A Female Alpha’s Revenge novel Chapter 675

**TITLE: Novel Male 675**
**Chapter 675**

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange hue across the sky, Emerson finally arrived home. The evening air was crisp, hinting at the chill that would soon envelop the night.

Vanya, her expression grave and her grip firm around his wrist, pulled him closer. “Emerson,” she said, her voice tinged with urgency. “We don’t typically interfere in Isaiah’s family matters, but this is different. Someone nearly lost their life today.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. “You need to speak with Simon,” she continued, her tone unwavering. “He has to treat Tamara with the respect she deserves. It’s unacceptable for him to keep sending her to Rosemary just to be berated.”

Emerson often found himself heeding Vanya’s counsel, her wisdom guiding him through turbulent waters. After a hasty dinner, he slipped into his car and drove straight to the Bloodmoon packhouse, his mind racing with thoughts of Tamara and the gravity of the situation.

What he didn’t realize was that, at that very moment, Tamara remained kneeling in the main courtyard, her form eerily still beneath the Pack Crest pillar. She was as motionless as a statue, seemingly encased in ice by the bitter cold of the night.

Earlier, Simon had assured Emerson that once Rosemary’s anger subsided, he would indeed treat Tamara better. But Emerson felt a deep dissatisfaction with that response, his brow knitting together in frustration. “There’s nothing wrong with being dutiful,” he said, his voice steady yet firm. “But you cannot lose sight of what’s right and wrong. What do you mean you’ll treat her better once Rosemary calms down? Why can’t you show her kindness now?”

Simon managed a bitter smile, his throat constricting as he spoke. He instinctively tensed, suppressing the wolf within him while standing before an elder. “I know I messed up, Emerson. Working for the Crown—reputation is everything. If word gets back to Lycan Erasmus, a promotion is just around the corner.”

Despite his calm demeanor, Emerson could sense the ambition and underlying anxiety wafting off Simon. It was a scent that lingered, mixing with the tension in the air.

Emerson frowned, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. “Why do you always seek these shortcuts? What does your father, Isaiah, think about this?”

“Father won’t interfere,” Simon replied, his voice lacking conviction. “As long as the house remains quiet, he’s content.”

Isaiah had always been like that—only stepping in when a genuine “pack crisis” arose. Otherwise, he left the conflicts to his mate and sons, trusting them to handle their own affairs.

Emerson sighed internally, feeling as if he might be overstepping his bounds. Yet, he couldn’t silence the urge to speak up. “If you’ve chosen her as your mate, you must take responsibility. You are Simon, not Rosemary’s shadow.”

Simon nodded in agreement, muttering, “I know, I’ll change.” However, deep down, he remained steadfast in his belief that Tamara needed to earn Rosemary’s forgiveness for things to be “truly over.”

In his mind, Rosemary was justified. Tamara’s threats of suicide loomed heavily over him; if she had done it once, he feared she would do it again. He believed that a harsh punishment was necessary to extinguish those thoughts once and for all.

So, with a heavy heart, he resolved to ignore Tamara for the time being, regarding the situation as a “necessary lesson.”

She then dismissed the other omegas, opting to stay and attend to Rosemary. After all, Rosemary needed assistance getting up to use the restroom two or three times each night, a task Tamara had always managed, leaving her little time for rest.

In the stillness of the night, Rosemary rose as expected. Barbara moved to fetch her clothes, but as she reached the door, the flickering light of the oil lamp caught her eye. It danced in the cold draft, casting an unsteady shadow onto the maple tree in the front yard.

She squinted, assuming it was merely the shadow of the tree.

But then, her heart raced as realization struck her—
That wasn’t just a shadow. It was a body, suspended in mid-air.

The maple tree stood ominously before Rosemary’s bedroom door, perfectly aligned with the main axis of the packhouse.

Barbara stumbled back, a piercing shriek escaping her lips, shattering the quiet of the night. “Somebody help! Tamara has hanged herself!”

Rosemary, already on her feet, flinched at the sound, instinctively rushing to the doorway.

When her eyes fell upon Tamara hanging from the maple tree, a chill raced down her spine. Tamara’s eyes, still holding a glimmer of life, were tilted slightly downward, as if pointing directly at Rosemary.