The Alpha's Regret: Return Of The Betrayed Luna-Chapter 20 Framed

Claire gently supported Addison, guiding her step by step as she limped away in pain. From the outside, it looked like Claire was on the verge of tears—her expression contorted with concern, as if she were the one injured. But Addison knew better.

She tried to shake Claire off, attempting to pry her arm free, but Claire held on tightly, her grip like iron wrapped in velvet. Despite Addison’s efforts, she couldn’t break free from the woman pretending to be her savior.

Then, in a soft voice dripping with faux sympathy, Claire added, "Let’s head downstairs and have the pack doctor take care of your wounds. I heard you’re... wolfless, right? So they won’t heal on their own. You’ll need proper treatment even for something this minor."

Her words, though lightly spoken, hit their mark.

To someone else, it might have sounded like random musing born out of worry—but Addison could hear the quiet cruelty woven beneath them. The implication was clear: she was weak, incomplete, a burden.

That such a small injury required the attention of the pack’s medical professionals; in Claire’s eyes, she was not only pitiful—but a waste of resources, and the doctor’s efforts should’ve gone to someone useful.

Addison didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Claire’s mockery may have been hidden under layers of concern, but Addison heard it all—and each word burned more than the glass in her skin.

Addison ignored Claire’s veiled mockery, saying nothing as she focused on each painful step forward. But just as they reached the stairs, Claire abruptly let go.

And then—it happened.

A sudden force shoved Addison from behind. There was no time to react, no moment to brace herself. The world tilted violently as her body went tumbling down the staircase.

She barely managed to shield her head as she crashed into the sharp edges of the stairs, the brutal impact jarring through her bones. Pain exploded through her limbs, and she felt something crack in her arm—maybe more than one place.

Though the stairway wasn’t especially long, the way her body slammed down each step made it feel endless. By the time she hit the bottom landing, the pain was so overwhelming she couldn’t even cry out.

And before the dizziness could fully take hold—before the shock could numb the agony—she was yanked up off the ground like a rag doll.

"Addison! What the fuck are you doing?!"

The voice boomed with fury, shaking her to her core. The person who yanked her up—none other than her mate, Zion.

The mate she hadn’t seen in days.

She had imagined seeing him again... but never like this. Never with him glaring at her with eyes filled not with longing, but murderous rage—as if he wanted to strangle her on the spot.

Before she could gather her thoughts or even speak, he threw her.

She crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, the back of her head slamming hard against the cold surface. A wave of dizziness washed over her, pain crashing through her body. Her vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.

But just before the darkness pulled her under, she saw him—Zion—kneeling beside Claire, who now lay on the ground as well, her eyes closed, unmoving. freewebnøvel.coɱ

"Claire," Zion breathed, his tone laced with worry and gentleness as he knelt beside her. He scooped her up in his arms as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

And he didn’t even spare Addison so much as a glance.

Left there on the cold floor, broken and bleeding, Addison’s heart—once numbed from everything—cracked wide open again. She thought she couldn’t feel pain anymore, that she had turned to stone. But watching her mate cradle another woman while leaving her behind...

That hurt more than anything else ever could.

A single tear slipped down Addison’s cheek before everything faded to black.

When she awoke, the air was damp, cold, and heavy with the scent of mold. Darkness surrounded her. She was lying on the hard, filthy ground of a dungeon cell. Her body screamed in pain.

"Ugh..." she groaned hoarsely, every syllable dragging across her throat like broken glass.

Her limbs trembled violently as agony coursed through her. Every breath felt like fire—sharp, shallow, and unbearable. A sickening crackle in her chest confirmed what she feared: at least one rib was broken, maybe more. Maybe it had happened when she fell... or maybe when Zion threw her against the wall.

Zion.

Her own mate had slammed her like she was nothing. Had he forgotten—no, worse, had he even cared—that she couldn’t shift? That her body, without a wolf, couldn’t heal on its own? To him, it hadn’t mattered. He hadn’t even hesitated.

Addison let out a faint, self-mocking laugh, the sound bitter and broken.

But even that tiny motion sent a bolt of pain ripping through her torso. She gasped, her laughter dying in her throat as fresh agony bloomed. Her pale lips trembled, drained of color, and her skin was ghostly beneath the dim glow of the dungeon’s torchlight.

Left alone. Unattended. Unwanted.

She was starting to realize that the only thing keeping her alive... was her sheer will not to die like this.

"Ha... ha ha..." Addison let out a weak, bitter laugh, the sound barely escaping her lips. She had to breathe through her mouth—deep breaths pulled at her broken ribs, and even the act of laughing sent pain slicing through her.

She felt utterly miserable.

What... happened?

Her mind, hazy from the pain, began to retrace the events. Slowly, the memory came back—Claire’s voice, the fake concern, the fall down the stairs... and Zion’s rage.

Addison’s chest tightened—not just from injury but from the weight of betrayal.

Claire had schemed against her. So easily. So blatantly.

And she’d succeeded.

That only meant one thing—Claire didn’t see Addison as a threat at all. She had the audacity to plot in plain sight, to humiliate her openly and still have everyone believe her.

Just the fact that Addison had woken up in this dungeon said everything.

They believed she’d attacked Claire. They probably thought she pushed her down the stairs... and then tumbled after her to make it look like an accident. The perfect narrative: Claire, the ever-kind Luna-to-be, helping Addison down the stairs to treat her wounds—and Addison, bitter and jealous, lashing out.

Addison’s jaw clenched, her body trembling.

Did Claire really fall, though? Was she even hurt?

Or was that part of the act too?

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Claire knew exactly how to make herself look selfless, even if it meant faking her own injuries. No one would question the image of a loving woman trying to help her rival.

And Zion... he believed it without hesitation.

He didn’t even look at her. Just threw her away.

Addison wasn’t sure what to believe. Would Claire really go so far as to hurt Zion’s pup just to frame her? She doubted it. No—what Addison suspected was that after pushing her down the stairs, Claire had simply walked down, laid herself beside her, and waited for Zion to arrive—playing the part of the helpless victim and pretending to pass out.

But Zion was a werewolf—an Alpha, no less. With his strength and senses, he should’ve easily seen through Claire’s act. Or was he so consumed by worry for Claire’s safety that he missed something so obvious?