The Villains Must Win-Chapter 164: Lyander Wolfhart 14

In the days that followed, Liora found herself allowed to return to the waterfall—but now, it was on their terms.

At first, it felt like a mockery of freedom. She was given a strict schedule: one hour at dawn, when the mist still clung to the treetops and the world was quiet. A servant would accompany her halfway, then turn back just far enough to give the illusion of privacy—though she knew she was being watched. Always.

Still, she took what she could get.

She bathed under the icy water in silence, her body shivering with each plunge beneath the falls. But it wasn’t the cold that unsettled her—it was the feeling that something was shifting, slowly, like a tide turning.

The air around the Bloodhowl pack had changed. The glares were less sharp, the growls more distant. Some had begun to look at her not just with suspicion, but curiosity. They still didn’t trust her, but they weren’t snapping at her heels anymore either.

Lyander had disappeared for a few days. She didn’t ask where. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she noticed, less she would risk inflating his ego even more.

Her time alone at the falls became something of a ritual. Each morning she’d rise before the sun, wrap herself in a borrowed cloak, and make the trek into the woods.

The first few days, her nerves were raw. Every twig snap, every gust of wind, sent her heart racing. But soon, the trees felt familiar. The waterfall became a sanctuary—an illusion of freedom carved out of stone and mist.

It was in those quiet moments, stripped of pretenses, that she began to remember who she really was beneath the lies and layers she’d been forced to wear.

Then, one morning, the rhythm broke.

A knock echoed at the door of the guest house just past dawn. Not the usual servant’s knock—this one was firmer, more urgent. When she opened it, Henry stood on the threshold, taller than she remembered, the light of the early sun sharpening the edge in his gaze.

"It’s been a month," he said simply. "I think it’s time we talked."

Her pulse kicked. Something in his voice made the world tilt a little.

She stepped aside, letting him in.

He didn’t sit. "I want to know what you remember," he said. "Everything. No more delays. No more lies."

"Lies?" Liora frowned, her voice tightening. "I’m not lying. I still can’t remember anything. If you really don’t trust me, then send me back to the human world, or just . . . kill me."

Please don’t kill me . . . the soul inside her thought.

Henry’s jaw clenched. His eyes—usually calm pools of composure—flashed with something raw and sharp. "I won’t risk it. Not when you already know about us. Not when you came here, claiming amnesia, but with just enough information to leave a warning behind. Who sent you? Why are you here? What would you gain from this? Who are you really?"

He was pacing now, back and forth like a caged beast. Liora had seen him composed, even charming at times, but never like this—rattled. The chill in the air wasn’t just from the night creeping in, but from the way his carefully constructed calm was unraveling thread by thread. His hands flexed open and closed, trying to contain the tremor of panic and responsibility shaking through him.

Henry was only a boy and it hurt to see him so vulnerable and raw.

That was when it hit her.

"You found out . . . ," she whispered. "You found out that I was telling the truth, didn’t you? About the Silver Moon pack. About Rhett. That he’s planning to wage war to unite every pack in this country."

Henry stopped mid-step. His back was to her, shoulders tense. He didn’t turn, but Liora didn’t need to see his face to feel the weight of his silence. She could sense the worry in him—like a dam barely holding back a flood.

When he did face her, there was something almost childlike in his expression. A vulnerability so stark that it made her chest tighten. His lips parted, but it took a full breath before he could speak.

"Yes," he said softly, sitting down on the edge of the stone bench. "After you warned me, I didn’t want to believe it. But I still sent someone to observe the Silver Moon pack, just in case."

Henry continued, voice quiet, grim. "At first, nothing was unusual. Until Rhett—Alpha Rhett now—took control. His first act as Alpha was to call for unity. But not just any unity. He wants every pack in the country to rally under him. To give up their lands, their names, their autonomy, and become part of one empire under his rule."

Liora’s brows drew in. "That’s madness. No Alpha would ever—"

"He’s persuasive," Henry interrupted. "He’s not asking, Liora. He’s demanding. The ones who surrender will remain ’acting’ leaders under his banner. The ones who resist . . . won’t be so lucky."

She swallowed hard. "So he’s building a wolf empire."

Henry nodded solemnly. "And on paper, it sounds promising—strength in numbers, centralized power, less infighting. It would revolutionize trade and maybe even grant us power and would probably rise above from all species and became king of the world. But—"

"But wolves like you," Liora said, stepping closer, "with pride and a deep connection to your territory, would never bend the knee. You’d rather die defending your home."

Henry looked up at her, and in his gaze was the weight of a thousand burdens. "Exactly. What he’s doing might unite the packs for now, but in the long run? It’ll tear us apart. He’s forcing wolves to submit, stripping them of pride and territory. If we grow weaker like this, it won’t just be us who suffer—humans, even vampires, they’ll see the cracks and strike. We’ll be vulnerable. Maybe even extinct."

If even a kid like Henry could see the consequences, Liora couldn’t understand why Rhett—the supposed male lead—couldn’t.

Why was he so hell-bent on this mission of wolf domination? Wasn’t the male lead supposed to stand out for his vision, his compassion, his strength of character? Instead, he was beginning to look more like the villain of the story.