My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 274

Chapter 274: Chapter 274 SAFE

CELESTE’S POV

“Up.”

The chain snapped tight as I was hauled forward, biting into my shoulder until pain flared, raw and searing. I stumbled off the truck, landing on concrete steeped in oil and decay. My bare feet slipped. Laughter echoed, sharp and cruel.

“Seriously,” another voice drawled. “Don’t fucking bruise the goods. He’s not going to be happy.”

My stomach lurched at that damning word again: goods.

A chill swept over my skin as the doors crashed shut behind us. The sound reverberated, heavy and final, like a lid sealed. I drew a breath that tasted metallic and stale, saturated with suffering.

Through the dull roar in my skull, I realized that we were lined up.

Chains tugged as bodies were forced into order, collars clinking in a helpless, defeated rhythm.

Someone whimpered behind me. Someone else retched and sobbed until a sharp blow cut the sound off mid-breath.

“Eyes down.”

I lifted my chin out of reflex. They may have taken me to gods knew where and reduced me to about an inch tall, but I still had my pride.

Celeste Lockwood would always hold her head up high.

A fist cracked across my jaw.

A constellation of pain exploded behind my eyes as my head whipped sideways, teeth jarring together. Blood bloomed, warm and coppery, on my tongue.

“I said, eyes down,” the man snarled.

***

“Lady Celeste?”

I jerked violently, breath hitching as my body recoiled before my mind caught up—muscles locking, breath slicing into my chest.

My hands twitched, fingers curling inward, expecting resistance. Iron. Weight. Pain.

Instead, my nails bit into my own palm.

I sucked in a breath that tasted of salt and warm air, not metal. Not rust. Not rot.

The sun above the Maldivian sky was bright enough to hurt.

It spilled across the water in blinding shards of gold, dancing atop the waves. The blue was flawless, merciless in its beauty.

Palm fronds drifted overhead, their shadows weaving gentle, shifting patterns across the pale stone beneath my feet.

Somewhere nearby, waves lapped gently against the shore, rhythmic and indulgent.

Sun. Sand. Beach. Island.

Beautiful, peaceful, perfect.

Safe.

Catherine’s island.

Safe. I was safe.

“Lady Celeste?”

The Omega servant stood a few steps away, hands folded neatly in front of her. She was young—barely more than a girl—with dark hair pulled back tight and eyes that never quite lifted to meet mine.

She looked nothing like Olivia.

Yet every time I saw her, agony lanced through my heart.

“Your treatment is scheduled to begin in ten minutes,” she said gently. “Lady Catherine asked me to fetch you.”

My mouth tightened.

Already?

I glanced toward the open doors leading back into the villa, where cool marble and filtered air waited. Where that room waited.

“I’ll be there,” I said, sharper than necessary.

She dipped her head and retreated without another word.

I lingered on the chaise lounge, my heart thudding too hard, too fast. I forced myself to draw in breath after breath, slow and measured, the way Catherine had taught me.

I was safe.

That was the truth I repeated until it stuck.

Catherine had found me. Pulled me out before the worst could happen. That was what mattered.

I eased myself upright, muscles stiff and joints aching with a pain that had nothing to do with lounging too long in the sun. The ocean glittered back, vast and indifferent.

I let out a slow breath, fingers raking through my hair—then froze as my eyes caught on my wrist.

Bare skin stared back at me.

No ink. No mark. No faint shimmer beneath the surface where my bond with Brett had once rested like a living thing.

The tattoo we’d gotten had stayed even after the bond was severed because my wolf, weak as she was, still lived within me.

And now...

A strangled cry ripped from my throat as grief crashed over me, sudden and suffocating. My chest cinched tight, pain flaring sharp behind my sternum, and then—

***

The escape attempt erupted without warning, fierce and chaotic.

Olivia had planned it in whispers and stolen glances, timing the guards’ rotations, counting steps in the dark. She shoved a broken piece of metal—plate or cup, I think—into my hand, her grip fierce.

“When I say run,” she told me, eyes blazing, “you don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

My eyes widened. “What about you? We have to get out of here together.”

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