The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 172: Into the Past

Easter~

Jacob’s laughter reverberated through the room, a sound both haunting and mesmerizing. It wasn’t a laugh of amusement but one that carried the weight of centuries, echoing with the fury of storms and the stillness of ancient forests. Not loud. Not frantic. Just... final. The kind that said you had your chance. The very walls seemed to tremble, and a chill danced along my spine.

And then, in a voice so calm it made my skin crawl, he said, "Well then. Since no one wants to apologize to Easter... I guess it’s time to begin the show."

The silence that followed cracked wide open.

"What?" Mama snapped, recoiling slightly like she’d smelled something foul.

Papa’s face was crimson, veins standing out like ropes beneath his skin as he stormed forward, chest heaving like a steam engine. He jabbed a furious finger toward the man who’d answered the door for Jacob earlier—he was tall, muscular, with a chest so broad he could block out the sun.

"Bruno!" Papa barked. "Drag this lunatic out of my house! NOW!"

Bruno stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with the kind of sound that made you think of bones snapping. The man was built like a gladiator and clearly ready to earn his keep.

Jacob didn’t move. He simply turned his head and looked at Bruno—just looked. Calm. His eyes were a cool twilight, deep and still, like the moment just before the world goes quiet at dusk.

Bruno froze.

Literally.

Mid-step.

One foot in the air. His massive body locked in place like he’d been turned to stone mid-stride. His eyes were wide, startled. Trapped.

"What the hell is going on?!" Papa shouted, but this time his voice cracked—barely hanging onto its usual bravado.

Bruno’s jaw slackened. His eyes darted left and right, full of confusion and rising panic. A sound escaped his throat—high and fragile. Like a scared child in a grown man’s frame.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Jacob gave a small, knowing smile. Not smug—gentle. Like he was offering someone a second chance.

"Bruno’s alright," he said softly. "He just needs a minute to reconsider his life decisions."

Oh, God.

Magic. Jacob had used magic.

I knew it. Felt it in my bones. The shift in the air. The sudden hush. The smell—yes, there was a smell, faint like pine smoke and frost.

"Now, if I may continue?" Jacob said, his tone light, almost amused as he returned to the center of the room. His boots made no sound on the carpet, but it still felt like thunder with every step he took.

And then he looked at me.

Truly looked.

Warm brown eyes meeting mine, steady and kind—and in that moment, something in me unclenched. Like I’d been holding my breath for years without knowing it.

"Easter," he said gently. "I’m about to take them through time. Through the past. A lot of things will be revealed—things hidden, things buried, things twisted. But I won’t do it unless you’re okay with it."

My lips parted.

Through time?

What did that even mean?

I didn’t understand it. Not really. But the part about secrets... That part I understood all too well. I thought of Melody. Her lowered gaze. Her silence. The way she always managed to look like the victim while I carried the blame. All these years. All these lies.

I looked at her now.

She refused to meet my eyes.

Of course she wouldn’t.

Coward.

My heart squeezed tight in my chest, but somehow, I found my voice. Steady. Clear. Resolute.

"Do it," I whispered.

Jacob’s smile widened, something soft blooming in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said.

And before I could say anything more—before anyone in that room had the chance to understand what was happening—Jacob raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

There was no flash. No lightning. No dramatic music.

Just a ripple.

Like time itself exhaled.

The room around us twisted. Folded. My stomach dropped like I’d fallen off a cliff. I felt my body stretch and then snap back. Lights bent. Walls disappeared. Voices turned to echoes. I reached out blindly—

And suddenly, I was standing in a crowd.

Music thumped from hidden speakers. Laughter, distant and echoing, surrounded us. Balloons floated above. Colored lights spun in circles. The air smelled of cheap perfume, cheap beer, soda, and something fried.

I blinked.

I was seventeen again.

I knew this place.

I gasped. "No..."

Beside me, Melody let out a small, strangled gasp. "Oh my God," she breathed.

We were at the party.

That party.

The one I had begged her to come to. The night the mask cracked. The night everything unraveled, thread by messy thread.

My heart was pounding like a drum. My breathing came in short, fast bursts, like my lungs knew something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

We weren’t in the present anymore.

Not really.

Our bodies were gone—left behind like old clothes. We stood weightless, invisible, like ghosts stitched into the fabric of a memory.

No one in the scene could see us. No one turned. No one paused. They just... continued.

Jacob stood beside me, arms folded casually across his chest, like he’d done this a hundred times before. Like stepping through time was just another Tuesday for him.

Behind us, Papa, Mama, and Bruno—who still looked like his brain was buffering—stood in varying shades of confusion and horror.

"What... what is this?" Mama whispered, spinning in place, her eyes darting from corner to corner of the party room like they were searching for an exit that didn’t exist. "What’s going on? Where are we?"

"You’re in a memory," Jacob said, calmly, like he was explaining the weather. "Hers. And hers." He nodded toward me and Melody.

Papa’s face turned a sickly shade of pale. "This is... this is witchcraft."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Call it what you like. I call it the truth."

Melody shook her head sharply, like she could shake the moment away. "Why are we here?" she snapped.

Jacob didn’t flinch. "You know why." His voice wasn’t cruel, but it cut all the same. "You just don’t want to admit it."

Her hands balled into fists. "I didn’t do anything wrong."

Jacob didn’t answer. He just turned his gaze toward the version of me that existed inside the memory—standing awkwardly by the snack table, laughing too loud, handing Melody a soda like it was a peace offering.

We looked so young. So hopeful. So painfully unaware of the storm building around us.

Mama took a step forward, her hand reaching out on instinct, her voice trembling. "Is that...?"

"Easter," I said. My voice sounded empty in my ears. "That’s me."

"And me," Melody whispered, barely audible.

Jacob’s voice cut through the silence like a thread pulled taut. "Watch."

So we did.

The past played out before us like a scene in a movie, except it wasn’t fiction. It wasn’t drama. It was real. Raw. And for the first time in years, they were going to see it—the truth I’d carried like a bruise under my skin.

The truth I screamed in silence.

The truth they chose not to hear.

Melody’s lips parted. Her eyes flicked across the memory like she was trying to find the escape hatch. But it was too late. She couldn’t hide in her stories now. I saw something flicker across her face—something sharp, undeniable.

Fear.

Good.

Because this was just the opening act.

And Jacob—Mist, the Wolf Spirit, my protector—had only just begun to peel back the lies.