The Alpha's Regret: Return Of The Betrayed Luna-Chapter 23 Planned?

With a flick of his hand, he signaled one of the others.

A moment later, a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped over Addison’s bloodied form, shocking her back to consciousness. She gasped, her body trembling violently from the chill and pain. Her head barely lifted before—

Crack!

Another lash tore across her back.

Addison’s body arched from the agony, the chains rattling above her with a harsh, metallic echo that rang through the dark dungeon. The only light came from a flickering torch on the wall, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. Addison’s silhouette—frail and shaking—looked impossibly small in the midst of the towering figures surrounding her.

And Greg was only getting started.

Each time Addison passed out from the relentless torment, they revived her with another splash of freezing water. Again and again, the whip tore into her. And when her body teetered on the edge of death, barely clinging to life, Greg would finally call in a healer—not to save her, but just enough to keep her alive.

So the punishment could continue.

Blood trickled steadily down Addison’s back, soaking through the already torn remnants of her dress.

The deep, ragged wounds marred her once-smooth skin, painting her back in grotesque shades of crimson—like the petals of a red spider lily in full bloom. The sight was both harrowing and strangely haunting.

Addison appeared frail, her broken beauty striking in its quiet tragedy. Her long brown hair clung to the side of her pale face, and her colorless complexion made her look more like a corpse than someone clinging to life.

Her eyelids fluttered faintly as the healer worked on her, though even their best efforts barely made a difference. Even the pack doctor would be powerless to do anything to help Addison at this point.

Only a true healer could attempt to mend the damage—and even then, the wounds left by a silver whip resisted all attempts at restoration. Perhaps only a saint or a master healer could reverse such damage.

Cold water had dulled the color of her skin, making the torn flesh even more ghastly. The welts were swelling now, the trauma growing worse with every passing moment. Addison burned with fever, her body trembling as she began to convulse.

Yet, as she suffered, Beta Greg stood nearby, watching with a twisted sense of triumph. Her pain was his fuel.

The sight of her broken body, the reminder of his dominance, made him feel powerful—invincible. Hatred and perverse satisfaction surged through him like a drug, sending his adrenaline soaring to euphoric heights.

The thought of avenging himself for all the humiliation and pain he had endured filled Beta Greg with twisted satisfaction. Each strike had been a release, an indulgent wave of euphoria that drowned out reason.

He was so caught up in his vengeance that he didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—until the healer’s frantic voice cut through his frenzy.

"She’ll die if you don’t stop!"

That finally pulled him back.

Addison couldn’t die—not yet. His Alpha, Zion, had tasked him with overseeing her recovery, ensuring her wounds were properly treated.

But with Alpha Zion preoccupied, Greg had taken matters into his own hands. He saw it not as cruelty, but as justice.

In his mind, Addison deserved every lash. After all, she had pushed Claire—their future Luna—down the stairs, endangering the royal pup she carried. If the unborn child hadn’t survived, Addison would still be facing capital punishment for harming the royal bloodline.

So in Greg’s twisted logic, he wasn’t acting out of malice, but delivering rightful punishment.

And even if Alpha Zion reprimanded him and got angry later, Greg believed the royal family would stand behind him. Maybe he’d even be praised—for defending the honor of the Royal Princess and taking justice into his own hands.

As Beta Greg reflected on his actions, a sense of smug satisfaction washed over him. He felt clever, justified—he had exacted his revenge while still adhering to the rules. In his mind, it was the perfect resolution.

He knew why Alpha Zion had sent him here to care for Addison, to tend to her injuries. That’s why the healer had been dispatched to her side and not Claire’s.

It was a subtle, yet telling choice. Greg understood this decision deeply, and he could already see the truth that Zion himself had yet to acknowledge: the Alpha was protecting Addison.

But it wasn’t just that. Greg knew Zion had developed feelings for her—though he hadn’t realized it yet. Zion’s instincts had driven him to send Greg along with the healer to Addison’s side, even if it meant risking the life of the royal pup in Claire’s womb.

It was clear now.

The Alpha had unconsciously placed Addison’s well-being above that of the royal child, prioritizing her first, and this, to Greg, was an undeniable sign that Zion had already fallen for Addison.

Beta Greg knew that he had to take care of Addison first to free his alpha from caring about her.

After all, wouldn’t his three long years of scheming and whispering in Zion’s ear to hate Addison be in vain?

Besides, even if Addison accidentally died and his alpha got angry, Beta Greg still felt like he could salvage the situation. After all, Addison had already died then, and although his alpha would feel guilty and heartbroken, he would have to stand up again and take Claire as his Luna.

Everything could then be arranged the way he had envisioned it for a long time. He might suffer a little, but it was for the greater good, so he thought that it was acceptable.

"Alright, bandage her up and cover those ugly wounds on her back. We’ll continue the torture later," Beta Greg barked, his tone sharp and dismissive. "I need to oversee the preparations for the visitor while Luna Claire is being treated. You—" he pointed at the guards with authority, "make sure she doesn’t escape. Keep a close eye on her."

With that, he turned on his heel, a twisted sense of satisfaction curling in his chest. The others following him wore the same expression—grim delight at the sight of Addison barely clinging to life.

The healer remained behind, doing everything she could to keep Addison alive. A soft greenish light glowed from her hand as she pressed it gently over Addison’s chest, channeling her energy to keep the girl’s heart beating—preventing cardiac arrest from claiming her.

But the longer she worked, the more drained she felt. Her strength was fading; she’d been healing Addison for far too long without rest.

Still, she refused to stop. Silent sobs escaped her lips, and tears spilled down her cheeks like pearls scattered from a broken strand.

Although many in the Midnight River Pack hated Addison for allegedly causing the former Alpha’s death, there were still a few—like the healer—who viewed things differently. She believed that even without Addison, the outcome might not have changed.

The former Alpha had been fighting on the front lines against the vampires—an unpredictable and deadly battlefield. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have perished anyway? The healer was simply being rational.

But reason rarely comforts the grieving. It seemed that most of the pack just needed someone to blame for their misfortune and pain—and Addison, weak and defenseless, became the perfect scapegoat.

A wolfless omega, she couldn’t fight back, no matter how much they scolded or humiliated her. They made her their punching bag, venting their anger and grief onto someone who wouldn’t lift a finger in return—just to feel some twisted sense of relief.