Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King (Emilia) novel Chapter 166

LUCIEN’S POV

I don’t remember falling asleep. One moment I was staring into the dark, Adele’s steady breathing the only anchor keeping me from drifting too far into my own head; the next, the world tilted and ! was somewhere else entirely.

Cold.

So cold it sank straight through skin and muscle and into bone. The kind of cold that made every breath ache in my lungs.

I was standing in the cellar, but then I saw myself… the boy I used to be. Small: Barely eight. Curled tight in the far corner where the stone wall met the dirt floor, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around them like that could stop the shaking.

The air smelled of damp earth and rot. Rats skittered in the shadows, bold from hunger. One brushed my bare foot, whiskers tickling, teeth testing. I kicked out weakly; it squeaked and scattered, but others took its place, drawn by the scent of fear and the promise of something weaker than them.

I watched myself-really watched-like I was a ghost hovering above the scene. The little boy’s lips were blue, his dark hair matted with sweat and grime. Tears had frozen on his lashes. He didn’t cry out loud anymore; he’dlearned that noise only brought worse.

Heavy footsteps echoed overhead. Slow. Deliberate. Each one landed like a hammer against my ribs even now, decades later.

The lock scraped. The door at the top of the stairs kicked open with a boom that rattled the walls.

Light spilled down-harsh, blinding after days of darkness and there he stood.

My father.

Tall silhouette, broad shoulders filling the doorway. In his hands, a tray. The smell of bread and stew hit me like a cruel joke, twisting my empty stomach until I thought I’d be sick.

He descended the stairs slowly, boots thudding. His face was calm, almost kind. That was always the worst part-the mask he wore before the monster came out.

“I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson by now,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “You must be hungry, boy.”

The child version of me uncurled instantly, hope flickering in eyes that should never have had to hope for basic kindness. He scrambled forward on hands and knees, trembling, desperate.

My father smiled faintly, bringing the tray down like he was going to give me.Then he dropped it.

The wooden tray clattered, stew splattering across the dirt, bread rolling into the muck. Chunks of meat scattered among rat droppings.

The boy lunged anyway, fingers clawing at the mess, shoving food into his mouth like an animal because that’s what starvation does-it strips you of everything but survival.

1 watched him eat off the floor, dirt coating his lips, tears mixing with the grime on his cheeks.

And then my father’s boot came down.

Hard. Into the boy’s ribs.

“You pathetic little thing,” he snarled, voice shifting into that familiar venom. “Eating off the floor like a dog. Is that what you are? A filthy mongrel who killed his own mother?”

Another kick. The boy curled around the pain, a broken sound ripping from his throat.

I felt it in my own body-the crack of bone, the explosion of agony, the way the world narrowed to nothing but hurt.

The child tried to crawl back to the food, fingers scraping. desperately, but another boot caught him in the stomach.

He retched, nothing coming up but bile.

“Stop-please-stop-” The boy’s voice was small,cracked, pleading. “T’ll be good, I swear—stop-”

Kick.

Another kick.

Each one landed with the weight of years, of hatred my father had nowhere else to pour after my mother died giving birth to me.

– I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Could only watch as the man l’d become stood frozen, fists clenched so tight my nails cut half-moons into my palms, while the boy l’d been begged on the cold ground.

‘Stop.”

‘Stop’

‘Stop.’

And goddess help me, it worked.

The cellar faded. The cold receded. The sound of boots on stone dissolved into the quiet rhythm. of her breathing.

I held her tighter, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in until the only thing left in the world was this-this small, perfect moment where she chose to stay.

My father was dead. I’d made sure of that years ago, the night I finally grew tall enough, strong enough, to end the cycle. He’d never lay a hand on me again. Never lock me away. Never kick me while I begged.

But the fear he’d planted? That lived on. Quiet. Patient.

Waiting for moments like this to bloom.

Adele shifted slightly, tilting her head up. In the dim lightcould just make out her eyes, soft and searching.

“You’re safe,” she whispered, like she’d read every thought I hadn’t said. Her fingers traced slow circles over my chest, right above my heart. “I’ve got you.”

Something cracked open inside me-sharp and aching and sweet all at once. I didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her gentleness after everything l’d put her through. But I was too selfish to push her away.

I pressed another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, Lingering there, breathing her in again.

“I know,” I said against her skin, voice rough. “I know.”

She settled back down, body melting against mine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the dark didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Sleep tugged at me again, slower this time, warmer. Safer.

But even as I drifted, one thought lingered-sharp and cold as iron.

She still didn’t know. She still didn’t know why I was so afraid to claim her fully.

She still didn’t know the curse my father had carved into me with every kick, every cruel word.

And tomorrow…tomorrow I would have to decide whether to keep carrying it alone, or risk breaking her heart all over again by telling her the truth.