Chapter 102: The hearing (1)

A sleek, middle-aged man with sharp, predatory eyes and a tailored vest stood up. He adjusted his tie and projected his voice with practiced confidence to every corner of the room:

"Your Honor, distinguished members of the council. According to our extensive investigation, Jane Lang deliberately—and with calculated malice—forged the scent-signature and a pattern of a calling mark!

She passed herself off as the genuine fated breeder of Lord Magnus Rainn for one sole purpose: illicit self-enrichment. Her goal was to infiltrate the inner circle, secure unlimited access to his generational wealth, and usurp the throne alongside the heir of the powerful Blackthorne Pack. This was a meticulously planned, multi-stage bio-fraud!"

A cold blade twisted deep within my chest, coiling my stomach into a suffocating knot. Slowly, helplessly, I turned my eyes toward Magnus.

His large hands clamped onto the armrests of his chair so fiercely that his knuckles turned stark white, the thick veins bulging along the backs of his scarred hands.

He was staring straight at me. A heavy, unreadable gaze that offered no warmth, no doubt, no reassurance—nothing but an impenetrable, icy void.

I had no idea what had transpired during those two endless days I spent locked in that dungeon cell. He had never come to see me. Not once.

And now, here I am... No friends, no family—only cold interrogators and a useless public defender.

He hadn’t even attempted to reach me, to talk, to hear my side of the story.

Yet he looked utterly wrecked. Deep, bruised shadows hollowed out his eyes, dark stubble dusted his jawline where he was normally impeccably groomed, and his sharp features looked drawn and gaunt. But above all, he was furious. Pure, volatile rage radiated from every line of his rigid posture, from his clenched jaw, from the violent pulse ticking wildly at his temple.

The only small mercy—the single shred of solace I held onto—was that Karina Nyland was seated far away from him in a different row. Yet the lingering, possessive glances she cast at Magnus, followed by the triumphant, venomous smirks she shot at me, delivered a cruelty that words could never capture.

Yet the most agonizing, soul-crushing part of this entire nightmare—the single detail that left me suffocating—was the mark on her wrist. In the exact same spot where my own skin was branded, she bore the same damn mark.

It was an absolute, identical match.

A rose.

"Prosecution," the judge warned, her voice cutting sharply through the courtroom as she adjusted the glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. "This court operates solely on facts and physical evidence, not wild speculation or dramatic assertions. Present your proof."

"Of course, Your Honor," the prosecutor replied smoothly. With a formal nod, he pulled several large photographs from his file folder and stepped forward to hand them to the judge. "We present expert testimony and forensic imaging confirming that these marks are utterly identical.

"The mark borne by Alpha Magnus Rainn, the mark on Karina Nyland, and the mark on Jane Lang—all three align down to the finest detail. But the critical piece of evidence—the devastating truth—is that Karina Nyland’s mark appeared first. And as for a new tattoo?" He paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch as his gaze swept over the breathless gallery. "Alpha Magnus Rainn never received one."

Nico, my defense attorney, scrambled to his feet. He dabbed nervously at his slick forehead with a handkerchief. "Your Honor, while it is true that Alpha Magnus has not gotten any new tattoos over the past several years, he did consult a master artist to refresh his existing ink—to restore its pigment and vibrancy. That touch-up occurred precisely around the time my client’s mark surfaced."

"A fact we do not contest," the prosecutor interjected, his tone eerily composed. "Alpha Magnus did indeed visit an artist. But that does not alter the core truth: two identical marks exist simultaneously. One of them is a malicious, calculated forgery designed to strip the Blackthorne Pack of its rightful Luna!"

"Then explain to this court how Karina Nyland was absent for an entire year," the judge demanded, her brow furrowing as her sharp eyes shifted to the girl.

Karina immediately lowered her gaze to her folded hands, putting on a picture-perfect display of helpless grief.

"We request that Miss Karina Nyland step to the stand," the prosecutor declared, "to share her account of where she has been for over twelve months. As we all know, her vehicle went off the ravine road and burst into flames. She was formally declared dead."

Dressed in a modest beige dress that made her appear delicate and innocent—almost angelic—Karina rose hesitantly. Her steps trembled as she approached the witness stand. Her eyes were rimmed with red and swollen, as though she had spent days drowning in tears.

"Karina," the prosecutor addressed her, softening his voice into a gentle, almost paternal cadence. "Please, tell us what happened to you. Where have you been all this time?"

"I..." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, delicately dabbing away a stray tear. "I was kept in captivity. In an abandoned cellar on the outskirts of our territory. A rogue pack abducted me after the crash. They... they harvested my blood every week, keeping me locked in a cage in the pitch-dark. I couldn’t break free. I was completely helpless... terrified and utterly alone..."

A soft sob echoed from someone in the gallery, drawn in by her sorrowful performance.

Nico bolted up from his chair. "Objection! You were officially laid to rest! Why did the Nyland family not initiate a full rogue-hunt or demand rigorous forensic verification?!"

An older, elegantly dressed man representing the Nyland elders stood up, his posture rigid with pride.

"Your Honor, if I may clarify. The crash left behind a body burned beyond recognition. Given the fragile state of Karina’s mother—who was driven to the brink of madness by the sudden loss of her daughter and rightful lineage—we chose not to subject her to the agony of protracted DNA testing. It was an oversight, we admit. But it was done out of mercy, to shield our bloodline from further grief."