<h4>Chapter 190: Wanda’s Revenge n</h4>


    <strong><i>(Third Person).</i></strong>


    <strong><i>~Alpha Draven’s Estate~</i></strong>


    Wanda stood rigid by the long dining table, blood seeping warmly between her fingers, staining the white serviette she had hastily grabbed.


    Her gaze locked on the doorway where Meredith had disappeared moments ago, her heart hammering in a violent stato of rage and humiliation.


    The servant nearest to her, a young woman who had stepped forward with a fresh, warm towel, trembled visibly under Wanda’s re.


    In a sh of blind anger, Wanda pped the towel from the maid’s hand, her voice slicing through the tense air.


    "Get away from me!"


    The servant stumbled back, eyes wide with fear.


    Wanda’s gaze swept over the remaining servants still frozen by the walls.


    "Out!" she barked, her voice cracking. "All of you, out!"


    They scurried from the room, skirts rustling, heads bowed so low they nearly brushed their knees.


    Silence fell, heavy and absolute.


    With her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached, Wanda peeled the serviette from her face and studied the smear of blood on it. Her own blood.


    She hissed under her breath. "Meredith... you worthless little bitch..."


    Fury coiled inside her, hot and restless.


    She stormed out of the dining hall, her shoes echoing sharply against the stone floors. Up the grand staircase to the second floor, then down the corridor until she reached her bedroom.


    She shoved the door open and strode directly into the bathroom.


    Cold water roared from the marble faucet as she bent over the sink, cupping water and sshing it on her face.


    Blood swirled down the drain, pink at first, then fading to clear.


    Wanda raised her head to the mirror. A thin, angry bruise was already forming under her left eye, and her nose was swollen, discoloured, and aching sharply.


    Then came a small, sickening crack as bone realigned, sending a burst of pain so intense she had to grip the sink to steady herself.


    Breathing heavily, Wanda stared into her own reflection.


    Fury pulsed in every heartbeat.


    She reyed it again: Meredith’s hand in her hair. The m into the te. The punch—quick, clean, humiliating.


    Meredith. The cursed, wolfless, useless young woman she thought was nothing... had dared toy hands on her. And worse, had seeded.


    Wanda’s nails curled against the marble, scraping faint white lines.


    "I underestimated you, didn’t I?" she whispered to her reflection, voice sharp as broken ss.


    It had to be Draven’s training. And she had underestimated Meredith, mocking her even.


    Rage twisted into something darker.


    Draven hadn’t wasted his time training Meredith, and now, Meredith had be bold—too bold.


    Wanda stepped back, cold water dripping down her chin.


    "What gave you the courage to even think you could touch me?" she whispered bitterly.


    She knew she couldn’t let this pass.


    Meredith had to be reminded of her ce. Of who truly held power here.


    Thoughts flickered, ns forming. A lesson. A punishment that would leave its mark.


    Slowly, Wanda walked back into her room and sat on the edge of her bed, the towel still pressed to her bruised nose. Her eyes narrowed as a dangerous thought crystallized.


    A private session. Just Meredith and her. In the name of training, of course. Draven wouldn’t suspect.


    Wanda’s breath quickened, pulse fluttering with anticipation at the idea of making Meredith beg, cry out, break under her.


    She would teach Meredith what happened to wolves—or even cursed half-wolves-who stepped above their station.


    She rose abruptly from the bed, tossing the blood-stained towel aside.


    Yes. She would need Draven’s approval. But she had known Draven since they were children—knew the right words, the right tone, the right memories to tug.


    Wanda left her room and walked briskly down the corridor, her boots muffled against the thick runner rug. She descended the stairs to the ground floor, ignoring the curious nces from passing servants.


    Near the end of the hall, she spotted a servant boy carrying scrolls.


    "You," she called sharply.


    He froze, turning wide-eyed.


    "Where’s the Alpha?"


    "In his study, mydy," he stammered.


    Wanda didn’t bother to thank him. She walked straight there, pausing briefly at the door topose her expression into something softer, carefully burying the fury still boiling inside.


    She knocked.


    A muffled, "Come in."


    Wanda pushed the door open, slipping inside. Draven sat behind his broad oak desk, papers and ledgers spread before him. His sharp gaze flickered up to her.


    She offered a small smile, masking the pounding of her heart.


    "Draven," she greeted softly, her voice warm, familiar.


    "Wanda," he acknowledged, his tone t but not unfriendly.


    She moved closer and sat on the chair opposite him, crossing her legs, carefully hiding the bruised side of her face.


    "What are you working on?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.


    "Numbers," he replied simply. "Rations, patrol shifts... trying to bnce everything."


    She let out a low chuckle. "You’ve always been brilliant with strategy. Remember those winter days when you’d draw battle maps in the snow?"


    For the briefest second, his expression softened, an old memory passing between them.


    "And our fathers," she added, her voice dipping, "always ruining the fun with their stern faces and endless lectures."


    Draven’s lips twitched faintly. "I remember."


    Wanda’s gaze softened further, almost wistful. "You carry so much, Draven. The safety of everyone... all on your shoulders. It’s more than anyone should bear alone."


    She watched his expression carefully, gauging the small crack of vulnerability her words opened.


    Then she leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "That’s why I came. I wanted to help."


    He raised an eyebrow, wary. "Help how?"


    Wanda drew a slow breath, masking her excitement. "Let me train Meredith. Just once. One private session. You’ve been pouring time and strength into her—she’s grown, but she needs to face a real opponent. Someone who won’t go easy. Someone... who knows her limits and can push them."


    Draven’s gaze cooled instantly. "No."


    She pressed on, her voice softening. "Draven, I know you’re afraid I will hurt her. I won’t deny that I dislike her—she’s weak, cursed, unfit... you know it too. But maybe that’s why this is necessary."


    Still, he was silent.


    Wanda’s voice turned almost persuasive, threading with familiar affection. "She doesn’t like me either. Maybe if she faces me, truly fights, she’ll be stronger. It might bring out something raw in her. Something real."


    His silence stretched, his jaw tightening faintly.


    Wanda rose, smoothing her skirts, and stepped closer to the desk. "You’ve always been willing to do anything for the good of your people—even if it meant making harsh choices. This could help her, Draven."


    Still seeing the hesitation, she added with a light, almost yful tone, "I promise not to beat her to death. Just... rile her up a little. Push her beyond herfort."


    She tilted her head, letting her hair fall slightly over the faint bruise, masking it.


    "Think about it," she finished softly. "I’m only asking for one session."


    Without waiting for an answer, she offered a small, measured smile, turned on her heel, and walked out.


    Her pulse raced as she shut the door behind her, a dark satisfaction curling in her chest.


    In that single conversation, she had nted the seed.


    And if Draven agreed... Meredith would step into the ring with her.


    And then, Wanda promised silently, she would make Meredith pay for every ounce of humiliation.


    With interest.