Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Chapter 176

Elara’s POV

"Absolutely not," I said, snatching the notebook from Finnian’s hands. "Let me see that."

He grinned and leaned back against the driver’s bench, letting the horses find their own pace down the main street. "Go ahead. You’re in there."

The notebook was small, leather-bound, stuffed with loose pages and dried flower petals pressed between entries. Margaret’s handwriting was precise and unapologetic. Names arranged in columns. Color codes in the margins. Little symbols I couldn’t decipher—except one.

A purple mark beside my name. With a star.

"What does purple mean?"

Finnian rubbed the back of his neck. "Purple means ’the absolute only option.’ The star means she’s already picked out a wedding venue."

I stared at him. Then at the notebook. Then back at him.

And I laughed.

Not the polite, restrained sound I’d trained myself to produce over the past few years. Not the hollow thing I offered customers at the fighting ring when they tried to make conversation. This was real. It cracked out of me like something breaking open, raw and startling and completely beyond my control.

Finnian watched me with quiet satisfaction. "There she is."

"Your mother is insane."

"My mother is thorough. There’s a difference."

I pressed the notebook against my chest, still laughing. The wind caught my hair and pulled it across my face. The cobblestones rattled beneath the wheels. Sunlight came through the canopy of elms lining the avenue, throwing shifting patterns across my lap.

For a moment—just a breath—I felt almost normal.

Finnian brought the horses to a gentle stop on Oak Street to let a merchant’s cart pass. The quiet pause gave us a moment to catch our breath, our conversation shifting to the heavy burdens we had carried over the years.

"It’s been years," I said, my voice still light but grounded in the truth of our shared struggles. "You’d think the weight of it all would get easier."

Finnian rested his arms on his knees, looking at me gently. "Does it? Get easier?"

I thought about it. Really thought.

Every morning I woke up and reached across the bed for Kaelen, longing for my former mate. Every time I passed a dark-haired boy in the market, I saw the ghost of my son, Valerius. Every night, lying alone in the silence, I wondered about Lyra. Whether she had my eyes or his smile.

Years of wondering. Years of reaching for ghosts.

"No," I admitted quietly. "It doesn’t."

Despite the weighty words, a fragile, easy peace lingered between us. I turned to look out at the street.

And I saw the awning.

Pink and white stripes. Faded at the edges from years of weather. A hand-painted sign above the door: Betty’s Bakery.

The light mood shattered instantly.

I knew that awning. I knew the exact shade of pink. I knew the little iron bench outside the door where Valerius used to sit with frosting on his nose, kicking his legs because they were too short to reach the ground.

Sunday mornings. Every single one. Kaelen would carry Valerius on his shoulders. I’d hold the door. Betty would already have our order waiting—our usual weekend treats, and whatever pastry Valerius pointed at through the glass.

The memory detonated inside my chest.

My hand found the edge of the carriage seat. I gripped it until my knuckles ached. Panic clawed at my chest, tearing it apart. My breathing went shallow—too fast, too tight, air entering my lungs in sharp little cuts that did nothing.

Not here. Not now.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify