Chapter 12: Psychological Warfare

Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Psychological Warfare

Meanwhile, back to Azura—who had just successfully executed what she believed was a flawless breakup with "Alpha Adrian" (spoiler alert: it was not)—she was on a mission.

Find Selena. Become Selena’s favorite person so that when the plot kicks in, she doesn’t get murdered in a tragic "karma is real" revenge scenario.

She stopped the first servant she saw. A young maid carrying a stack of linens.

"Excuse me! Where is Selena?"

The maid blinked, startled by the sudden appearance of the late Beta’s daughter—the very same current Beta’s sister who was apparently now dating the Alpha. Or had dated the Alpha. Or had broken up with the Alpha’s father. No one knew anymore. The timeline was a mess.

"She’s... in the kitchen, miss. Washing dishes."

"Perfect! Thank you! You’re a hero! I’ll name my firstborn after you!"

Azura nodded confidently and marched off in a random direction with her bag bouncing against her hip.

Twenty minutes later, she had:

- Accidentally walked into the armory (very intimidating, lots of swords, 0/10 would not recommend for someone with no combat skills)

- Wandered into the library (pretty, but not a kitchen)

- Opened a closet door and stared at a mop for a solid ten seconds.

She had asked a total of twenty-three people for directions. Twenty-three. That’s more than a football team’s worth of humans who had to stop what they were doing and point a confused young woman toward the kitchen.

Finally, she resorted to her ultimate tactic: she clutched her stomach, made her eyes go wide, and approached a passing servant with the desperation of a woman who had not eaten in three days.

"You! I’m STARVING! I haven’t eaten in—" checks nonexistent watch "—twenty-three minutes of wandering! I am but a withering flower! A wilting petal! Lead me to sustenance! I will pay you in good karma and eternal gratitude."

The servant, either moved by her performance or terrified that she might collapse on the floor, escorted her directly to the kitchen.

And there she was.

Selena.

Standing at a massive stone sink, her slender arms submerged in soapy water, surrounded by a mountain of dirty dishes that looked like it had been accumulating since the Middle Ages.

Her face was pale. Her shoulders were hunched. She moved like someone whose soul had already left her body and was currently vacationing on a beach somewhere without her.

Azura’s heart clenched.

Oh no. This is like looking at a wet kitten that’s been kicked one too many times. I must protecc.

She clutched her big bag—which was filled with snacks and new clothes that she had prepared for exactly this moment—and marched forward with the confidence of a woman on a divine mission.

"Hey, Selena! Let me help you!"

Selena’s entire body jolted like she’d been electrocuted. A plate slipped from her fingers, nearly shattering on the floor, before she caught it with clumsy, trembling hands.

She turned around.

And the look in her eyes—fear, hatred, exhaustion, resentment—made Azura stop in her tracks.

"Azura..."

Her voice was hoarse. Broken. Like a violin string that had been stretched too thin. She set the plate down slowly, as if she was holding herself back from throwing it.

"What do you want now? Alpha Adrian and I have already rejected each other—just like you wanted. So can you... can you please just leave me alone? For one day? Or do you want me to break these plates again? To kneel on the shards and bleed until you’re satisfied?"

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Azura’s brain went into emergency override mode.

Error. Error. Hostile Female Lead detected. Friendship protocol failing. Initiating desperate measures.

Her eyes darted around the kitchen like a panicked squirrel. How could she prove she was sincere? How could she show Selena that she had changed? That she wasn’t the same monster who had made her life miserable?

And then—like a divine revelation descending from the heavens—it hit her.

Kneel.

It was the ultimate gesture of humility in her culture. Back in China, if you really messed up, you dropped to your knees, touched your forehead to the ground, and begged for forgiveness like your life depended on it.

The thing you did to apologize to your ancestors, your elders, and—in extreme cases—your girlfriend when you forgot your anniversary. But would it work here? In this Western fantasy werewolf world? Would Selena think she was trying to start some kind of... BDSM scene?

Doesn’t matter! Desperate times call for desperate knee-to-floor contact!

Without a second thought, Azura dropped to her knees with the dramatic force of a martyr accepting their fate. Then she slammed her forehead against the stone floor.

THUD!

Again.

THUD!

Again.

THUD!

Selena stumbled backward so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"What—what are you doing?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with genuine terror. "Get up! GET UP!"

This was worse. This was SO much worse.

The evil Azura she knew. She understood. She could predict.

This Azura—the one kneeling and bowing—was an unknown variable. A glitch in the matrix. A weirdo wearing her bully’s face.

Before Selena could run, Azura lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Selena’s calves like she was hugging the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

"SELENA!!!" Azura wailed, her voice echoing through the kitchen. "I KNOW I’VE BEEN CRUEL TO YOU FOR YEARS!! I KNOW I’M A MONSTER!! A VILLAIN!! A SHAMELESS SHE-WOLF WITH THE MORAL COMPASS OF A HUNGRY ALLIGATOR!! BUT I HAVE SEEN THE LIGHT!! I HAVE REPENTED!! I AM NOW YOUR DEVOTED STALKER—I MEAN, SISTER!! TRUST ME!!"

Selena’s eyes were wide, her body trembling. She looked down at the woman hugging her legs like she was a lifeline in a storm, and she didn’t know whether to kick her or call an exorcist.

"I EVEN BROKE UP WITH ALPHA ADRIAN AS PROOF!! I THREW HIM AWAY LIKE YESTERDAY’S TRASH!! FOR YOU!! BECAUSE YOU DESERVE BETTER!!"

She looked up at Selena with the desperate eyes of a golden retriever that had just chewed up the couch and was trying to apologize.

"IF YOU WANT ME TO KNEEL AND LET YOU WHIP ME—NO PROBLEM!! I CAN FULFILL THAT FETISH!! I’LL BUY THE WHIP MYSELF!! WHATEVER COLOR YOU WANT!!"

Then, the kitchen door creaked open.

Mrs. Hannah, the pack’s head cook—a stout, no-nonsense woman in her fifties who had seen everything in thirty years of service—stepped out of the pantry with a sack of potatoes in her arms.

She froze.

Her eyes traveled from Azura—kneeling on the floor, hugging Selena’s legs—to Selena—pale as a ghost, looking like she wanted to melt into the floorboards.

She had seen Azura torment Selena countless times. She had watched the poor girl be forced to scrub floors, pick glass out of her palms, and endure endless verbal abuse. She had never, in all her years, expected to walk into the kitchen and see Azura kneeling at Selena’s feet, hugging her legs.

And then Azura’s words echoed in her memory.

"I can fulfill that fetish."

"I’ll buy the whip myself."

Mrs. Hannah’s expression shifted from confusion to... profound misunderstanding.

Her eyebrows rose. Her lips pursed. She gave Selena a look that said, very clearly: "Oh. OH. I didn’t know you were into that, little mouse."

Selena saw that look.

And her soul left her body.

It floated up to the ceiling, looked down at the disaster unfolding below, and promptly decided it was never coming back..

"NO—NO, IT’S NOT—SHE’S LYING—I DON’T HAVE A—I WOULD NEVER—"

But the damage was done. Mrs. Hannah just shook her head slowly, clutching her potatoes like they were the only pure things left in this sinful world, and turned around to walk back into the pantry.

"Kids these days," she muttered. "Back in my day, we just held hands and howled at the moon."

Selena stared at Azura, who was still clinging to her legs like a barnacle that had found its forever home.

And in that moment, something inside her cracked.

Is this... is this her new method of psychological torture?!

Her mind raced, piecing together the evidence.

Azura kneels. ✅

Azura hugs her legs. ✅

Azura shouts about whips and fetishes. ✅

Azura makes the cook look at her like she’s the kinky freak of the pack. ✅

It all clicked together in Selena’s traumatized brain like the world’s worst puzzle.

THIS IS IT. THIS IS HER NEW STRATEGY. She’s not going to hit me anymore—she’s going to FRAME me! She’s going to make everyone think I’m some kind of degenerate pervert who LUSTS after her own older sister! She’s going to ruin my reputation so completely that even the MOON GODDESS will look away in shame!

Selena’s eyes glazed over. Her lips parted slightly. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Azura..." she whispered, her voice hollow, like a ghost accepting its eternal haunting. "You’re a genius. Truly. I never thought you could stoop to such a... creative level of psychological warfare."

*

*

*

Meanwhile, far away from the kitchen’s escalating disaster, deep within the forested edge of Crimson Crest territory, a group of men stood gathered around a small, dilapidated wooden house.

The house looked like it had been built as an afterthought—crooked planks, a sagging roof, moss creeping up the walls like nature’s slow takeover of a forgotten memory.

It was the kind of place where packs sent people they didn’t want to see. Exiles. Outcasts. People who had committed crimes too small for death but too big for forgiveness.

One of the men—sharp eyes, cocky smirk, leather jacket—walked up to the door. He didn’t knock.

He kicked.

The door exploded inward, splintering like toothpicks under a boot. He disappeared inside for a few minutes, then emerged, dusting off his hands.

"Empty," he announced. "And not just empty. Abandoned. Looks like nobody’s lived here for years."

The second man—calmer, arms crossed, leaning against a tree with calculated ease—raised an eyebrow.

"So the Crimson Crest pack exiled a pup to live here alone, huh? Cold. Even for werewolves."

He looked up toward the main pack territory, visible over the treeline.

"Which means she’s probably back in the main compound now. And I’m guessing they didn’t put her in a dungeon."

The third man—the one who hadn’t spoken yet, whose eyes were cold and patient like a wolf watching prey—also gazed up at the distant fence line. Beyond it, the Crimson Crest pack’s territory sprawled, glittering with lights and life.

He hummed thoughtfully.

"So what you’re saying is... we need to break into Crimson Crest territory?"

A pause.

Then the first man grinned, slow and dangerous.

"Don’t forget, that woman said she didn’t want anyone to know who took the girl."

"..."

"So..."

The third man finally spoke, his voice low, smooth, and carrying the weight of someone who had made up his mind.

"Let’s just kidnap her."