Chapter 91: Death Of Fool
Lorali Pov
She must think this is all a joke, or take me for a fool.
I stand with my arms crossed inside a dingy shed in the woods, the night pressing down heavy, the air damp and thick with the smell of moss and old timber. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of the structure and the distant cry of an owl. I wait, patient but burning, for my treasured guest.
Did Yurena really think she could arrange a secret meeting with Torin here, hidden in the dark, and I wouldn’t find out? Honestly, she’s clever. If I hadn’t caught that message in time, all my hard work would have been undone. Thank goodness Torin is careless with his phone.
My ears twitch at the crunch of grass outside. The door creaks open, moonlight spilling across the floorboards, painting the shed in silver. Yurena steps inside, her figure sharp against the glow. For a woman I’m about to die she looks good.
"You—" Her eyes widen at the sight of me, shock flashing across her face.
"What? Are you disappointed? Expecting to see your son, I’m guessing?" My voice drips with venom as I step closer, hands buried in the pockets of my sweatpants. My tank top clings to me, hair tied back, every inch of me ready for this confrontation.
"Did you think you could backstab me and I wouldn’t notice?" I stop directly in front of her, so close I can see the tremor in her shoulders, the way her head bows slightly. "Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. But I am going to make you regret what you tried tonight."
"Unfortunately, I cannot promise you the same," Yurena laughs, her tone mocking.
Before I can react, she moves, fast, too fast. Her hand dips into her pocket, steel flashing in the moonlight. The knife plunges into my gut. Pain explodes through me, white‑hot, ripping a groan from my throat as I collapse to my knees, clutching the wound where the blade still sits.
This witch actually stabbed me.
"You see, your problem is you overestimate how smart you are, Lorali," Yurena sneers, towering above me.
"What?" I cough, blood bubbling in my throat, rage burning through the agony.
"I knew my son wasn’t coming because of one flaw. When you messaged me, you used a thumbs‑up emoji. Torin doesn’t use emojis. He looks down on them." She laughs, cruel and triumphant. "That is how you gave yourself away. That is what caused your demise. This is the difference between you and me, Lorali. I’ll always get the job done. And if you are my enemy, you’ll never live."
She scoffs, turning her head, walking toward the door. "This is where the story ends, Lorali. It was fun."
With that, she disappears into the night.
I ball my fists, forcing my body upright. I will not let her win. I will not let her be the one who kills me. Never.
Blood drips from me as I stagger out of the shed, stumbling onto the wooded path. The night air bites at my skin, the metallic scent of blood thick in my nose. I run like my life depends on it, ignoring the agony tearing.
through me, each step a battle against collapse. My vision blurs, but I push forward until I reach Walter’s Aston Martin, the only car with keys I could find.
I slip into the driver’s seat, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood, fighting to stay conscious. My hands tremble as I start the engine, the roar of it filling the silence. The woods only have one road out. If I’m fast enough, I’ll catch up with Yurena.
I’ll rip her to shreds.
I should have killed her when I had the chance. Now that I have another, I won’t let it go.
Stepping hard on the accelerator, it doesn’t take long before Yurena’s car comes into view, her taillights glowing like blood in the dark. As if noticing me, she increases her speed, and suddenly we are locked in a high‑speed chase. The road blurs beneath us, the trees whipping past like shadows, the roar of engines filling the night. Ten minutes feel like an eternity, though I know it’s shorter. The speed makes time stretch, every second a knife edge.
We burst out of the woods and into the city. Yurena fails to notice the curve ahead. She slams her brakes, and my forehead smashes against the steering wheel. Her car spins out of control, skidding across the asphalt before colliding with a tree. The impact is brutal, but luck favors her and the driver’s side is spared. The airbags deploy, cushioning her, and I see her struggling, clawing at the handle, trying to escape.
I could drive away. I could let her crawl out of that wreck and survive the night. But why would I? Why would I let her live when I may not even see the sunrise myself?
Anger boils through me, hotter than the pain in my gut. I slam the car into reverse, then stomp on the accelerator, ramming into her vehicle. The crunch of metal reverberates through me, but once isn’t enough. It doesn’t ease the agony tearing through my body. So I do it again. And again. Nine more times, each collision louder, harder, until Walter’s Aston Martin is nothing but twisted wreckage.
I stagger out, clutching my stomach, blood dripping onto the road, staining the pavement. "Shoot," I mutter, staring at the mangled ruin of Yurena’s car. I’ve gone too far. I’ve messed up.
Rushing back to the car, I yank open the glove compartment, my bloody hands fumbling for my phone. I dial a number I wish I didn’t have to, the one person I know who can help me bury this. It takes five tries before the call connects.
"Have you any idea what time it is?" Kazair’s voice whispers, groggy, like he’s just woken up.
"I think I killed someone," I blurt, my voice shaking. Silence follows, heavy, before I hear light chuckles.
"You have got to be joking."
"I am not. I was trying to stop Yurena from revealing everything to Torin. She stabbed me, and I crashed into her car multiple times with Walter’s."
"Oh, this is really bad. I never thought you had murder in you."
Neither did I. But Yurena makes me into something else, something darker. I groan, rolling my eyes even as pain sears through me. "Are you going to help me cover this up or not?" Of course I’d call the only person I’ve seen kill someone and walk away clean. Omegas don’t go to jail, but they do get locked in psycho wards, and I will not end up there.
"You could be nicer. You know you need my help, not the other way around."
"Please, can you help me?" I say, rolling my eyes again, swallowing my pride.
"You see, that wasn’t hard. Send me your location and get out of there. Leave the car. Don’t pull the knife out until you get home and have a first aid kit ready. I’ll send you a step‑by‑step manual on how to cover a knife wound."
I nod, even though he can’t see me. "Okay. I’ll text you when I get home. Luckily I’m not far. Please don’t tell Ella about any of this. She’ll freak"
"I won’t, I promise." For some reason, I don’t trust that promise.
"Also, when you’re on your way home, don’t leave a blood trail. Find something to block it," Kazair warns before hanging up.
"Okay, I’ll try to find something," I mutter, lowering the phone, my breath ragged. I truly hope he does something to help me, but I know better than to rely on anyone.
I glance into the back seat and spot Walter’s designer scarf, the one embroidered with his name. He’d lose his mind if he knew I was not only touching it but soaking it with my blood. Still, I grab it, my fingers trembling, and tie it tightly against my gut, careful not to move the knife lodged inside me. The fabric darkens quickly, the pain sharp and unrelenting, every knot a reminder of how fragile I am right now.
I turn to leave the scene of the accident when I hear it, distant coughing. My head snaps back, and there she is. Yurena. The woman I thought dead, her body twitching against the wreckage, coughing like death itself refuses to claim her.
"Oh my goodness, this woman is like a cockroach. Why won’t she just die?" I let out a frustrated huff, rage boiling in my chest. Should I pull the knife from my gut and finish her? No. That would be too easy, too boring. If she’s going to die tonight, let it be slow, let it be painful. And if she doesn’t, then she’ll be broken enough to torment later.
Right now, I need to focus on surviving. I need to get myself to the hospital.
I turn away, forcing my legs to move, beginning the long, agonizing walk. Each step feels heavier than the last, the night pressing down on me, the forest whispering with shadows. My blood stains the scarf, drips onto the ground, and I grit my teeth, determined not to collapse.
~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time I arrive back at the penthouse, it is nearing three, maybe closer to two. I stumble through the door, my body heavy, my legs barely carrying me, and head straight to the kitchen. For the first time, I’m grateful I cleaned this home, I know where everything is.
I grab the kit with trembling hands and drag myself into my old bathroom, a place I haven’t stepped into in months. It feels frozen in time, untouched, my Alma uniform still lying in the basket where I last placed it. The sight twists something inside me, a reminder of who I was, who I lost.
I pull out my phone and read Kazair’s message, his instructions written like a manual for survival. I take a deep breath, brace myself, and bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from screaming as I pull the knife free. The scream claws at my throat, but I swallow it, tasting blood as I force myself silent.
First, I pour antiseptic over the wound. The sting burns worse than fire, searing through me, my vision swimming, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.
Next, I press gauze against the wound, packing it tight, pressing down until the bleeding slows. My hands shake, my body convulses, but I don’t stop.
Finally, I wrap bandages around my torso, layer after layer, squeezing until I can barely breathe. The pressure is suffocating, but it holds the blood in place.
When I’m done, I’m drenched in sweat, my body screaming at me, every nerve raw. I strip off all my clothes except my underwear and shove them beneath the bathroom cabinet. I’ll deal with them later. Right now, I need to get back into pajamas and into bed.
Every movement hurts, but I force myself into the guest room. I pull out one of the puffy pajamas Torin bought me, the ones I never wore. Tonight, for the first time, I slide it on. The fabric is soft, almost comforting, though it clings awkwardly against the bandages.
I drag myself upstairs, slipping into Torin’s room, then into his bed. My heart pounds against my chest, each beat echoing in my ears, louder than the silence.
The moment I settle, Torin’s phone rings. I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to him shift on the floor. My stomach twists. I feel like I forgot something before coming up here. Something important.