Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 200

Chapter 200: Chapter 200

Elara’s POV

The click of the lock was the loudest sound in the world.

I lay there. Motionless. His coat draped over me like a shroud, heavy with his scent—pine and smoke and something darker. Something that made my chest ache in ways I refused to name.

My ribs screamed with every breath. The left side was the worst. I’d taken a knee there during my last fight—a few nights ago? Time had become slippery since he’d found me.

I pressed my face into the mattress. The sheets smelled expensive. Clean linen and lavender. Nothing like the straw pallets and blood-soaked rags I’d grown accustomed to.

Slowly, I pushed myself upright. The coat slid off one shoulder, and cold air hit the bandages on my forearm. I pulled it back up with trembling fingers.

The room was enormous. A suite meant for visiting dignitaries or wealthy merchants—high ceilings painted with frescoes of hunting wolves, velvet curtains drawn tight over floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace crackling low in the corner. A writing desk. A wardrobe. A door that I already knew led to a marble bathroom because the faint smell of soap drifted from its direction.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet hit cold stone. I was wearing a nightgown—white, soft cotton, not mine. He’d changed my clothes while I was unconscious.

The thought made my skin crawl.

He’d cleaned my wounds too. I could feel the fresh bandages wrapped tight around my knuckles, the sting of salve beneath the gauze. Careful work. Precise. The hands of someone who knew how to tend injuries.

The same hands that had pinned me down. That had ripped my shirt open. That had nearly—

I stood. Too fast. The room tilted sideways, and I grabbed the bedpost until the dizziness passed.

Move, I told myself. Think later. Move now.

The door first. I crossed the room on unsteady legs, my bare feet silent on the stone. The handle was iron, ornate, cold under my palm.

It didn’t budge.

I tried again. Pulled. Twisted. Threw my weight against it until my damaged ribs sent white-hot agony through my torso and I doubled over, gasping.

Locked. From the outside.

The windows next. I stumbled to the curtains and wrenched them apart. Moonlight flooded in—silver and merciless. Beyond the glass, a sheer drop. Far too high to jump. The cobblestone courtyard below looked like a mouthful of broken teeth.

No ledge. No balcony. No adjacent rooftop close enough to reach.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. My breath fogged the surface in ragged bursts.

Think. Think.

My communication stone. I always kept it in my breast pocket—the small enchanted crystal that connected to Finnian’s matching one. If I could reach him, he could—

I spun around. Searched the room with frantic eyes.

My clothes were gone. The bloodstained fighting leathers, the worn boots, the belt with its hidden pockets—all of it. I tore open the wardrobe. Empty except for pristine nightgowns and a robe that clearly belonged to this establishment.

The writing desk. I yanked every drawer open. Parchment. Ink. A seal stamp. Nothing useful.

The bathroom. I crashed through the door, my damaged hand leaving a smear of blood on the white frame. Marble floors. A copper tub. Towels folded with military precision. Soaps arranged in a neat row.

No communication stone. No coin purse. No keys. No weapons.

Nothing.

He’d taken everything.

My legs gave out. I slid down the bathroom wall until the cold marble tiles pressed against my thighs through the thin cotton. The chill seeped into my bones, but I barely felt it beneath the weight of everything else.

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