My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 481 SCIENCE EXPERIMENT

EVELYN’S POV

"I will assist you if you cooperate with me."

The words slipped out before I could properly think them through.

For a peculiar, suspended second, the surrounding emptiness seemed to pause along with us.

Jack’s ravaged form fought against Lucian’s restraints, the dying woods crackled faintly under the oppressive weight of the corruption seeping from him, and Lucian Reed fixed his gaze on me as if I had just offered him a dagger and requested he drive it into my own throat.

Perhaps, in a way, I had.

I hardly knew the man.

I knew his name, his reputation, the bits of information Catherine had seen fit to disseminate from her laboratories, and the cautious respect that even her most devoted followers displayed when speaking of him.

I understood he was formidable. I knew he had aided Catherine on multiple occasions. I recognized that, much like myself, he had brushed up against the darkness so closely that its stains could never be fully cleansed by remorse.

And yet, as I looked at him, a part of me faltered.

Perhaps it was the sorrow evident in his eyes, a sadness that didn't seek pity because it felt entirely deserved for every hurt endured.

Perhaps it was the manner in which he had raised that blade against Jack, fully aware it would mean his own demise as well. His action wasn't born of malice, but of a grim, weary conviction that sacrificing one life could avert a greater catastrophe.

Or, possibly, it was something more ancient and inexplicable, an instinct lying deeper than witchcraft or bloodline, one that I lacked the time or inclination to probe.

Whatever the reason, it held no real significance.

I could not afford to get lost in thoughts of Lucian Reed.

Jack’s body thrashed violently within the bonds, and a guttural snarl erupted from his throat as dark veins pulsed beneath his ripped fur.

The corruption festering within him remained potent, ceaselessly probing, patiently awaiting a directive from the woman who had always possessed the knack for twisting circumstances to her advantage.

I retreated from the perimeter. "Will you cooperate or not?"

Lucian’s eyes narrowed, the startled emotion receding behind a veil of caution. "That hinges on your definition of cooperation."

"It means you cease this self-sacrificing charade long enough to be of use."

His lips pressed together, and for a fleeting instant, I anticipated an objection.

Jack convulsed once more within his restraints, his claws gouging the earth until dirt and blood splattered the illuminated sigil.

Lucian glanced at him, his expression hardening.

"What do you require of me?"

A surge of hope, unbidden, coursed through me more strongly than it should have.

I pushed it aside.

"Firstly, you must grasp that Catherine will already suspect something has gone awry," I stated. "Jack's corruption is linked. Any drastic destabilization in his condition will alert her."

"She'll dispatch enforcers."

"She already has."

Lucian froze.

I tilted my head slightly, straining to hear beyond Jack’s labored gasps, the brittle rustle of dead leaves, and the subtle thrum of Lucian’s binding incantation.

There it was. Movement within the trees, too deliberate for lost civilians, too silent for common scouts.

Catherine’s recovery team.

Marcus’s men—or what was left of them after the tribunal had exposed him—were likely with them.

Regardless, they were coming for Jack, and if they discovered Lucian here, unharmed, with Jack ensnared by a spell originating from his own hand, our entire plan would unravel before it even began.

"Follow my lead," I instructed.

Lucian frowned. "What—"

I stooped and tore a jagged strip of bark from the base of a withered sycamore. Without allowing myself a moment's hesitation, I raked the sharp edge across my forearm.

A searing, bright pain shot through my skin, and blood instantly welled, tracing a vivid crimson path down toward my wrist.

Lucian uttered a low curse and reached for me, then halted himself just before his fingers made contact with my arm.

"What in the blazes are you doing?!"

"Fabricating a narrative."

"Does your mouth hurt?"

I stifled an urge to laugh inappropriately.

"My fabricated stories carry more weight with physical proof."

Lucian’s gaze shifted to the wound, and a flicker of tension crossed his face: a complex blend of concern and anger, perhaps both.

I gritted my teeth against the stinging sensation and smeared some of the blood onto the fabric of my dress.

"Jack attacked me," I explained swiftly. "You intervened to prevent him from killing me, but I sustained this injury during the struggle. That's why he's restrained."

Lucian’s eyes searched mine intently. "And Catherine will accept this explanation?"

"She has no grounds to doubt it."

"Is this truly necessary?" Lucian questioned, his skepticism evident.

I nodded. "She already sensed Jack was under magical influence. Do you intend to explain your original intentions to her?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw as his gaze returned to my injured arm. "This is insane."

"Well," I replied, glancing towards the approaching footsteps in the trees, "it's the most plausible option we have."

***

Less than an hour after our return, Catherine stormed into my room on the island.

The door slammed against the wall with such force that the glass ornaments on my vanity rattled precariously.

Two attendants stood nearby, their faces pale and expressions subdued, yet Catherine ignored them completely. Her attention was immediately captured by the injury on my arm.

“What occurred?” The inquiry seemed laced with concern, yet it was anything but. Her gaze swept over the bandage an attendant had wrapped around my forearm. It wasn't the look of a mother tending to her injured child, but rather a shrewd merchant assessing a damaged tapestry, calculating its diminished worth. A cold, unpleasant sensation coiled in my gut. “Jack did this to me,” I stated flatly. Catherine’s expression immediately tightened. “Jack?” “Your so-called precious monster attempted to end me,” I declared, letting my anger surface. “He would have succeeded if Lucian hadn't intervened.” Her eyes narrowed, dissecting my face, evaluating every nuance. “And you sustained an injury.” “Obviously.” One of the attendants gasped softly at my sharp tone. Catherine, however, merely moved closer. “You should have avoided direct confrontation with him.” I let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Is that what vexes you? That I dared to touch your little experiment?” Her eyes grew colder. “Evelyn.” “Don’t you dare ‘Evelyn’ me,” I retorted, pushing myself up from the edge of the bed. The movement sent a jolt of pain through the wound beneath the bandage. “You unleashed Jack into that public square like a feral beast, expecting what, exactly? That he would return docile and contained? That his inherent darkness would remain leashed simply because you command it?” Catherine’s features became unnervingly still. That very stillness had instilled fear in me during my youth, a silent warning to tread carefully. Now, it only fueled my rage. “You are responsible for his condition,” I accused. “You and Marcus. You fractured his very being, infused him with something neither of you could truly control, and now he can barely recognize his surroundings, let alone himself.” “He was never intended for gentleness.” “Nor was he meant to be irrevocably broken!” For a fleeting moment, the room was so silent I could discern the faint hum of machinery far below the island. Somewhere beneath us, the core chamber pulsed, its glass walls, arcane symbols, preserved creatures, and all the lifeless relics Catherine so adored, seemed to breathe. Catherine’s gaze drifted past me, as if focused on something incredibly distant. “Where is he?” “Restrained.” She moved without awaiting further explanation. I followed her out of the room, through the hushed corridors, and into the elevator that plunged deep within the island. It carried us past layers of reinforced steel and security checkpoints until we reached the laboratory levels. Stepping out, we entered the heavily fortified chamber where Jack lay bound, held fast by metallic restraints, potent sedatives, and arcane energies. Even in his unconscious, human state, he appeared utterly monstrous. His body convulsed against the restraints, dark veins spiderwebbing beneath his skin in agitated patterns, as if an internal entity were desperately trying to break free. For the first time since I had known her, Catherine exhibited a flicker of hesitation. “Do you wish to understand the full extent of our work here?” she murmured, her voice unnervingly soft. “Do you desire a front-row seat to the ‘science experiments’? Then observe closely, Evelyn.” With that, she placed both hands directly over Jack’s chest. An immense surge of power emanated from her. The edges of the room seemed to dim as her potent witchcraft seeped into him—not with tenderness, but with absolute, commanding force. It compelled the rampant corruption to cease its thrashing, forced the encroaching darkness to collapse inward, and commanded Jack’s ravaged form to accept a semblance of stillness. Jack arched violently beneath her touch, a guttural snarl ripping from his throat, compelling me to grip the edge of the observation table to restrain myself from intervening. Catherine’s face grew visibly paler. Faint dark lines appeared at her temples. Beads of sweat beaded along her hairline, and the air grew thick with the acrid, metallic scent of depleted power. She exerted more pressure, her jaw clenched tight, until the frantic, dark movement beneath Jack’s skin finally began to subside. The rattling of the restraints ceased. Jack’s ragged breaths slowly settled into a pattern that, while still harsh, was no longer life-threatening. Catherine withdrew her hands and swayed precariously. I noticed the movement before she could mask it. “Are you alright?” I asked, hating that the question escaped my lips with more softness than I intended. I hated that a part of me still perceived Catherine as the woman who had raised me—the closest figure I had to a mother—rather than the monstrous entity she had become over the years. She turned her head towards me. For a single, fragile second, she looked utterly exhausted. Not invincible or unassailable, but simply a woman who had expended immense power to subdue a creature of her own making. Then, the vulnerable moment vanished. “I am fine,” she stated. She was lying. We both knew it. Her gaze returned to Jack, but her focus had shifted far beyond the confines of the room, beyond the island itself, even beyond the impending conflict she had already initiated. A decision had clearly been made within her. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, carrying a chill that pierced me. “I am done waiting.” My fingers tightened their grip on the table's edge. Catherine glanced at the abomination her son had become, and a faint, terrifying serenity settled upon her features. “I know what must be done now.”