Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 169

Chapter 169: Chapter 169

Elara’s POV

The bell for round one ended with my blood already painting the sand.

Cade hadn’t even broken a sweat.

I stumbled to my corner. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else—someone drunk, someone dying. The wooden stool appeared beneath me and I collapsed onto it so hard it creaked.

Zane was already there. He pressed a bundle of ice wrapped in cloth against my left eye. The cold was so sharp it felt like a second punch.

"Hold still." He tilted my chin up. His fingers were rough, clinical. He studied my face the way a butcher studies a carcass. "Nose is broken."

I knew. I’d felt the cartilage shift when Cade’s fist connected. A wet, grinding sensation that sent white fire through my skull.

"Lip’s split through. Gonna need stitching after." He wiped the blood from my mouth with a damp rag. It came away soaked red. "You hear me?"

I nodded. Or tried to. My neck didn’t want to cooperate.

"Good. Now listen." He crouched in front of me. Grabbed both my wrists. His eyes were hard. Not angry. Worse. Disappointed. "You’re fighting like a scared little victim in there. Taking hits. Covering up. Waiting for it to end. You know what that gets you?"

I didn’t answer.

"Dead. That’s what it gets you." He squeezed my wrists until the bones ground together. "Stop being prey. Start being the predator. You hear me? Fast. Dirty. Cruel. Go for the soft spots—throat, eyes, groin, knees. Forget everything about fighting fair. Fair is for people who can afford funerals."

The bell rang. Too soon. Way too soon.

Zane pulled the ice away and slapped my cheek—light, but enough to sting. "Get up. Move. Don’t let him corner you again."

I stood. The arena tilted. I blinked my one good eye until the world settled into something approximately level.

Round two.

Cade came out grinning. He rolled his neck. Popped his knuckles. The crowd was chanting his name, a rhythmic thunder that shook dust from the ceiling.

He advanced.

I tried what Zane said. Tried to be fast. Tried to be cruel.

I threw a jab at his throat. He batted it away with his forearm like swatting a fly. I aimed a kick at his knee. He shifted his weight and my shin glanced off his thigh. I tried to circle. He cut the angle and penned me against the ropes again.

His fist caught me in the temple.

The world fractured into shards of light and darkness. My legs buckled. The sand rushed up to meet me and I hit it face-first. Coarse grains filled my mouth, mixed with blood and saliva into a paste that tasted like rust and dirt.

I heard counting again. Far away. Underwater.

"...one..."

Get up.

"...two..."

Get up.

"...three..."

My arms pushed against the sand. They trembled so hard they nearly gave out.

"...four..."

The crowd was laughing. I could hear individual voices now—cruel, entertained, already counting their winnings.

"...five..."

And then—

Kaelen’s voice.

Not here. Not real. But present in that way that memory sometimes becomes more vivid than reality. His voice cutting through everything like a blade through silk.

Valerius needs his mother.

My fingers dug into the sand.

Your baby girl needs her mother.

Something ignited in my chest. Not warmth. Not hope. Something older. Darker. Hotter. A furnace door thrown open, and behind it—rage. Pure. Molten. Bottomless.

My children.

My son, with his dark curls and gold eyes, waiting for me. My daughter, who I’d carried through heartbreak and exile and hadn’t even gotten to hold long enough.

They needed me alive.

I was not going to die on this filthy sand for the entertainment of strangers.

"...six..."

"Stop the count." My voice came out broken. Barely a croak. But the referee heard it. He paused.

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