The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 173: Through the Ghosts of Memory

Easter~

My body felt like it wasn’t mine—weightless, suspended in something thick and unseen. My breath caught halfway up my throat and never made it back down.

Ahead of us, the party house looked like a memory caught in a dream—streamers glinting like tinsel, music thumping through the walls with bass heavy enough to shake bone. The air was stained with the syrupy tang of cheap soda, mingling with the plastic sweetness of hairspray. It was a night I had tried to bury so deep, even my nightmares gave it space.

I glanced down at Rose, terrified she might witness what was about to unravel—but she was fast asleep. Nestled like a porcelain doll against Jacob’s chest, her breathing soft and slow, her little hand curled near his collar. His arm held her with the kind of quiet protection that made my heart ache. Whether she’d slipped into sleep on her own or Jacob had used one of his strange, ancient gifts—I didn’t know. Either way, she was safe in a way I never was that night.

Not all of us were so lucky.

Beside me, Melody began to tremble. Her arms folded tight across her body like she wanted to fold herself into nothing. Her lip quivered.

"No," she choked out. "Please, Jacob. Don’t show this part. Not in front of them. Not in front of my parents."

Jacob didn’t even turn. His eyes stayed locked on the memory unspooling before us, voice low, calm, final.

"You had your chance, Melody," he said. "I gave you time. I gave you a path to the truth. You chose silence."

"I was scared," she whispered.

"And now?" he asked, no judgment in his voice—just that steady, ancient weight that made truth feel heavy.

Melody said nothing.

The scene kept playing, indifferent to her pleas.

I stood frozen, breath shallow, watching my past self walk into the party house beside her. We looked so alive. So stupidly alive. I was laughing too loudly, clutching two sodas like peace offerings, the way I always did when I didn’t know how to fix something between us. And she took it with that shy little smile, like maybe—we were okay.

We started dancing. Not gracefully—just wild, chaotic moves that didn’t match the music. We spun, tripped over our own feet, laughed so hard our stomachs hurt. She held onto my hand like she didn’t want to lose me.

And then he showed up. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Justin.

God, I remembered that face. That arrogant, too-smooth smile. The eyes that always looked like they were hiding something behind a wink.

"Hey," he said, handing her a drink that sparkled like temptation. "You’re cute. What’s your name?"

Past Melody smiled nervously. "M-Melody."

"Melody," he echoed with a grin, like he was tasting her name. "You wanna head somewhere quieter? Just to talk. Maybe get to know each other better?"

She hesitated. "I’m here with my sister. I should tell her first. She’ll be worried if I disappear."

He chuckled and waved a hand toward me. "Look at her. She’s having the time of her life. Don’t kill her vibe just ’cause you’re being overly polite."

Melody glanced toward me—laughing, spinning, completely oblivious. Her lips pressed into a line. Her fingers curled around the drink.

And then she nodded.

I felt my real-world gut twist.

Inside the memory, they slipped away down a hallway. I wanted to scream at her—to stop her, to grab her wrist and drag her back. But the past didn’t care what I wanted now. It just played on.

They stepped into a small room. Justin was all charm again, asking her about school, her music taste, laughing like he’d known her forever. Melody giggled back, relaxing, her guard slowly falling.

Then came the knock.

Three boys.

I knew their faces too. They were there. Smirking, loud, walking into the room like they owned it.

Justin barely glanced at Melody before saying, "Hope you don’t mind. I brought a few friends. Figured we could all hang out."

Melody blinked. "Wait... what? No. I—"

The boys laughed. Their words started bleeding together—dark jokes, the kind that made your skin crawl. One of them said something about "sharing." Another laughed too loud.

And I saw it.

The exact second fear shattered the softness in her face.

Present-day Melody screamed.

"Please! Jacob, stop it! I don’t want to see this again—I can’t!"

She dropped to the floor, sobbing, rocking herself like a child. Our parents stood behind her, frozen, their faces pale and unreadable.

Jacob raised a hand, and the memory froze—time suspended mid-nightmare.

His voice was low. "You want it to stop, Melody?"

She nodded frantically, still weeping.

"Then you know what to do."

She didn’t hesitate.

Melody fell to her knees, spun toward me, and slammed her forehead to the floor. "I’m sorry, Easter!" she cried. "I lied. I lied because I was scared. I ruined your life just to save myself. Please... forgive me. I’m so sorry. I swear I’m so sorry."

I didn’t move.

She turned to her parents next—two statues locked in disbelief.

"I lied," she said again. "It was me. It was always me. I let you think it was Easter because I was scared of what you’d say—of what people would think. I let her take the blame for something I never even had the courage to speak about. I destroyed her."

Their faces cracked.

Papa’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Mama’s brows knit together like she was watching her whole world collapse.

"You... liar!" Papa finally spat. "You’re the reason we treated her the way we did? You let us believe she was some wild, sinful child?!"

Mama stepped forward. "You wayward girl! You betrayed your sister! We defended you! We punished the wrong one! Do you even understand what we did to her? What we said to her?!"

Melody wailed, curling into herself as their words rained down like stones.

And I snapped.

"ENOUGH!"

My voice ricocheted through the frozen memory.

I stepped forward, fury crackling in every limb. "You want to talk about betrayal? How about what you did? Parents? You weren’t parents. You were executioners. When your daughters were in danger, you didn’t ask questions. You didn’t show love. You didn’t even look for the truth."

They went silent, stunned.

"You chose the version of the story that fit your fragile egos," I said, trembling. "You accused me. You cast me out. You cared more about your reputation than your daughters. And I’m ashamed to share your blood."

Papa’s face twisted. "Shut your mouth, Easter. You’re no better than her. You still left your legally married husband for a strange man. I curse the day I fathered either of you."

"And I curse the day I was born into this family," I snapped.

Mama stepped in, clutching at some imaginary halo. "Your father is a man of God. He strives every day for the Lord’s favor, and all you two have done is try to drag his name through the mud!"

"God?" I laughed bitterly. "If God had been in that house, He would’ve wept."

Mama glared. "What will the church think of us now?"

That’s when Jacob—who’d been still as stone—suddenly burst out laughing.

A deep, rich sound that echoed across the frozen memory like thunder rolling through the sky. He laughed so hard, he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

"Oh," he said between chuckles, "now you’re worried about the church? Not the rape, not the betrayal, not your daughter being beaten everyday by the man you forced her to marry to cover up the shame—you’re worried about reputation?"

He shook his head, still grinning.

"You humans," Jacob said with a smirk. "You never cease to amaze me."

And the memory—paused and glowing—held its breath, waiting.