voice addressing a servant sent ripples of unease.
“H-he’s in the meeting room,” the maid stammered.
Jeanne hissed and marched off, heels clicking with cold purpose. She threw open the door and strode in without hesitation.
“A thief has been caught,” she declared, lips curled in triumph.
All heads turned. The room buzzed with whispers. Confusion. Intrigue. Suspicion.
Lycan Ardor was already on his feet.
In a flash, he was at the thorn garden.
His eyes locked on Jasmine’s battered frame.
“What the hell…”
“Get her to my room. Now. And summon the Royal Doctor.”
His command was met with immediate action.
But his cold stare as he passed Jeanne said everything.
She’d overplayed her hand.
---
Five minutes later, the Royal Doctor arrived. Only he and Ardor were permitted in the room as Jasmine lay unconscious, her wounds festering.
Ardor clenched his jaw.
She was in this state because of his silence.
And yet—she had stolen. Or had she?
The contradiction clawed at him.
Weeks ago, she was just another breeder. Now, he found himself bound to her in ways he couldn’t explain—or admit.
He had a mate. A betrothed. A duty.
“Let me in!” Jeanne shouted outside, banging at the door.
“I’m sorry,” one of the guards said respectfully, “but the Lycan King gave strict—”
“I said open the damn door!” she shrieked.
Just then, the Royal Doctor exited. Jeanne pushed past him before the guards could stop her.
Ardor raised a hand. “Let her.”
Jeanne stormed in, her eyes blazing as she took in the sight of Jasmine resting in Ardor’s own bed.
“This is insanity! A thief—your breeder—is being treated like royalty?”
“She’s still under my protection,” Ardor said evenly. “You expect me to let her bleed out?”
Jeanne’s voice shook with rage. “You left your sister to rot in prison for weeks. But this... this nobody deserves your compassion?”
“You’re overthinking again,” Ardor replied, his calm a thin veneer. “Stop dragging irrelevant things into this.”
Jeanne snapped. “Oh? I’m just a hysterical woman now? Don’t tell me—you’re falling for her!”
The words slammed into the room.
And into Jasmine.
Eyes fluttering open, she stared at Ardor. Betrayed. Broken.
“She's awake,” Jeanne whispered, stunned.
Ardor turned slowly.
Jasmine's eyes locked with his.
Silent.
Devastated.
And Jeanne smiled.
Victory—sweet and fleeting—coursed through her.
As she exited, her thoughts were already racing. Rumors of another breeder were spreading, whispers infecting the village like wildfire.
Perfect.
Let the chaos bloom.
She hurried to the estate of Ardor’s parents, breathless with excitement. Her lies were sharpened and ready.
“Treason,” she murmured. “Let’s see how long Jasmine survives that.”
And she smiled again, unaware that this time, the thorns she’d planted were destined to pierce much deeper than she'd ever imagined.