Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 27

Isolde’s POV

“Get your hands off me.”

I slapped Gareth’s fingers away before they could land on my shoulder. The carriage lurched over another pothole, and the whole frame groaned like it was begging to die.

Good. Let it collapse. Let the wheels snap off and the axle crack in half. Let this entire miserable excuse for a vehicle disintegrate on the road, just like my life had disintegrated the moment I married this useless man.

“Babe, come on.” Gareth’s voice was soft. Pleading. Pathetic. “You’re upset. I get it. But we can—”

“Don’t call me that.” I stared straight ahead through the cracked carriage window. The capital’s skyline loomed in the distance—spires and towers that belonged to people who mattered. People who weren’t me. “Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me. Can you manage that, Gareth? Can you do one single thing right today?”

He went quiet. His jaw worked. His hands retreated to his lap like kicked dogs.

Good boy.

The carriage hit another rut. Something rattled beneath us—probably a bolt shaking loose. This pathetic heap of rotting wood and rusted iron was the best a prince of the Nightfire bloodline could offer his wife. A prince. The word was a cruel joke. Gareth was the emperor’s bastard half-brother, and the empire never let either of us forget it.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and closed my eyes.

The memory clawed its way back uninvited.

Kaelen’s throne room. His dark gold eyes cutting through me like I was nothing—less than nothing. That voice, low and absolute, dismissing me from the palace as though I were a stray dog that had wandered inside and soiled the carpet. And beside him—

Her.

Elara.

That worthless, discarded orphan I’d grown up pitying, standing in the emperor’s inner circle like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there. Personal archivist to the most powerful man in the empire. While I—I who had been raised with breeding, with education, with pedigree—sat in a rattling death trap next to a man who couldn’t afford to fix the wheel.

My nails dug into my palms.

Years ago, Gareth had whispered promises into my ear like honey. Join the Nightfire name. You’ll live in luxury. You’ll never want for anything. I’d believed him. I’d chosen him over Elara’s pathetic little engagement, snatched him right out from under her nose, and felt triumphant doing it.

What a magnificent fool I’d been.

“Sol?” Gareth tried again. Quieter this time. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

We always do. As if “figuring something out” meant anything beyond his card games and cheap tavern food and that ridiculous collection of useless trinkets he hoarded like a crow with no taste. The man couldn’t hold a job. Couldn’t maintain a household. Couldn’t even produce an heir that might give me some leverage in court.

I said nothing.

The carriage wheezed to a stop outside our building. I use the word “building” generously. It was a crumbling stack of stained stone wedged between a tannery and a fishmonger. The stairwell smelled of mildew and boiled cabbage. Our apartment was a cramped space—a leaking ceiling, and a window that wouldn’t close properly no matter how many rags I stuffed into the gap.

I climbed the stairs without waiting for Gareth.

Inside, the apartment was exactly as terrible as I’d left it. Dishes crusted in the basin. Gareth’s playing cards fanned across the table beside crumpled food wrappers. A layer of grime on every surface that made my skin itch.

I couldn’t live like this. I couldn’t breathe like this.

I grabbed my communication stone and activated the Martinez Domestic Services sigil. A clerk’s voice crackled through.

“Martinez Domestic. How may we assist?”

“I need a cleaner. Immediately. I’ll pay double the standard rate.”

“We can dispatch someone shortly, ma’am.”

“Fine.”

I severed the connection and dropped onto the sagging sofa. The springs complained beneath me.

A short time later, a sharp knock sounded at the door. I opened it, expecting some stranger with a mop.

Instead, I found a face I hadn’t seen since the Academy.

“Seraphine?”

She stood in the corridor wearing the plain gray uniform of Martinez Domestic Services. A cleaning bucket in one hand, a canvas satchel slung over the other shoulder. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low, practical knot. No jewelry. No cosmetics. She looked nothing like the sharp, elegant girl who’d once commanded attention at every Academy social gathering.

But those eyes. Calculating. Hungry. Those hadn’t changed.

“Isolde.” A slow smile spread across her face. “Well. Isn’t this a reunion.”

I pulled her inside and shut the door.

At that moment, Gareth lumbered out from the back room, a half-eaten sweet roll in his hand, blinking at the unexpected guest. I needed him gone. Now.

I forced my stiff facial muscles into a soft, sickeningly sweet expression and walked over to him.

“Babe,” I cooed, gently resting a hand on his chest. “I have such a terrible headache from that bumpy ride. Would you be an absolute darling and go buy me some proper coffee? It would make me feel so much better.”

Gareth’s posture straightened, clearly starved for even a drop of affection. “Of course, Sol. I can do that.”

“Thank you, sweet.” I patted his arm.

He grabbed his coat and hurried out the door. The moment the latch clicked shut, the fake smile melted off my face, replaced by a bitter sneer.

“Sit down,” I told Seraphine, gesturing to the sagging chairs. “We can finally talk.”

Seraphine lowered herself into the chair across from me. She crossed her legs. Leaned back. The cleaning uniform couldn’t hide the predatory grace underneath.

“You’re working for a cleaning service?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice. “You? A Valcourt?”

“Former Valcourt.” Seraphine surveyed the apartment with undisguised contempt. “Titles don’t pay for bread, Sol. You of all people should understand that.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I do. My father’s healer bills are piling up, and Gareth’s pitiful allowance barely covers rent. I’m drowning here.” My voice hardened as the fresh humiliation flared in my chest. “And to make it worse, I was just thrown out of the palace. The emperor cast me aside to protect that little bitch like she’s made of glass. Elara Frostfang—the worthless orphan we used to laugh at. She’s his personal archivist now. Did you know that?”

“I know.” Something dark flickered behind Seraphine’s eyes. “I’ve been watching.”

“Watching?”

Seraphine reached into her canvas satchel. Her fingers emerged holding something wrapped in dark velvet. She unfolded the cloth slowly. Deliberately.

A badge lay in her palm.

Gold. Heavy. Exquisitely carved with a design I didn’t recognize—some ancient sigil intertwined with lunar filigree. It caught the dim apartment light and threw it back, warm and rich.

“Where did you get that?” I breathed.

“The Moonlight Lodge.” Seraphine turned the badge between her fingers. “Years ago, during the weekend of the Royal Masquerade Ball. I was cleaning the suites. This was left behind in one of the private rooms.” Her lips curved. “So I kept it.”

I stared at the badge. It looked important. It looked expensive. But I didn’t understand.

“And?”

“And—” Seraphine leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “—the Emperor Kaelen has spent the last several years tearing apart three entire duchies looking for this. Every pawnshop. Every jeweler. Every antique dealer. He’s been searching for the woman who owned this badge. Desperately. Obsessively.”

My pulse quickened. “Why? Who was she?”

“That’s the beautiful part, Sol.” Seraphine’s smile widened. “Nobody knows. He met someone at that masquerade. A mystery woman. And he’s never stopped looking for her.” She held up the badge. The gold gleamed. “Whoever brings him this—whoever claims to be that woman—walks straight into his heart. His bed. His throne.”

I sat very still.

“He’s promised a position at court,” Seraphine continued. “Massive financial reward. And a place at his side. Permanently.” She tucked the badge back into the velvet with reverent care. “I’m going to present myself to the emperor as his long-lost love. I’ll become his mate. His future empress.”

“And Elara?”

The warmth drained from Seraphine’s face. What replaced it was cold. Surgical.

“I’ll make her life so unbearable she’ll resign on her own. And once she’s gone, she’ll be nothing again. Exactly what she always was.”

My heart hammered. The apartment felt smaller. The air felt electric. For the first time in years, something like hope crackled in my chest.

“What about me?” I whispered. “What do I get?”

Seraphine reached across the gap between us and took my hand. Her grip was firm. Warm. Certain.

“Then, once I’ve secured my position as the emperor’s mate and future empress, I’ll use his resources to make sure you get everything you deserve. Your parents’ medical bills. A proper home. The respect you’ve been denied all this time.” Seraphine’s eyes blazed with ambition. “We’re going to be queens, Isolde. Both of us.”