The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 222

Attia-2

That man had died on a battlefield, cut down by a demon’s curse that had shattered his knee beyond repair. The healers had done what they could. They had pieced him back together, mended the bones, repaired the tendons.

But some damage could not be undone, despite his wolf’s efforts to heal him.

“Damn,” he groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. His inner wolf, Athos, whined in annoyance-a restless, angry sound that echoed through Attia’s mind.

“Fuck! I know,” Attia thought. “I know.”

He let out a long curse-low, guttural, filled with years of frustration. The sound reverberated through the empty office, swallowed by the thick walls and heavy books..

His mobile rang.

The shrill tone cut through the silence like a blade. Attia’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, willing the phone to stop ringing.

It didn’t.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the device, and glanced at the caller ID.

His mood darkened instantly.

Monica.

His… fiancée.

The word felt like lead in his mind. Heavy. Toxic. Wrong.

He watched the screen as it rang, the name burning into his retinas.

Monica. Monica. Monica.

He could already hear her voice in his head-high-pitched, demanding, layered with the kind of entitlement that only came from being born into wealth and never being told no.

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*Attia, darling, where have you been? I’ve called three times. THREE TIMES. You know how I worry. You know how I hate being ignored.*

She was spoiled. High-maintenance. Clingy.

Before the engagement, she had been annoying but manageable. A necessary evil, given their families’ connections. He had tolerated her. Listened to her chatter. Nodded at appropriate intervals.

But after the engagement…

He felt like he was choking.

She was everywhere. In his messages, his calls, his space. She wanted to know where he was, who he was with, when he would be free. She wanted to plan the wedding-the guest list, the flowers, the dress. She

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wanted to talk about their future, their children, their life together.

Every conversation made his chest tighten with a desperation he couldn’t name.

The phone stopped ringing.

Attia exhaled.

Then it started again.

He silenced the call and dropped the phone onto the couch beside him. He would deal with her later. When the pain had subsided. When he had the energy to pretend to be the man she expected him to be.

He closed his eyes again.

*This is your life now,* he told himself. *This is what you chose.*

But he hadn’t chosen it. Not really.

His military career was over the moment the curse had hit. A general who couldn’t walk without pain, who couldn’t stand for hours, who couldn’t lead troops into battle-what use was he? The kingdom had been kind about it. They had given him a medal, a ceremony, a title. They had praised his service and expressed their deepest gratitude.

And then they had retired him.

His knee had never recovered. The healers had said it was a miracle he could walk at all. Some curses left marks that no magic could erase.

The kingdom could not have crippled generals.

He understood that. Logically, he understood.

But understanding did not ease the bitterness that festered in his chest.

Once, he had been a rising star. The youngest general in a century. The highest marks in the Military Academy’s history. The prized son of the Scott family-an ancient bloodline with more power and prestige than most packs could dream of.

He had been the ultimate heir.

The one who would carry the family name into a new era of glory.

And now…

Now he was Headmaster Attia.

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The role was prestigious. He knew that. It had been given to him because of his accomplishments, because of his knowledge, because of his service. It was a covered position-one that many wolves would have killed for.

But he had never felt like it was his place.

He sat on this leather couch in this beautiful office, surrounded by books and accolades and the trappings of success, and he felt like a fraud.

Allia 2

A ghost.

A man who had died on a battlefield and been replaced by this pale imitation.

Athos stirred within him, restless and angry.

“This is not our life,” his wolf growled. “This is not who we are.”

“This is who we are now.”

“No.”

Attia didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy.

The pills were beginning to work-the sharp edges of the pain were blurring, softening, becoming something he could almost ignore. His breathing slowed. His muscles relaxed.

And for no reason, to his surprise, he thought about the red-haired girl again.

Lorelei.

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The way she had looked at him. The way her cheeks had flushed when he said her name. The way she had stammered, stumbled, admitted she didn’t know the answer.

She had looked… familiar.

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