Possessed Wolfless: From Rejected to Vengeful Lycans' Queen-Chapter 56: Coup d’etat

Lana squinted as she flicked the lamp switch. The musty air of damp walls hit her nose, but it still couldn’t compete with the stifling weight in her chest.

Her eyes swept over the storage room, littered with photos scattered on the floor and piled on dust-covered tables.

She stepped in with a heavy sigh as her fingers wrapped around an old baseball bat leaning against the wall.

Holding it loosely, she dragged it behind her, the tip scraping the floor with a gritty screech that echoed through the room.

A large framed photo covered in a white cloth made her stop mid-step. She yanked the sheet away.

Her teeth sank into the inside of her lower lip, breath trembling as her violet eyes darkened at the sight before her—a family photo, with Lethia grinning between Varrel and her father, all of them frozen in a joy that felt like a slap to the face.

"Are you mocking me?" she whispered bitterly to the photo.

She tapped the bat against the glass. Once. Twice. Then she let out a low, deranged laugh—half creepy, half self-mockery.

"Why? Why are you still smiling when you already lost everything? Should I just... really kill you? So you can’t smile anymore, hmm?"

She stepped forward, her grip on the bat tightening.

"Answer me." Her breath grew heavy, her heartbeat surging with the rise of fury boiling inside her.

Lana stared at Lethia’s face in the photo like she was demanding an answer from a ghost.

One more step.

"Don’t..."

"Smile—"

"At ME!"

With a loud scream, she swung the baseball bat with all her strength, straight at the framed photo, no—at Lethia’s smiling face.

She struck it again. And again. The sound of shattering glass cracked through the room, followed by the relentless thud of the bat pounding into the frame over and over.

"Die! You should just die!! Why do you keep smiling? DIE!!"

Both hands now gripped the bat tightly as she kept hammering down on Lethia’s face, leaving nothing but a crushed mess behind fractured glass.

Her breath came in ragged pants, fury fueling her swing even as her body began to falter. She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Not until that girl was dead in her mind.

She was completely lost in her rage.

And by how it showed—what those shattered pieces screamed—was one thing, clear as blood on snow. She had never liked Lethia. Not even a little.

Lana wanted to vent all her frustration on that poor photo, because now, she was finally free from the act, from pretending to be kind in front of Lethia ever since her father died, right after their bankruptcy.

Rushed footsteps echoed down the corridor. Heavy and urgent. Varrel’s long strides overtook the two maids hurrying behind him as they raced toward the sound of glass breaking and brutal blows from the storage room on the second floor.

His eyes widened in horror.

Lana stood there, swinging the bat with savage force at his family photo—at Lethia—with no sign of stopping.

He bolted toward her, catching the bat mid-swing with quick precision, wrenching it from her grip and flinging it far out of her reach.

Lana’s tear-filled eyes and trembling lips made Varrel pull her into a tight embrace without thinking.

"What happened to you?" he whispered softly, his hand running up and down her back, trying to calm the violent tremble in her body.

He felt her begin to go limp, and with a firm grip, he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

His eyes flicked toward the two maids still frozen at the door, silently ordering them to clean up the mess in the storage room.

Once they reached the bedroom, Varrel gently laid Lana down on the bed. Her gaze was blank, hollow—but the tears kept falling, soundless and unending.

His hand roamed over the drawers and the vanity, searching through her things for the antidepressant she usually kept. She’d been prescribed them after the accident—the one that shattered her knee and left her with mild panic disorder.

"Just leave me alone."

Lana’s voice was cold. Detached. It stopped him mid-search and made him turn to look at her. How could he leave... when she looked that soulless?

But Varrel who was already worn down from political stress and endless work, didn’t argue. He just let out one long breath and turned toward the door.

"I’ll have someone bring your dinner here," he said firmly, though his voice still held a quiet tenderness.

"You think so too, don’t you?" Lana’s words froze him in his tracks. "That I’m not better... not more useful than Lethia."

Varrel’s steps halted. His expression tightened.

He turned to Lana.

"Why are you so childish? You knew we’d face shit like this the moment you asked me to pretend to be Lethia’s fated mate three years ago."

"Childish?" Lana scoffed and shot up from the bed, her gaze sharp enough to cut straight through him. "This isn’t about what people think. I asked you! Now answer me!"

"Do you want my honest answer?" Varrel stepped closer.

"To be fucking honest, I never even thought about whether you’re better than Lethia, because I don’t have the fucking time to entertain some petty jealousy like it’s from a teenage girl. So, be strong. Prove to them what you’re worth. You’re about to become a Luna, so start acting like one, can you?"

Lana’s tears streamed harder down her cheeks, and every drop made Varrel ache to pull her into his arms and kiss the pain out of her like a goddamn storm.

But he didn’t have time. Hell, he barely had time to eat properly these days.

So he left and walked to his study room. Just like that. Left her crying and alone, hoping she’d eventually cool off by herself.

Two men were already waiting for him by the time he entered his room.

"How’s the progress?" Varrel asked.

"It’s going so smoothly so far. Out of 345 packs, we’ve already secured agreements from 275 as of today," said the man in his 40s, sounding way too excited.

"With this pace, we’ll definitely meet our movement timeline. Now you just need to focus on the upcoming election," added the younger man in his 30s.

Varrel grinned wider. "Yeah... our coup is about to begin."