My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 456 A PUPPET

MARGARET’S POV

The change of scenery was jarring.

That was my first thought when the guards shut the door behind me, and I found myself standing again in the very room I’d occupied when I first arrived on the island, before betrayal and captivity unraveled everything.

Soft linen graced the bed. Curtains were drawn back, allowing filtered sunlight to spill across polished floors. A small seating area was positioned near the window, as if I could spend my days lounging there.

It felt like a performance.

As if I were a guest once more, rather than a prisoner whose freedom was confined to carefully measured boundaries.

The guards did not enter, yet I could sense their presence just beyond the door. Two, at least. Even without my psychic abilities, their menacing aura lingered at the edge of my awareness.

I compelled myself to play the role Catherine expected.

Days blurred together, though not with the same suffocating intensity as when I was in the dungeon.

Here, time moved once more, marked by the shifting light and the distant hum of activity beyond these walls.

I slept in the luxurious bed. I ate when food was delivered. I spoke little. I resisted less.

Compliance is often mistaken for surrender.

And Catherine, despite all her brilliance, had always underestimated one crucial aspect of my nature.

My patience.

It paid off soon enough.

Just not in the manner I had anticipated.

The door swung open without warning one afternoon, and I turned to see Catherine standing there, framed by the corridor light. Her posture was as composed and elegant as ever, her expression etched with that same smug satisfaction that I was growing tired of.

“Margaret,” she said, as if greeting an old friend. “Walk with me.”

She turned without waiting for me to fall into step beside her, utterly confident in my compliance.

I rose, smoothed my dress, and drew a deep breath before following.

The guards fell in behind us, moving like silent shadows.

We proceeded through corridors I had not yet seen, descending deeper into the structure of the facility.

The air grew cooler as we descended—sharper now, tinged with a sterile quality that clung to my throat.

Catherine led the way without hesitation, her pace unhurried yet purposeful, until we reached a reinforced door that slid open at her approach.

Inside was an observation room.

A wide pane of reinforced glass stretched across the far wall, separating us from whatever lay beyond.

“Come,” she said softly.

I stepped forward.

She offered me a gentle, almost tender smile that made my stomach churn.

“There’s someone I want you to see.”

A light flickered on on the other side of the room.

And I forgot how to breathe.

My body became motionless, as if instinct had decreed movement itself was dangerous, as if even the slightest shift might shatter the fragile illusion before me.

Every thought I might have possessed scattered, leaving only the figure on the other side of the glass.

Edward.

He stood with his back partially turned, his broad shoulders achingly familiar in a way that carved something raw and painful through my chest.

His posture was unchanged. The line of his jaw, the dark hair now streaked with silver, the very authority that had once anchored an entire pack and the family built around him.

For one impossible, devastating heartbeat, I forgot.

Forgot the battle. The hospital room. The overwhelming grief that followed his death.

My breath hitched, sharp and unsteady, and I found myself stepping closer to the glass before I could stop myself.

“Edward.” The name escaped my lips like a sacred prayer.

He turned.

And the illusion fractured.

His eyes met mine. They were… wrong.

There was recognition, yes. A flicker of awareness suggesting that a part of him remained beneath the surface.

But it was distant, dulled, as if layers of something heavier were imposed upon it. Something deliberate.

Controlled.

My chest tightened. Grief surged first—devastation over the mate I had lost—then, like wildfire, fury crept in, burning away the shock and filling me with resolve. The emotions became tangled, bleeding into one another until they were impossible to separate.

And eclipsing it all—horror.

Because this was not my Edward.

This was a puppet wearing his face.

I felt Catherine’s gaze on me, measuring, waiting, analyzing every reaction with clinical precision.

So I gave her what she expected.

My hand lifted slowly, pressing against the glass as though I could bridge the distance between us through sheer will alone.

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision just enough to convincingly sell the illusion.

“Is it…?” My voice trembled, the words carefully broken. “Is it really him?”

Catherine’s smile was soft. Satisfied.

“As close as it can be,” she replied.

I let my breath hitch, allowed my shoulders to shake as though emotion had completely overwhelmed me, even as my mind remained cold, clear, and calculating.

“You…you brought him back,” I whispered.

“Not entirely,” she corrected gently. “But enough.”

Edward—or rather, the thing wearing his form—tilted his head, his gaze fixed on me. The movement twisted the knife; it was far too close to the man I had known.

I wanted to scream.

I desperately wished to shatter the glass, to embrace him, and to confront Catherine for the torment inflicted upon him.

Yet, I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, seeking solace in its chill.

“How?” I inquired, my voice laced with a pretense of wonder.

Catherine positioned herself beside me, her proximity creating a palpable shift in the atmosphere.

“Years of dedicated research,” she replied. “Countless trials, errors, and subsequent refinements.”

“And… he is stable?” I probed, my words carefully chosen.

“For the present moment,” she confirmed. “However, stability is a precarious state. This is why your cooperation is essential.”

There it was, the crux of her proposition.

I slowly straightened, turning to face her, allowing a flicker of fragile hope to illuminate my features.

“What is it that you require?” I asked.

A gleam appeared in her eyes.

“You already grasp the fundamental principles,” she stated. “Your innate psychic abilities were instrumental in this undertaking. But to achieve completion—to attain perfection—I need something more.”

My heart gave a single, heavy thud.

“What is it?”

“Your wolf.”

Sylvia stirred within me, a sharp, instinctual protest that surged through my being before subsiding. Since Catherine had siphoned the majority of my power during the sealing ritual, Sylvia had been profoundly affected. Her strength had waned, and she would surface only in rare, fleeting moments before lapsing back into dormancy, as if mere existence now taxed her considerably.

I let the silence linger, projecting an image of deep consideration, while the true nature of the situation crystallized in my mind. This endeavor was not truly about Edward. It was about the unquenchable thirst for power that consumed Catherine, her relentless pursuit of absolute control.

“If I agree to assist you,” I began, my words measured, “what will become of him?”

Catherine’s smile held a patronizing quality. “You and your mate will be reunited,” she assured me.

The offer was undeniably tempting. For a fleeting instant, longing eclipsed prudence, and I allowed myself to envision it: standing beside Edward once more, conversing with him, feeling his touch. I turned back to the room, to gaze upon him again. The imperfections, previously masked, now became glaringly obvious. It wasn't merely his eyes.

Reaching inward, I searched for the bond that had once been as intrinsic to me as breathing, for the steady, anchoring presence of my mate. There was nothing. No warmth, no magnetic pull, no resonating echo from my wolf to his. Only an unnerving silence—a void where something sacred should have resided.

My fingers instinctively tightened their grip on the glass, pressing harder without my conscious awareness. My gaze swept over him, no longer seeking the man I had loved, but scrutinizing him for the misplaced elements. The minute details Catherine could not possibly replicate. A faint, pale scar tracing his collarbone from a minor skirmish years ago. The subtle, ridged mark across his ribs from a hunting expedition that had gone awry. The almost imperceptible crescent near his wrist that I used to trace absently during our quiet nights together. They were gone. His skin was unnervingly smooth, unblemished, too perfect. The sight sent a jolt of revulsion through the depths of my chest, curdling beneath the lingering grief. Edward had lived; he had fought, he had bled. This… entity had not.

I searched again, delving deeper, instinctively seeking the other presence that had once existed in tandem with his own, the formidable, unwavering spirit of his wolf that had invariably mirrored him so perfectly. There was nothing there either. No Alpha’s commanding aura, no silent, watchful counterpart lurking beneath the surface, no sensation of restrained power coiled just under his skin. Sylvia pressed against my consciousness—a fragile tremor of recoil, not in recognition, but in quiet repudiation. Even in her weakened state, she sensed the profound wrongness of it all.

My breath hitched, a barely suppressed sound escaping my lips. Any future established with this imitation would be a future founded upon the utter desecration of everything Edward Lockwood had represented. Something within me fractured. The carefully constructed facade I had maintained crumbled instantly, shattering under the weight of my newfound understanding.

“You are not bringing him back,” I declared, my voice sharp as splintered glass. “You are defiling him.”

A coldness entered Catherine’s gaze. “Margaret—”

“You pilfered my power,” I continued, stepping away from the glass, from her, from the grotesque mockery of the man I had adored. “You warped it into this… this abomination, and now you demand more?”

“This represents evolution,” she stated with unnerving calmness.

“This is desecration!” I retorted.

Her eyes narrowed. “Your judgment is obscured by emotion.”

“And your ambition has corrupted yours,” I countered sharply.

The space between us crackled, thick with a volatile tension. “You could have stood by my side,” she murmured, her voice lowering. “You still can. All that I have built—all that I possess the potential to create—you could be an integral part of it.”

I advanced, closing the distance until we were mere inches apart, ensuring she could clearly perceive the utter loathing in my eyes. “I. Would. Rather. Die.”

For a suspended moment, neither of us moved. Then, Catherine emitted a sigh, a sound tinged more with disappointment than genuine anger. “How utterly tiresome,” she whispered, making a dismissive gesture behind her.

The guards moved with practiced efficiency before I could react. Hands seized my arms, restraining me as I struggled, my gaze snapping back once more to the figure trapped behind the glass.

Edward remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed.

A frown creased his forehead, and for a fleeting second, a glimmer of hope sparked within me—

No.

I wouldn’t dare to hope.

“Take her back,” Catherine commanded, her voice laced with frost.

The world became a blur as I was hauled out of the room, the image of Edward seared into my memory, an indelible brand.

***

They incarcerated me in the same bleak dungeon, the heavy door clanging shut behind me, its finality reverberating deep within my being.

I plummeted to the stone floor, the harsh impact stealing the air from my lungs.

For a long, silent moment, I lay still.

Undisturbed.

Unbreathing.

Then, the crushing weight of reality descended all at once.

Edward.

The damage Catherine had inflicted upon him.

The sinister intentions she harbored for me.

A guttural sob escaped my throat, raw and unbound, as I forced myself to rise, my hands trembling with an emotion that far surpassed mere anger.

I rose unsteadily, my steps uneven as I traversed the cramped confine like a trapped beast, my thoughts a chaotic storm, spiraling into darkness.

She would persist.

Unless she was halted.

And I—

I was inextricably linked to her scheme.

Despite everything, my very existence, my inherent power, remained a tool she could exploit.

This stark realization solidified into something frigid and absolute.

No.

I would not permit it.

If escape was beyond my reach...

If I could not thwart her from the outside...

Then I would erase myself from her calculations completely.

‘I. Would. Rather. Die.’

This decision arrived with a chilling, unshakeable clarity.

My gaze fell upon the edge of the metal table, focusing on the sharp corner where steel met unforgiving stone.

It would require minimal effort.

A single, precise motion. Sufficient force.

A brief surge of pain accompanied the thought, but it paled in comparison to the dread that awaited if I remained passive.

I took a step closer.

Raised my hand.

Brought it down—

“Stop!”

The cry pierced the oppressive air as the door flew open. Someone bolted inside, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat.

Strong hands seized my wrists, wrenching them away from the table before I could complete my action.

I thrashed, a wave of pure fury washing over me.

“Let me go!”

“No!”

“I said, let me—”

“Margaret! Look at me.”

I became rigid.

Slowly, I raised my eyes.

And met a pair of familiar eyes I hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime.

“Tobias?”