Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 147

Chapter 147: Chapter 147

Elara’s POV

For the third consecutive morning, the pancakes were perfect.

Golden. Fluffy. Steam curling off the stack like little ghosts rising from the plate. Margaret had drizzled honey across the top the way she always did, and the kitchen smelled like butter and warmth and everything a home should be.

I couldn’t eat.

My fork pressed into the edge of the top pancake. It left a dent. I stared at that dent like it held answers.

"Valerius..."

Kaelen’s voice. Broken. Shattered glass dragged across stone just as I had heard it through the wall three days ago. It had been living inside my skull ever since, replaying on a loop I couldn’t silence. Every time I closed my eyes. Every time the room went quiet. Every time I tried to swallow food.

My stomach lurched. I set the fork down.

"You need to eat something, dear." Margaret’s hand settled on my shoulder. Warm. Steady. The kind of touch that should have been comforting. "Even just a few bites."

Robert looked up from his newspaper. "She’s right. You’ll make yourself ill if you keep going like this. Just try a little. For strength."

I picked up the fork again. Cut a small piece. Put it in my mouth.

Sawdust. Warm, honey-flavored sawdust that turned to paste against my tongue.

I forced myself to swallow. My throat rejected it. I pressed my hand over my mouth and breathed through my nose until the nausea passed.

Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Deliberate. Finnian appeared in the doorway, hair still damp from washing, towel slung over one shoulder. His gaze went straight to my plate.

Untouched. Except for that one pathetic bite.

His brow furrowed. "Ela."

Just my name. Nothing else. But the weight behind it said everything. You’re scaring me. You’re fading. Stop this.

"I’m not hungry," I said.

He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, radiating that quiet, stubborn concern that reminded me so much of—

No. I shut that thought down before it could form.

"I’ll eat later," I lied.

Margaret and Finnian exchanged a look over my head. I pretended not to notice.

---

The bathroom mirror didn’t lie.

I stood before it after breakfast, gripping the edges of the basin. The woman staring back at me had hollowed cheeks. Bruise-dark crescents beneath her eyes. Her silver-white hair hung in a limp braid, strands escaping at every angle.

She looked like someone who had made an unforgivable mistake and knew it.

Because you did.

I turned away from the mirror before that thought could grow teeth.

---

Morrison’s Smithy opened at its usual hour. I sat behind the front counter on my stool, ledger open, quill in hand. The familiar smell of iron filings and coal smoke drifted from the back workshop where Finnian was already hammering.

I recorded yesterday’s orders. Checked the supply list. Counted coins in the lockbox. Every motion mechanical. A body performing tasks while the mind lived somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere in a city far from here, a little boy with dark curls and gold eyes was going about his day. Maybe sitting in a classroom. Maybe reading a book. Maybe asking someone—anyone— where his mother had gone.

Stop it.

The bell above the door chimed at midday. Mrs. Patterson shuffled in, wrapped in her worn wool coat despite the mild weather. She had sharp grandmother eyes—the kind that missed nothing and forgave less.

"Here for the plow blade," she announced.

I retrieved it from the finished rack. The repair was clean. Finnian’s work was always clean.

"All set, Mrs. Patterson." I wrapped it in cloth and slid it across the counter. "The edge should hold through the season."

She didn’t take it immediately. Those sharp eyes swept over me instead. Head to toe. Lingering on my face.

"You look terrible, dear."

No venom in it. Just blunt, grandmotherly observation.

"I haven’t been sleeping well."

"Hmm." She picked up the wrapped blade. "My granddaughter looked just like you after her husband left. Same hollow cheeks. Same dead eyes." She tucked the package under her arm. "Grief eats from the inside, you know. Won’t stop until you feed it something else."

She paid. She left. The bell chimed behind her.

That evening, Margaret stood at the stove stirring stew. The kitchen windows had fogged from the steam. Robert sat in his usual chair, whittling something small and shapeless. I sat at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea I hadn’t sipped. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

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