Chapter 49: Lying Inside

Chapter 49: Chapter 49: Lying Inside

Inside the car, Azura felt like she had been stuffed into a freezer next to a corpse that was still actively judging her. The AC was set to "Arctic Expedition." Kyler’s aura was set to "I Will End Your Bloodline." The atmosphere was set to "Funeral for a Stranger You Accidentally Killed."

And on top of all that, she had to pretend to be unconscious.

Fully committed to playing the role of "Fainted Potato: Director’s Cut," she lay there with her sprained hand tucked beneath her like a secret treasure, her breathing deliberately slow and even, her eyes squeezed shut with the dedication of an Oscar-winning actress who had been told her entire career depended on this one scene.

But the longer this went on, the more her internal monologue sounded like a hamster on a wheel that had been set on fire.

Where is he taking me?! Is this a circus? A brothel? An underground werewolf fighting ring where they make me fight a bear?! What if it’s worse—what if it’s a PowerPoint presentation about pack finances?!

She considered, for a brief, insane moment, opening her eyes just enough to ask, "Excuse me, sir, where are we going?" and then immediately pretending to pass out again. Like a human yo-yo. In and out of consciousness. A professional fainter.

If he says "a circus," I run. If he says "an underground werewolf fighting ring," I run faster. If he says "a brothel," I run so fast my legs become a blur.

And if he says "the Crimson Crest Pack"?

Her brain immediately began drafting escape plans, each more unhinged than the last:

Option A: Pretend to be possessed by the spirit of a caveman, grab Kyler like he’s a T-Rex steak, and cling to him while screaming in a language that hasn’t existed for 10,000 years.

Option B: Wake up dramatically, grab Kyler’s hands, look into his eyes with the intensity of a thousand suns, and say, "Mr. Blackwood... I know this is going to sound crazy... but we met seven years ago... you got me pregnant... our son has been kidnapped by penguin smugglers in Antarctica... and we need to bring 1000 kilograms of fish to trade for his freedom. I KNOW IT SOUNDS INSANE BUT I HAVE THE DOCUMENTS—"

Option C: Just cry. A lot. And hope he feels bad.

Then another terrifying thought struck her—the triplets already ahead of Kyler’s car. Were they heading to the Crimson Crest Pack? Were they about to meet the female lead? The main plot? The harem-starting moment that would ruin her entire existence?!

No. No, no, no, no, NO.

She couldn’t do anything except lie there like a decorative rug, her soul screaming into the void while her body remained perfectly still.

Just as her internal screaming reached a fever pitch—like an angel descending from heaven on a chariot made of pure relief—Kyler’s voice cut through the silence.

"Turn around. We’re going back to the hotel."

The driver immediately obeyed, executing a smooth U-turn that felt like the hand of God gently redirecting her fate.

Wilson, ever confused, turned his head to look at Kyler. "Alpha, why do we have to go back to the hotel? What about the triplets?"

"I’ve already mind-linked them to return to the hotel as well."

Azura’s soul shot up out of her body, grabbed Kyler’s face with both ghostly hands, and kissed him directly on the mouth.

Thank you. THANK YOU. YOU ABSOLUTE ICICLE OF A MAN WITH THE HEART OF A HIDDEN HERO. YOU HAVE, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, SAVED ME FROM A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH—OR AT LEAST, A FATE INVOLVING FOUR ALPHAS AND A VERY CONFUSED FEMALE LEAD.

She stayed perfectly still, but inside, she was doing a victory dance that would have put a Broadway musical to shame.

Who would have thought that one of the male leads—the coldest, scariest, most emotionally constipated one—would accidentally help her avoid the main plot converging right in front of her?

She made a mental note: If she survived this, she was buying Kyler a fruit basket. Or a therapy session. Whichever was cheaper.

Azura had absolutely no idea that she would regret thanking Kyler so thoroughly that she’d be mentally drafting a 50-page manifesto titled "Why That Frostbitten Asshole Deserves to Step on Legos Every Day for the Rest of His Miserable Life." Not even twenty minutes later.

She didn’t suspect a thing when Wilson suddenly gasped—gasped!—at whatever Kyler had just mind-linked him. Even though they were in the same car. Even though they could have just spoken out loud like normal people. But no. Kyler had chosen to use the mind-link because he didn’t want Azura, who was clearly faking unconsciousness, to hear him.

And Azura, blissfully ignorant, floating on a cloud of relief because the four male leads weren’t heading to the Crimson Crest Pack, let out a mental sigh of victory.

Ha. Take that, plot. I have outsmarted you with my superior acting skills and—

She had, unfortunately, forgotten two people.

The first was Karina, who was currently being loaded into an ambulance while screaming internally because Azura had pushed her, told her to "pretend to be grass," and then promptly vanished into the clutches of a scary alpha. Karina was now committed to the bit, lying on a stretcher with her eyes squeezed shut, wondering if this was how she died—not by claws or fangs, but by ’partnership.’

The second was Adrian, who had been waiting for nearly an hour.

Azura had told him she was going to get a secret gift for him. A secret gift. Which meant he couldn’t go look for her. Which meant he was stuck in the hotel lobby, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, his brain cycling through increasingly dark possibilities.

She said secret gift. That means she’s either buying me something embarrassing, planning a surprise party I don’t want, or she’s been kidnapped. There is no in-between.

---

When the car finally pulled into the hotel parking lot, Azura had already transitioned from "Fainted Potato" to "Relaxed Potato." She was so comfortable, so at peace, that she’d completely abandoned her role. Her breathing had evened out into something that looked suspiciously like a nap. Her lips were slightly parted. She might have been drooling a little.

She didn’t question why Kyler would bring her here.

She just felt safe. Finally. Somewhere with room service and fluffy pillows and a mini-fridge full of overpriced snacks.

They’re not going to the pack. The male leads aren’t meeting the female lead. Everything is fine. I am fine. This is fine.

Kyler and Wilson got out of the car. The driver followed.

And Azura was left alone in the backseat for five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Her eyes grew heavy. Her breathing slowed. Her brain, exhausted from the day’s chaos, began to shut down for maintenance.

Just a little nap. A tiny nap. I’ll wake up when they come back—

The door opened.

Two pairs of hands lifted her. Gently. Carefully. She was carried somewhere, laid down on a surface that was suspiciously firm and narrow, and then—

The door closed.

Click.

Azura’s eyes snapped open.

Darkness.

Complete, utter, absolute darkness.

She was in a box. A long, narrow box. A box with padded velvet lining and a shape that made her soul instantly evacuate her body through her mouth.

She was in a coffin.

A COFFIN.

From outside, she could hear muffled voices. Kyler’s cold, measured tone. Wilson’s increasingly panicked responses.

"Alpha, are you serious? You’re putting her inside a coffin?"

"Bring it to my suite."

"I’m sorry—bring the COFFIN to your suite? The coffin that has your fat—"

"Since she loves faking unconsciousness so much, let her experience what it’s like to truly be in a deep, endless sleep. She wanted to play dead. I’m giving her a method acting workshop."

A long pause.

"...Are you sure this isn’t because you’re annoyed with her face?"

Wilson, at this point, was already mentally composing a prayer for his future Luna.

Dear Moon Goddess, please give this woman the strength to survive my Alpha’s particular brand of emotional constipation.

Because when Kyler had ordered him to order a coffin. An actual coffin. Delivered to the hotel in under half an hour. Wilson had assumed it was for some kind of pack ritual or maybe a really elaborate prank on the triplets.

He had not assumed it was for the Alpha’s fated mate.

Inside the coffin, Azura’s soul had fully exited her body, floated up to the ceiling, and was now staring down at the velvet-lined prison with the hollow, dead eyes of a woman who had made several poor decisions in rapid succession.

This dangerous alpha knew I was faking it. He KNEW. And instead of just saying, ’Hey, I know you’re awake,’ he decided to put me in a COFFIN?! A COFFIN?! Like I’m a vampire?! Like I’m a corpse he needs to transport?!

She clawed at the inside of the lid with her good hand.

I TAKE BACK EVERY GOOD THOUGHT I HAD ABOUT YOU. I TAKE BACK THE FRUIT BASKET. I TAKE BACK THE MENTAL KISS. YOU ARE A PSYCHO. A FROSTBITTEN, EMOTIONALLY STUNTED PSYCHO WHO PROBABLY EATS HIS CEREAL WITH FORK.

And as the coffin was lifted, Azura could only wonder if this was how the villainess’s story truly ended.

Not by claws.

Not by fangs.

But by being coffin-napped by an alpha with zero communication skills and a very disturbing sense of humor.

So that’s how Azura ended up in this situation—trapped inside a velvet-lined coffin, being carried through a hotel lobby like she was a very expensive, very dramatic piece of luggage.

The irony was so thick you could spread it on toast.

Because even though she was in a coffin—a literal coffin, with her name practically engraved on it—nobody recognized her. Why would they? People don’t usually expect to see a live woman being transported in funeral equipment through a hotel that charges five thousand dollars a night for the pleasure of sleeping in their beds.

And because she no longer had her wolf scent—her body now only carried Selena’s lingering scent thanks to that cursed bracelet. Which meant if Adrian or Jonathan caught a whiff, they’d assume Selena herself was taking a nap inside a mahogany box with brass handles.

The hotel staff, to their credit, tried to stop the procession. Even several staffers watched with expressions that ranged from "I’m not paid enough for this" to "Is this some new billionaire kink I haven’t heard about?" A man walking through a five-star lobby with a coffin tended to raise a few eyebrows.

"Sir, I’m sorry, but you cannot bring a—a deceased individual into the—"

But Wilson had simply leaned in, whispered something that made the manager’s face cycle through seven shades of pale, and suddenly the path was cleared like the Red Sea parting for Moses.

And so the coffin continued its journey.

Meanwhile, Adrian was in the lobby. The same lobby. The same building. Probably within fifty feet of her.

However, Azura could do nothing.

She could have called for help. She could have screamed, banged on the coffin lid, used the mind-link to tell him exactly where she was and what had happened. But if she did that—if Adrian came charging in to rescue her—Kyler would get angry. And if Kyler got angry, he might decide to take his frustration out on the Crimson Crest Pack. And if he went to the Crimson Crest Pack, he would meet Selena. Then everything she’d been trying to prevent would crash and burn like a soufflé in an earthquake.

So when Adrian’s voice echoed in her mind through the mate-link, warm and concerned, she had to lie through her teeth.

’Azura? Where are you? I’ve been waiting for an hour. Are you okay?’

’Adrian, I’m sorry. It turns out the secret gift I got you is located in the Amazon rainforest. I need to take a plane to retrieve it. Yes. A plane. To the Amazon. For your gift. Bye.’

"Azura, that makes absolutely no sense—"

But she’d already slammed the mental door shut, pressing both hands against her temples like she could physically block out his voice.

I’m going to die in this coffin. Not from suffocation. From embarrassment. The coroner’s report will read: ’Cause of death—terminal stupidity.’

---

A few minutes later—though it felt like hours—the coffin finally stopped moving. There was the sound of a door opening, footsteps, and then... silence.

The lid did not open. The locks did not click. The alpha did not even glance at his new centerpiece.

Azura waited.

Nothing.

She waited some more.

Still nothing.

She heard the distinct sound of liquid being poured. The clink of glass. And then... typing. Aggressive typing.

Kyler was working.

Kyler was sitting there, sipping his Campari Spritz like he didn’t have a living woman in a coffin in the middle of his suite, and he was just... working.

Wilson, who had returned from placating the hotel staff, sat at a nearby desk, trying to focus on his own work. But his eyes kept drifting to the coffin. Then to Kyler. Then back to the coffin. Then back to Kyler, who was scrolling through emails with the serene expression of a man who had not just committed a federal crime against romance.

"Alpha," Wilson said carefully, "it’s been ten minutes."

"I’m aware."

"Should we... let her out?"

"She wanted to pretend to be unconscious. Let her commit to the bit."

"...Now she might not only be truly unconscious, but also trapped."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

Wilson sighed, rubbing his temples. He was going to need therapy after this. Pack therapy. Maybe a vacation.

---

Ten minutes turned into twenty.

Azura, who had been bracing herself for torture or interrogation or at least a dramatic monologue, was now just... bored. The initial terror had faded into a dull, annoyed resignation. She’d started counting the velvet threads on the inside of the lid. She was up to 347.

And then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The door shook with the force of someone who had no understanding of the word "restraint." A voice boomed through the suite like a foghorn attached to a freight train.

"UNCLE! WE’RE BACK!"

Azura jolted so hard she hit her head on the coffin lid.

The triplets. The triplets were here.

And she was in a coffin.

In the middle of Kyler’s suite.

This is fine. This is absolutely fine. I am a potato. A relaxed potato. A relaxed potato in a coffin who is definitely not panicking.