The Alpha King's Mistress Chapter 118: The Letter

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the suffocating silence of the cell. My heart leaped, hope forming in my chest. It has been 2 days since he visited me. Maybe it was Nicholas, maybe he'd finally come back for me.

But as the figure rounded the corner, the overly sweet familiar scent, my breath hitched in my throat – Samantha. As if on cue, she materialized in jeans and a simple shirt paired with a pink blazer.

"Samantha?" I croaked, my voice rusty from disuse. "What are you doing here?"

She stood a few feet away, her face unreadable in the dim light coming from the lamp.

"Visiting," she mumbled.

A heavy silence descended upon us. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Samantha spoke again.

"I’m sorry…..for how our mother abandoned you."

I stared at her, speechless. An apology? From Samantha? Maybe my expression showed what I truly felt about her sudden apology because she continued.

"I…" she began, then faltered. "I don't like you, Florence. I never have. And honestly, I wanted you to suffer."

My heart, which had momentarily softened at her apology, hardened once more.

"Then why this sudden change of heart?" I snapped, “Guilt eating you?”

"Yes, yes, I do," she admitted, shaking her head as if trying to understand the confusion clouding her thoughts. "I….I felt guilty. Seeing the child my father desperately wanted to save, realizing it was someone I wished dead… it sat wrong with me."

My brows furrowed. "What are you saying?"

Samantha opened her mouth to speak, but then hesitated, her expression shifting. "It's a long story,"

I sighed. Our conversation would only lead to nothing.

“Why are you even here? I thought they banished you from the pack”

"They allowed me to visit you….maybe cause, you know, uh stepsisters”

Hearing it from her makes everything finally real. We are stepsisters with the same mother. I looked at my dirty and dry hands.

“I have something to confess. I knew that coming to that guest room was a trap but I did anyway because I want you gone as well”

She smiled sadly, “Maybe that’s one of our similarities as stepsisters”

“I know you won't waste your time coming here just to apologize so tell me, what is your purpose for coming here?”

“Indeed you are intimidating” She took out a white envelope from her coat's pocket and crouched, putting the envelope on the floor and taking a quick step back.

I raised a brow, “What’s this? An apology letter?”

“You’ll know once you open it” She took a deep breath as if controlling her emotions. With an unusually gentle tone, she said, “I sincerely hope you find peace in your life”

I just stared at her and she looked down as if unable to look me in the eyes and left. The sound of her footsteps fading.

My gaze landed on the white envelope lying discarded on the cold stone floor. Curiosity itched in the back of my mind. What was this?

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the letter. Picking it up, I turned it over in my hands. Opening it, I found a rather old and worn paper. My heart beat loudly in my chest all of a sudden.

Unfolding the letter, the familiar writing greeted me. I began to read, each word a punch to the gut, shattering me into pieces.

It was a letter from my father—from the mad rogue man—Francis Lancaster.

The words blurred as tears welled up in my eyes, hot and stinging.

My dearest Sarah,

If you're reading this right now, I may leave this life now.

The guilt gnaws at me. Florence. Our daughter. Even the name itself feels foreign on my tongue, a constant reminder of the bond I so desperately wanted to feel but never did. I try, Sarah, truly I do. But the act feels hollow, the words taste like ash in my mouth. The connection—the thread that binds parent to child, simply isn't there.

I see you in her, Sarah. The same fiery spirit, the same inquisitive gleam in her eyes. Yet, a part of me, a twisted part, recoils at the sight. Is it the reflection of our fractured bond? Or is it the burden we both carry?

But I know for certain, it's not her fault, not at all. She's a great kid, smart and everything. And I don't think I'm the right person to raise her. I don't think we are the right person to raise her—to call her our child.

So, I'm asking you to take her somewhere else. She is still at the same mansion we used to stay at. Take her to a place where she can have a normal life, with all the love and support she deserves. Find her a home where she will be cherished, not burdened by our shadows.

And lastly, a final, excruciating request. Change her name. Let her forge her own path, free from yours or Lancaster's name. I wanted the Lancaster legacy to end with me.

May she find peace, Sarah. Something I never reached and found. May she find happiness, a treasure I can only hope she never has to chase.

Tell Florence she is a wonderful child. Tell her I apologize that she was born with a parent like us. Tell her to forget both of us like we never existed. It is the only thing we could at least do for her.

Sincerely,

Francis Lancaster.

His final words were a request, a plea disguised as a wish. He wanted me to sever any connection to the Lancaster bloodline. To find happiness, whatever that meant, away from him, away from his cruel legacy.

The letter crumpled in my hand as I sank to the floor, sobs wracking my body.

“Dad” I choked through my tears.

Even with his last letter, he never said he loved me. I didn't hope for it but the child part in me did. He clearly showed his actions back then that he never felt any connection with me even though my mother always says I look like him.

The pain was suffocating, constricting my lungs, stealing my breath. But reading it, knowing for once he wanted me to have a normal life made me sob. At least for once, he cared. At least for once, he wanted me to have happiness and peace. At least for once, he wanted me to be free from the pain they had caused.

I can finally die in peace knowing my father did once care for me.

In the cold, damp cell, the carefully constructed image of myself, the strong, independent woman, crumbled around me, leaving behind the broken shell of a neglected child.

…….

**Third-person’s POV**

The heavy oak door groaned shut behind Samantha. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the cries of Florence inside but she was startled to find Nicholas leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigar casting an orange glow on his face.

Fatigue etched lines around his eyes, his normally stoic expression replaced by a weariness. Concern grew in her heart but she didn't voice it, knowing she had no right nor deserved it.

A pang of unexpected pity pricked Samantha's conscience. Whatever their history, the man before her was clearly crumbling under the weight of his choices.

"You need to let her go," she blurted out.

“Are you now playing a dotting step-sister?” he coldly replied.

“No, I am trying to save myself from more guilt,” Samantha replied.

With one glance at her former Alpha and lover, she turned to leave.

Nicholas remained silent, his gaze fixed blankly on nothing. A few minutes passed when Samantha left. He was still there, the cigar forgotten at his feet. His hand flew up to his face, a single tear escaping his grip before he could brush it away.

He could clearly hear the broken sons of Florence from his position and it was as if his heart was also wrenching along with her.

“I'm sorry” he mumbled defeatedly to himself.

He took a shaky breath, the cigar clenched tightly between his fingers as if for support. Smoke billowed from the tip. Each sob that ripped through the night felt like a scar, a suffocating feeling settling upon his chest.

He was a prisoner as much as Florence, trapped in a self-made cage of consequence and matebond.