บททั้งหมดของ The Triplet's Bullied Mate: บทที่ 311 - บทที่ 320

Elowen’s POV Later that night the Blackthorn mansion, usually alive with the subtle movements and hushed conversations of its inhabitants, had finally settled into a profound silence. The crackling fire in the grand hearth downstairs had long since died down to embers, leaving only the soft, ethereal amber glow of moonlight pouring through the wide, arched windows of the long hallways, painting the polished marble floor in pale, silvered stripes. I hadn’t been able to find sleep, the turbulent echoes of the day’s confrontations still swirling restlessly within me. Their anger earlier hadn’t truly scared me. It was the raw, unwavering love that lay beneath their protective fury that had left me feeling strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way that made my chest ache. I wrapped the soft, plush blanket tighter around my shoulders, seeking a small measure of comfort, and wandered quietly down the silent corridor. My bare feet made no sound on the cool, smooth marble beneath them. I pass

Elowen’s POV Next morning I woke slowly, languidly, to the gentle caress of sunlight painting warm, golden streaks across the ancient stone walls of Theron’s room. A comforting warmth pressed firmly against my back, molding to my curves with a familiar intimacy. For a fleeting moment, everything felt soft, safe, cocooned away from the relentless pressures of the outside world. It was as if the academy, Lisa, and all the attendant dramas had momentarily forgotten our existence entirely. Theron’s strong arm was wrapped possessively around my waist, his steady breath a warm whisper against the sensitive skin at the back of my neck. His body, lean and muscular, was pressed perfectly against mine, radiating a comforting heat that enveloped me like a familiar, welcome blanket. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell of this rare, unguarded quiet. I simply wanted to savor the peaceful stillness, the feeling of being completely held. But the instant I shifted slightly, a sub

Elowen’s POV Moments after class the hallway, moments before a bustling artery of student traffic, now felt strangely vast and empty around us. The lingering tension from the volatile confrontation with Lysander hung thick in the air, a palpable residue of barely suppressed fury. Students parted around our small group like the Red Sea before Moses, their gazes darting nervously away, afraid to meet the intense, almost predatory eyes of the three furious alphas shadowing my every step. Their collective wrath was a tangible thing, a silent promise of retribution that radiated outwards. I barely managed to steer Theron and Ranon, their shoulders tight and their movements jerky, toward the relative quiet of the far end of the corridor. Alaric remained a silent, brooding presence a step behind us, his fists still clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, as if he were locked in a fierce internal battle against the overwhelming urge to turn back and drag Lysander Vale headfirst

Elowen’s POV The tumultuous energy of the day had finally begun to dissipate, the echoes of cruel whispers and suffocating stares fading into the quiet hum of the late hours. The rigorous demands of combat training had left my body aching, a pleasant weariness that should have lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep. But sleep remained elusive, a distant shore I couldn’t quite reach. Not without the comforting presence of him beside me. So, drawn by an invisible thread, I found myself standing before Alaric’s door. My heart hammered a nervous rhythm against my ribs. The soft fabric of my robe was wrapped tightly around me, a flimsy shield against the vulnerability I felt. I didn’t bother to knock. Some unspoken understanding, a silent language that flowed between us, made it unnecessary. He opened the door before my hand could even rise. “Elowen.” His voice was low and soft, a quiet greeting that held a note of anticipation, as if he, too, had been waiting for this unspoken summon

Elowen’s POV The sun, a brilliant, almost blinding disc, hung high over the sprawling academy grounds as I stepped into the main courtyard, a worn leather-bound notebook clutched tightly in my arms. The open-air pathways were already a bustling hive of activity, swarming with students rushing to their various elective classes—strategic planning, elemental theory, the intricate studies of political lineage. Mercifully, today was not a combat training day. A small, much-needed reprieve. Still, despite the relative calm of the academic atmosphere, I felt the familiar prickle of eyes on me, a constant, almost physical sensation. The whispers had returned, a low, persistent hum that seemed to follow my every step. I could feel their collective curiosity pressing in from every angle—about last night, about my conspicuous absence from the dorms and my very public return with Alaric. About why Ranon and Theron had hovered so close by all morning, flanking me like fiercely possessive sent