Poor Unfortunate Wolf

For ten years, I waited for my childhood sweetheart, Adonis, to marry me. But every year, our future was delayed by a ridiculous family ritual where he had to draw a "Fortunate" tarot card. For three years, he drew the "Unfortunate" card, enduring brutal penance that left him scarred and broken. I believed it was fate.

Then, on the fourth year, I saw him draw the Fortunate card. My heart soared. We were finally free. But in a swift, practiced move, he swapped it for an Unfortunate one, choosing more suffering. I was frozen in shock.

Later, I overheard him confess to his cousin. He' d been swapping the cards for four years. He couldn't marry me yet because of his assistant, Ariel. She' d threatened to do something drastic if he left her. He said he owed her.

My world shattered. Every lash he took, every moment of pain I shared, was a lie. A charade performed for another woman. He had chosen his guilt for her over his love for me.

He even accused me of monstrous cruelty based on her lies, shouting, "I can't believe I wasted ten years on someone so vindictive. Apologize to Ariel. Now."

That was the moment I knew the man I loved was gone. So, I left. I flew to Hong Kong and married another man.

But just as I found my new beginning, Adonis burst in, his eyes wild with regret, begging me to come back. And right behind him was Ariel, her face twisted with madness, a gleaming knife in her hand.

Chapter 1

My stomach dropped, a cold, hard stone sinking through me as I watched Adonis' s hand move, quick and practiced, swapping the fortunate card for one of ill omen. The ancient, worn deck, blessed for generations by the Livingston matriarch, held our fate, or so I thought. For three years, it had held Adonis captive, forcing him into grueling penance, delaying our future. And now, in front of my very eyes, he was orchestrating our doom.

It was the fourth year of this ridiculous ritual, a sacred family tradition that dictated Adonis, the heir to the Livingston dynasty, could only marry his childhood sweetheart – me – after drawing a "Fortunate" tarot card. He' d failed three times. Each failure came with a price.

The first year, Adonis drew the "Unfortunate" card. He was subjected to a week of solitary meditation and fasting in the family's desolate mountain retreat. He came back skeletal, his eyes hollow, and collapsed the moment he saw me, landing him in the hospital for days. I hated that ritual. It was barbaric.

The second year, he drew it again. This time, the penance was physical. His back was lashed, not with a whip, but with ancient, knotted ropes, leaving grotesque welts that took months to heal. He didn't cry out once, but I heard his muffled grunts from behind the closed doors of the family chapel. I felt every strike deep in my own flesh. I begged his mother to stop it, but she was unyielding, her face a mask of stone.

The third year, the card, again, was "Unfortunate." The punishment then was a week-long trial by ice, where he was submerged in near-freezing mountain streams, stripped of warmth and comfort. He almost died from hypothermia. I remember the doctors shaking their heads, whispering about irreversible organ damage. I sat by his bedside, clutching his hand, tears streaming down my face, listening to his faint, ragged breaths. He looked at me, his lips blue, and managed a weak smile. "Just one more year, Ivory," he rasped, "then we're finally free."

I believed him. I always did. Each time, he emerged weaker, but his resolve, he claimed, burned brighter. He loved me. He had to. We were fated.

This year, I couldn't bear to watch him suffer alone. I had arrived, determined to share his penance, to prove my unwavering love and convince his rigid family that our bond was stronger than any superstition. I slipped into the shadows of the family chapel, my heart pounding, just as the matriarch placed the card deck before him.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and drew.

My heart leaped. The card, even from a distance, shimmered with a golden light. The matriarch's stern face softened, a faint smile touching her lips. It was fortunate. We were finally free. A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost buckled my knees.

Then, Adonis' s hand, so familiar, so beloved, moved with a subtle, practiced flick. The golden card vanished, replaced by a dull, somber one. The "Unfortunate" card. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't make a sound. My entire body froze, every muscle locked in place, my mind a blank, terrified canvas.