Alpha’s shout explodes across the room as his hand smashes onto the table, the impact reverberating in the air. “Why are you so useless!”

This is from a facebook ad I found on the Meta Ad Library.

The sound of his voice sends me recoiling instinctively, shrinking into myself. I didn’t mean to anger him—never do.

“You can’t even deliver drinks without screwing it up! What use are you to me?” He glares at me, his expression twisted in frustration. “I don’t know why I even keep you around when you can’t manage the simplest tasks.”

The tray of drinks had slipped from my grip earlier. Not on purpose, of course. Someone had deliberately tripped me, though I wouldn't dare say anything about it. Speaking up would only aggravate the situation, and I’ve long since learned to keep my head down. Silence keeps the consequences manageable—or at least, less unbearable.

Around me, muffled laughter echoes, fueling the Alpha’s fury. Their amusement slices through my dignity, but this isn’t unusual. This mockery happens daily, regardless of what I do. He always finds fault, whether real or imagined, and it always results in punishment.

“Clean this mess up and bring another round of drinks!” he barks. His command rings through the dining room, accompanied by more laughter. I pivot quickly, swallowing my shame as I retreat.

Behind me, Luna’s voice cuts into the air with judgment. “I don’t know why you tolerate her around here,” she remarks smugly, eliciting murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

The kitchen offers a brief reprieve, filled only with the clatter of dishes as I prepare fresh glasses. With painstaking care, I place them onto another tray, determined this time to avoid disaster. Back in the dining room, I skirt clear of the golden boys, their smug faces making me uneasy. Crossing to the opposite side of the table, I cautiously distribute the drinks, my hands steady despite the anxiety constricting my chest.

Finally, with trembling arms clutching the now-empty tray, I hurry back to the kitchen. Relief washes over me as I gently place the tray down on the counter, releasing a shaky exhale. Mealtime with this family is always a test of endurance. They refuse to eat downstairs with the rest of the pack; the Alpha insists they’re above everyone else. Instead, their meals are served in the private luxury of the Alpha and Luna’s suite.

That’s where I come in—an unpaid servant, maid, or whatever term they prefer. My responsibilities span everything: cleaning, cooking, laundry, even catering to their two adult sons who live in separate suites on the same floor. Meals are always shared in the Alpha suite, so the humiliation remains concentrated within those walls. Beyond that, I tackle chores around the pack house. The other Omegas fare far better than I do; their tasks don’t include the degradation reserved for me. The Alpha considers my existence a debt I must repay—for the supposed generosity of taking me in years ago. Apparently, I should be grateful to merely have a roof over my head.

I wasn’t always trapped in this life. When I was ten years old, rogues obliterated my family. My parents—a nurturing nurse and a hardworking laborer—had been Omegas too. They were my world. I remember following my mom to the clinic or my dad out to the fields, happy in their warmth. But those memories feel distant, like an illusion painted over something much darker.

“Useless!” the Alpha’s bellow disrupts my thoughts. He calls for me, his tone sharp and impatient.

I hurry to his side, careful to keep my distance. My gaze fixes firmly on the floor, head bowed submissively.

“Yes, Alpha,” I reply softly, barely above a whisper.

“I have a guest arriving in an hour,” he begins, his words clipped, filled with disdain. “The sitting room better be spotless beforehand. Drinks prepared and delivered to my office. And don’t you dare spill anything this time—I won't tolerate another fiasco in front of a guest.”

“Yes, Alpha. I’ll get started right away,” I murmur.

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand, and I rush back to the kitchen. Armed with cleaning supplies from the broom closet, I head for the sitting room. Though I know it was already cleaned earlier today, I go over each surface again. The alternative—a punishment—is a risk I dare not tempt.

An hour passes swiftly as I wipe and polish everything. Setting the prepared drinks discreetly in the office, I take a final survey of the room. Everything gleams in its rightful place. With the guests’ imminent arrival, I retreat to the dining area, only to find the table empty and abandoned. Clearing away the dishes, I carry them back to the kitchen. After wiping down the surfaces and realigning the chairs, I dive into scrubbing the remaining plates.

Mid-task, the sound of knocking reaches my ears, followed by muffled voices. Drying my hands hastily on a nearby towel, I peek out from behind the doorway to catch a glimpse of the visitors.

“It’s good to see you, Alpha Morcant,” my Alpha greets warmly, clasping the man’s hand.

“The pleasure is mine,” Morcant replies, his eyes sweeping across the room. Behind him stand two women, poised and refined. The elder rests her hand lightly in his as he introduces her. “My mate, Maelis.”

“It’s lovely to see you again, Luna Maelis,” my Alpha responds, kissing her hand gallantly.

“And my daughter, Mirelle,” Morcant adds as another woman steps forward—a younger, striking image of Maelis.

“The pleasure is mine, Mirelle,” my Alpha says smoothly.

Unfazed by their formalities, Morcant glances around. “Is it just the four of us? I don’t see your sons, nor your Luna.”

“My apologies,” Alpha begins, his tone placating. “They should be joining shortly. The boys are changing in their suite, and my mate will be here any moment.”

“Im here,” Luna announces breathlessly, appearing at the end of the hallway. Her dress clings too tightly as she rushes forward, her outstretched hand greeting Morcant. “I’m so sorry for the delay. Robert only told me last-minute that we’d be hosting.” She giggles, swatting Alpha’s arm lightly. Maelis and Mirelle exchange unimpressed glances, their irritation barely concealed.

Before any tension can brew, the sons barrel through the door, arrested mid-step by their father’s harsh glare.

“Here are my boys,” Alpha introduces briskly. “This is Alpha Morcant, his Luna Maelis, and their daughter, Mirelle.”

Feigning enthusiasm, the boys shake hands, their smiles forced and insincere. Despite the act, their eyes betray them as they linger on Mirelle’s figure.

“Why don’t we move to the sitting room? It’s far more comfortable there,” Alpha suggests, motioning for the group to follow him down the hallway.

Stepping back, I avoid being seen, knowing Alpha would punish me severely for eavesdropping. Their footsteps fade, and I seize the moment to finish the dishes. My hands work quickly, eager to escape the kitchen for solitude.

Finally, with the last dish dried and tucked away, I shut off the lights and slip into the hallway. Carefully peering out, I confirm that no one is nearby. The Alpha despises being reminded of me; he says my presence is an embarrassment. In truth, I suspect he fears someone might recognize me as a sl*ve—an illegal practice banned years ago.

The other Omegas enjoy decent treatment under pack law, but for me, justice remains a distant dream. I’m the exception, perpetually assigned the worst of every situation. Though voices echo faintly from the sitting room, the path is clear. I dart for the attic door at the far end of the hallway.

Opening it, I gaze upward at the steep, ladder-like stairs, grateful for their privacy despite their hazards. Ascending carefully, I push through the low, slanted ceiling into my sanctuary. Up here, no one bothers me—the attic is too cramped and too dirty for the Alpha’s perfectly groomed family.

Peeling off my work clothes, I slip into something warmer for bed. Curling onto the narrow cot, its cold fabric bites at my skin, even beneath layers of blankets. Exhaustion wraps around me, and finally, I allow sleep to claim me.

Chapter 2 "Useless!" I jolt awake, stumbling as I clamber out of bed, blinking hard to orient myself. My hand finds the door handle, clutching it tightly, and I yank it open. Standing at the foot of the stairs is the Alpha, his expression dark and murderous. One glance, and I know—I’m in trouble. That look always leads to pain.

"Yes, Alpha," I murmur, forcing the words past a tight throat.

"Get down here," he snaps without preamble. "Breakfast needs to be ready in an hour. There are guests arriving, and I don’t want you anywhere near them when they get here." His eyes bore into mine sharply, leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, Alpha," I repeat, as obedience is all I have. He storms off with a growl, and I hurry to change, casting a glance out the small circular window. It’s still pitch black outside—what time is it? There’s no point wasting a second wondering. Hesitation will only burden me with the Alpha's wrath, a weight my scarred body already knows too well. I haven’t turned yet; my wolf hasn’t come, and each punishment lingers marked in flesh. No healing, just pain trapped beneath old, unyielding scars.

I rush down the stairs, aiming for the kitchen, but as I round the corner, I freeze. The Alpha is already there. Arms crossed, his cold, deadened eyes pin me in place.

My chest tightens as my heart races. Why is he waiting?

"Alpha?" I whisper, my head tilted downward to avoid his furious gaze.

He grits his teeth, stepping forward. "Did you think I wouldn’t know?" His tone coils menace into every syllable. One deliberate step, then another, closing the space between us.

"Alpha, I don’t understand," I stammer, feeling a tremor rise in my gut.

"Playing innocent now? Don’t insult me. You were listening last night." His words slam into me, a cold blade pressed against my throat. He’s right—I listened when I shouldn’t have—but denial is the only shield I can muster. My stomach drops as dread washes over me.

"Alpha, I—" My apology is cut short when his hand flies across my cheek, the force of the slap blinding and sharp, spinning my face sideways. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out. Experience has taught me it’s better this way; crying only feeds his cruelty. And if I wake the Luna...well, her punishments bite even deeper.

"I’m sorry, Alpha—I didn’t mean to," I plead, tasting the apology like bile on my tongue.

Another slap sends me crashing to the floor, and this time a tiny, muffled whimper escapes me before I can take it back. His hand grips my hair cruelly, jerking my head up as his breath burns on my skin.

"You will be in your room when my guests arrive," he snarls, his voice slicing through the haze of pain. "Do not let them see you. A low-level nobody like you has no place here. Now get breakfast done and vanish."

He shoves me hard, the motion knocking me backward into the doorframe. My head collides with a dull thud, pain blooming as though stars have burst across my skull. He stalks away, and though tears blur my vision, I choke them back. It could’ve been worse. Stumbling upright, I gingerly touch the back of my head and feel something warm and sticky. Blood. A glance at my fingertips confirms it—red smears mark my skin.

A dish towel becomes my makeshift bandage, pressed tightly as I wince at the sting. My head pounds, my cheek throbs, and I know bruises will blossom soon enough. It’s routine by now. The bleeding stops eventually, and I wash my hands before diving into work. Buffets it is today—less fuss, less interaction, less risk of angering him again. The faster I move, the better.

By the time I’ve finished cooking and set the food on the table, the Alpha appears in the doorway, his steely expression unmoving.

"Are you done?" he barks.

"Yes, Alpha," I answer without daring to look up.

"Good. Now get lost."

That requires no clarification. I spin quickly and shove my way through the door, escape on my mind and nothing more. But I don’t get far before slamming straight into a solid wall of muscle. The impact sends me stumbling back against the door.

"Omph," I mutter, reeling.

"Can’t you watch where you’re going? Useless," Hugh sneers, glaring down at his shirt, brushing at an imagined stain. "Now look—you’ve dirtied my shirt." His tone drips venom, and I know he’s lying as usual. There’s nothing wrong with his shirt, but Hugh likes the excuse. He thrives on cruelty as much as his father.

"I’m sorry," I reply softly, my voice measured to avoid provoking him. Alpha’s slap is survivable; Hugh’s punishments are unthinkably worse. Days can pass before I heal from his rage.

"Sorry? That’s it?" he says, his sneer deepening. "You ruin my shirt and all you can manage is sorry?"

"I—I wasn’t paying attention," I stammer, waiting anxiously for his reaction. He steps closer, forcing me to sidestep, pinning myself against the wall to avoid his touch.

"Oh, you need a lesson in paying attention, alright," he threatens.

Before it escalates further, Lirion strides into the hall. "Brother, what’s going on here?" he asks, voice calm but far from kind.

Hugh straightens, keeping his menacing tone sharp. "Useless ruined my shirt," he says, motioning rudely in my direction. "She wasn’t paying attention."

Lirion leans in, inspecting Hugh’s spotless shirt. "Well, not very nice of her," he agrees darkly. "She’s been forgetting the rules around here lately." His smile matches Hugh’s, and both brothers turn their attention back to me, predators circling prey.

Just as their hands reach for me, the door swings open.

"You two!" Alpha’s voice crackles through the hallway like a whip. "Alpha Morcant will arrive any moment, and here you are messing around with Useless. Get inside—now!" His glare sweeps between them.

"Dad, she ruined Hugh’s shirt," Lirion offers, though the evidence remains nonexistent.

"She needs a lesson," Hugh adds.

Alpha cuts them short. "Later. For now, focus on Morcant. This treaty matters more than your pathetic games. Screw this up, and you’ll regret it. Now, Hugh—change that shirt so you can greet Morcant like the grown man you pretend to be. Move!"

At the command, both brothers scatter, Lirion slipping past his father while Hugh stalks down the hall toward his room. As I try to slink away, unseen, Alpha’s hand lashes out, clamping onto my elbow with enough force to make me suck in a breath.

"Don’t think you’re off the hook," he growls. "I’ll let the boys deal with you later." With that, he releases me.

I waste no time racing to my room, throwing myself onto the bed, and hiding beneath the blanket. Alone. Safe, for now. Tears come freely now, soaking into the fabric I clutch. I never cry in front of them. They can’t see me break. But here, hidden, I let it all fall apart. I'm seventeen. No money. No options. And no escape from this nightmare. Even if I tried, they’d bring me right back.

My stomach growls painfully, hunger tearing through my body like a slow burn. Wrapping my arms around myself, I try to remember the last time I ate—but the memory won’t come. Crawling cautiously to my dresser, I step around the loose floorboard in the corner, pulling it up enough to retrieve my secret stash.

There, beneath the wood, lies an old apple and a water bottle. I return to the bed, nibbling slowly at the apple, each bite measured lest my empty stomach revolt. Sips of water follow, cautious and deliberate. By the time the apple’s finished, minor relief takes the edge off the pain.

Lying back down, my thoughts drift to memories of my parents—warm, familiar, and impossibly distant. I miss them. I wish I’d died alongside them that day. Wherever they are, surely it’s better than here, trapped among these monsters. Together, at least, we’d be free.

Sleep finds me unexpectedly, pulling me under. But it’s short-lived, broken by pounding against the door. My name is shouted, though not really my name—the cruel epithet they gave me instead."

Chapter 3 Alpha Rob calls for a mandatory pack meeting—a summons no one can ignore, not even me. And yet, I’m relegated to the back, as far out of sight as possible. The reason for this meeting is clear: it’s about Alpha Morcant's daughter. She and her family are still guests here, housed in rooms on one of the lower floors.

The hall overflows with pack members, their presence almost suffocating. I work hard to stay invisible, pressed into the shadows. A single glance from anyone could spell trouble. Houston’s ruined shirt remains a fresh grievance for his gang, and they’ve promised retribution. I’ve already spotted them slipping inside a while ago, and thankfully, they didn’t catch sight of me. My breath is shallow, every nerve on edge.

Up front, a throat clears, commanding attention. I peek out from my hiding spot to see the Alpha standing tall on the stage. His presence stiffens the air.

“I appreciate you all coming here,” he begins, steady and authoritative. “I have a significant announcement to make.”

The crowd shifts into a collective hum, waiting. My stomach twists, knowing what’s coming next.

“I’ve decided it’s time to pass the title of Alpha,” he continues, his voice weighted with finality. “The role will now belong to my eldest son, Houston.”

Cheers erupt, echoing through the room like a wave of validation. I suppress a scoff. Houston, an Alpha? The boy’s got a brain soft as pudding. He and his brother couldn’t navigate their way out of a paper bag—even with a glowing map handed to them.

Alpha Rob raises his hands to quiet the room, his authority palpable.

“One more announcement,” he says, his voice cutting through the last scattered applause. “Houston has chosen his mate, and this union will solidify an alliance that strengthens both our pack and our finances.”

He gestures toward the stage steps, adding with flair, “Meet your future Alpha and Luna—Houston and Mirelle.”

The two emerge from the shadows, Mirelle walking with deliberate grace as cheers and whistles engulf them. I roll my eyes. This gaudy performance is surreal.

Houston steps forward to embrace his father while Alpha Rob kisses Mirelle’s hand in a show of ceremonial reverence. The scene reeks of theatricality. When Houston leans into the mic to speak, I let the sound fade to white noise. My attention turns to escape routes—I have to slip out unnoticed before the inevitable happens.

It doesn’t take long for the meeting to wind down, pack members dispersing in clusters. My pulse quickens.

“Shit,” I mutter, moving with urgency toward the back exit. My steps are quick but careful, avoiding attention like it’s a lifeline.

Just as I near freedom, hands clamp hard around my arm. The sickening voice sends ice through my veins.

“And where do you think you’re going, useless?” It’s Houston.

I struggle against his grip, but he hauls me forward like dragging trash.

“Forgot about us? Tsk. Lucky for you, I didn’t,” he drawls, his words sharp as glass.

My protests are weak, dwindling under his strength. He leads me toward the woods, dragging me despite my resistance. My heartbeat thunders as I stumble over roots and rocky earth. The ground meets me harshly when he shoves me down. Laughter surrounds me in cruel crescendos.

I lift my head just enough to see them—all of them. Houston’s gang. My stomach twists into knots.

Houston crouches in front of me, mocking me with his proximity. I scramble backward, but a solid kick to my spine stops me cold.

“Running again, useless?” he sneers. His voice is venom, thick with the satisfaction of dominance.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, choking out the words through trembling breath. My eyes drop to the dirt in submission. If I can just avoid his full wrath, perhaps the punishment will be lighter.

“Oh, you will be,” he says with chilling certainty. “Here’s the deal. We’re giving you a five-minute head start. Make it to the creek on pack lands, and you’re free from punishment.”

I scramble upright at the possibility—despite knowing it’s slim.

“But,” Houston adds, his finger wagging in the air, “if you don’t…” He leans closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. “You’ll wish for death before we’re through with you.”

Fear latches onto my limbs, rooting me while Houston checks his watch.

“Your time starts… now.”

I bolt, the urge to survive drowning the agony coursing through me. The creek flashes in my mind: tucked deep within the pack’s territory, its waters deceptively deep in places. My stride is frantic as I push my frail body harder. My legs burn; my lungs scream. I haven’t eaten anything substantial in weeks. Even minor obstacles like branches feel insurmountable—scratching, tearing, pulling at my skin and hair.

A howl pierces the air, freezing me mid-step. My fear multiplies as answering howls join the chorus. The gang has shifted into wolves, their chase now inevitable.

“Move, Rae,” I whisper fiercely to myself, forcing my limbs to obey despite their protest.

The sound of snapping branches grows nearer. Their pawfalls drum the earth like impending doom. My wolf remains dormant, unreachable; she’s been gone so long that even the faintest connection has vanished.

Doubt wrestles me down as I stagger forward. Wolves love the thrill of pursuit. Stopping would be safer, wouldn’t it? If I surrender, maybe their viciousness will cool.

That thought dies abruptly as my leg gives out beneath me. I tumble hard, head bouncing off the ground like a thrown stone. My body sprawls flat, pain erupting from every nerve. I reach up instinctively to touch my forehead, pulling away streaks of blood.

The wolves encircle me before I can rise. I force my eyes away as Houston shifts back to human form. Naked, he kneels close, smirking.

“Looks like we win,” he taunts, grabbing my ankle with cruel precision and squeezing. Pain rips upwards, tearing screams from my throat. The sensation is unbearable.

Houston’s hands tighten further, nearly crushing the bones. His mocking grin persists. “I warned you—pay attention next time.”

He shifts again without warning. In wolf form, his bite sinks deep into my injured ankle, dragging me like a lifeless doll across rough terrain. The ground tears at my back while agony radiates from my crushed leg. My head strikes against hidden obstacles, stealing clarity from my senses.

As I cry out, another wolf clamps onto me, continuing the cycle of torment. One by one, they take their turn, ensuring every ounce of humiliation and brutality lands squarely on me. When my screams fade to silence, so do their actions.

They leave me there—bleeding, broken. My body is a wreck, covered in gashes and shredded clothing. Bones scream, yet I can barely summon strength to breathe. The fractured ribs twist with every shallow inhale.

I lie beneath the canopy of stars, crushed, wishing for the release of death. My heavy-lidded eyes stare upward, silently pleading for an end to it all.

Chapter 4 Houston is right; the thought of death crosses my mind, a bitter wish born from the burning ache in every part of me. I stay on the ground, unable to entertain the notion of getting up. Even if I tried, my battered body would betray me. Healing will come slowly, hampered by my weak wolf and the toll years of malnutrition and abuse have taken. As tears slip down my cheeks, I feel the sting of fabric clinging to wounds—cuts crisscrossing my back and the blood pooling from bites inflicted as they dragged me across unforgiving terrain.

Time blurs as I lie there, eventually managing to pull myself into a sitting position. My gaze falls to my leg, a grim sight. Moving aside the torn fabric of my pants, I note the bleeding has ceased, though the puncture wounds left by their teeth remain raw. Scars are inevitable.

I force myself upright with a pained groan, ignoring my body’s protests. Remaining outside risks a punishment far worse than this. Each step is slow, my limp pronounced, as I scan the surroundings and orient myself toward the house. Its silhouette looms in the darkness of the backyard, illuminated only by sparse exterior lights.

Reaching the handle of the back door, I cautiously turn it, pushing the door just enough to slip inside. A soft creak of the hinges makes my breath hitch. I close the door gently behind me. I’m in now. All I have to do is make it upstairs without crossing paths with anyone.

Looking down at the spotless floor, my heart sinks at the contrast with my filthy, blood-stained clothes. Mud coats every inch of me. I ease off my shoes, surprisingly still intact after everything. The mess I might leave will have to wait for tomorrow. For now, my priority is my room. The Alpha will summon me first thing in the morning, as always.

I take the stairs one agonizing step at a time, each flight a fresh torment for my injured leg. By the time I reach the Alpha’s floor, I feel as though I might collapse. I check the hallway, relieved to find it clear, and tread lightly on the carpet, watching each door I pass with a whispered chant to myself: "Don’t open, don’t open." My door appears ahead, and I exhale a shaky sigh. Twisting the knob, I pull it open, flinching as the hinges emit a small screech.

I freeze, holding my breath, listening for any sign that the Alpha might storm out, but silence remains. Another breath escapes me as I cross the threshold, steeling myself for the final hurdle: the steps within. Each one brings fresh pain, but finally, I reach the top and push through the second door.

The thought of washing up tempts me, but exhaustion wins. Stripping out of my ruined clothes, I grab a loose shirt and pull it over my head before crawling into bed. For now, that's enough.

Suddenly, a sharp scream escapes me as cold wetness bursts across my face, dragging me from sleep. "Useless!" roars a rough, deep voice. I blink, wiping furiously at my eyes, and find the Alpha hunched over in my cramped room, clutching a bucket.

"About damn time! I’ve been calling you forever!" His towering frame looks absurd in the tiny space, forcing him into an awkward crouch.

"A-Alpha," I mumble, my voice faltering. He’s never come up here before, and the tension freezes me in place.

"Get your butt downstairs! Breakfast needs making, and preparations for the party are overdue," he demands, turning toward the door but pausing halfway. "And don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking in late last night. If it weren’t for this party, the punishment would’ve been far worse than what the boys dealt you."

With that, he vanishes, leaving the door ajar. Only when the sound of the second door slamming shut echoes through the house do I let myself move. Pain shoots through my leg as I hobble over to shut the door and change into clothes that don’t reek of blood and mud.

Peeking into the hallway, I find it empty and slip into the extra bathroom on this floor. The face staring back at me in the mirror is a mess—a nest of tangled hair filled with leaves and twigs, a face smeared with dried blood and grime. Stripping down, I wash quickly, careful not to betray myself with the indulgence of showering. The Alpha would punish me if he knew, as he would for last night’s fiasco—it’s clear he cares little about the injuries his sons inflicted.

Pulling clean clothes over my tender skin, I ensure the bathroom is spotless before stepping into the Alpha’s suite. The kitchen beckons, and I lose myself in preparing breakfast with practiced speed. When the food is ready, I set it out in the dining room and retreat back to the safety of the kitchen, avoiding the boys at all costs. Their obnoxious voices filter in from elsewhere in the house, but I keep my head down and my work steady.

Finished cleaning up, I peek through the door’s crack and step out quietly. No one sees me as I clear the table, but the Alpha’s booming voice rattles through the air, making me jump. "You have ten minutes! I want you in my office."

I hurry to finish the table and head to his office, finding the door wide open. My knuckles rap the doorframe lightly.

"Come in, useless," he growls without looking up from his desk.

I enter, eyes fixed on the floor, standing in silent submission as he speaks. "The party is in four days. The hall needs to be cleaned and ready. I’ve brought in people to decorate, but you’ll clean before they start. Take that box—it’s full of invitations—and make sure they’re sent out this morning."

"Yes, Alpha," I reply, taking the box perched on the chair near him.

"I'm not finished," he snaps as I turn to leave. "You'll handle kitchen duty for the party. Stay out of sight. No serving, no mingling. Do exactly as you're told and remain invisible."

"Yes, Alpha," I answer again.

"Good. Get out."

The weight of the box in my hands feels oppressive as I exit his office. It’s packed with what must be a thousand invitations. Sighing, I head downstairs, unsure how to tackle the daunting task.

"Rae?" Jostan’s familiar voice catches me by surprise. My head snaps up to find him standing there, his puzzled expression focused on me. "Wow, it’s been ages! How have you been?" His sharp eyes narrow, examining me closely, no doubt catching the bruises still coloring my face.

"I’m fine," I lie quickly. "Just clumsy sometimes." The words sound hollow.

"What’s in the box?" he asks, pointing at the burden I carry.

"Oh, it's the invitations for Alpha Houston’s party," I explain, holding it up.

He lets out a low whistle. "That’s a mountain of work. Need help?"

The offer opens a way out. "Actually, yes. I need to mail all these, but I don’t know how," I admit.

"For this many, you’ll need the post office in town," he says.

"Great," I mumble—town is forbidden territory for me.

"What’s that?"

"Nothing," I deflect quickly. "I just don’t have time. Between party prep and the hall, my schedule’s packed."

Jostan offers a solution. "I’m heading into town anyway to pick up something from the mill. I could drop them off for you."

The Alpha’s wrath looms in the back of my mind. If he finds out, the consequences will be brutal. But then, the impossible nature of his orders leaves me no choice. What's one more beating?

"You wouldn’t mind?" I ask hesitantly.

"Not at all," he reassures, taking the box from my hands. "We should catch up soon. It’s been years, and I barely make it up here anymore."

"Sure," I offer a forced smile as he departs. But as his figure retreats, the truth weighs heavy. That promised "catch-up" will never happen.

Turning away, I set my sights on the hall, resigned to the grueling day ahead. Cleaning it will take every ounce of strength I have left.

Chapter 5 Joshua's POV

"Alpha, we’ve got three new requests to join the pack." Wyron, my Beta, sets a trio of folders down on my desk, his tone steady but curious.

I lean back in my chair, pick up the files, and thumb through the papers. My eyes scan every page as I flip through. "Which pack are they looking to leave this time?" I ask without lifting my gaze, intent on catching the details. Requests like these are almost routine these days—members constantly seeking to join my pack. After all, we’re the largest around, boasting over 800 members and steadily growing. But I don’t extend open arms to every inquiry. Wyron conducts thorough background checks to weed out troublemakers. Order is something I value above all, and my pack knows I don’t tolerate breaches.

"Obsidian Dawn," Wyron replies.

My eyes snap up. "Obsidian Dawn?" I arch a brow in disbelief. "Didn’t we just get a request from someone wanting out of there the other day?"

Wyron nods, his expression neutral. "Yeah, I filed it with the others."

I push the folders back toward him. "And these three... Are they warriors? Omegas? Do any of them bring skills we could actually use?"

Wyron flips open one of the folders and examines the contents. "This one’s a warrior," he begins. "He’s done patrol duty but claims he doesn’t get enough training time over there. Says the way their warriors and patrols are run feels like a waste of his skills."

I rub my jaw thoughtfully. "Not enough training? What does that mean? Are they slacking over there?"

Obsidian Dawn has been our neighboring pack for as long as I can remember. My father forged an alliance with them years before I took over, and I’ve maintained it out of practicality. They keep to themselves and don’t bother us. Unusual, yes, but I don’t question it—each Alpha runs his pack his own way. Some claim I’m cruel, cold-hearted even, ruling through fear. They couldn’t be more wrong.

"Maybe he’s aiming to step up his training," Wyron suggests, shifting his weight slightly. "We do have one of the top programs. Our warriors are second to none."

I shrug, acknowledging the truth of his words. Packs from all over send their warriors here to train with us. They know we’re the best, and they want to improve.

"As for this one," Wyron continues, flipping to the next file, "he’s studying to be a doctor. Wants to transfer because he’s been told there won’t be any open slots at the clinics in his current pack."

I frown, narrowing my eyes at the absurdity of his explanation. "How can that be? Clinics always need extra hands."

Wyron shrugs. "Beats me."

I gesture for him to continue. "What’s the third case?"

Opening the last folder, Wyron begins reading. "Female. Omega. She’s listed as a maid and cook. Wants to leave for..." He trails off, his brow furrowing as he glances further down the page. Then his head jerks back. "It’s blank. She didn’t fill out her reason. I hadn’t noticed before."

"Grab the other request," I instruct, motioning toward the filing cabinet. Wyron moves over, slides open the drawer, and rifles through until he pulls out the file I requested. He opens it as he walks back.

"This guy’s also a warrior," Wyron says, scanning the sheet. "Wants to transfer for better training."

"So, that leaves us with two warriors, a doctor, and an omega—three who gave a reason and one who didn’t bother," I remark, crossing my arms.

Wyron lays the folders on my desk, humming thoughtfully. Then a knock at the door interrupts us.

"Come in," I call out, just as Wyron mutters, "Something feels off."

As the door creaks open, we turn to see Rhyssa, a young omega, standing timidly in the doorway. She’s clutching something tightly to her chest.

"Alpha, sorry to bother you," she squeaks. "But this just came for you. My mom asked me to bring it up; she’s busy in the kitchen."

I wave her in. "It’s alright, Rhyssa. Come here." Her tiny feet shuffle across the floor as she approaches my desk, her arms extended.

I laugh softly as I scoop her up, setting her on my lap. "What do you have for me, Rhyssa?"

Her big green eyes blink up at me while she hands over a white envelope. "Mom said it’s an invitation."

Pulling the card free, I scan the print. Before I can say anything, Rhyssa pipes up. "Did you get invited to a birthday party, Alpha? I love those! They’re always so much fun."

Chuckling, I reply, "Do you? What’s your favorite part?"

Her grin spreads wide, exposing where two front teeth are missing. "The cake!" She claps her little hands together and bounces cheerfully on my leg.

"Rhyssa!" her mother’s voice calls from the doorway. As she steps into view, her eyes widen at the sight of her daughter perched on my lap.

"Apologies, Alpha," she says quickly. "She insisted on delivering the invitation herself."

I glance down at Rhyssa. "No problem at all. She was just telling me about her love for birthday parties." Then I look back to the little omega. "I have to agree—cake is definitely the best part," I say, sending her into a fit of giggles as she climbs down and runs to her mother.

Scooping Rhyssa up onto her hip, her mom offers a quick nod. "Lunch is ready, Alpha," she informs me before catching Wyron’s eye and acknowledging him as well.

I hold up the card. "Let Rhyssa have a treat for bringing me this. Anything she wants from the kitchen."

"I want cake!" Rhyssa squeals.

Her mother tries to stifle her amusement. "What do you say, honey?"

Turning back to me, Rhyssa beams. "Thank you, Alpha!" Her excitement is like I’ve handed her a treasure chest.

"You’re most welcome," I say with a wink, watching as she giggles all the way out of the office. The door clicks shut behind them.

Wyron chuckles beside me. "You know, it’s funny how people would react if they saw the ‘big bad Alpha’ being such a softie with pups."

I glare at him, but my lips twitch. "Shut up," I snap as I lay the card back down.

"So, are you going to tell me what the invite’s for?" Wyron prompts, his curiosity piqued.

I slide the card across the desk. "Read for yourself." He picks it up and scans the text, his eyes widening with surprise.

"You’re kidding me," he blurts. "An invite to Obsidian Dawn for their Mate ceremony and Crowning?"

Something stirs within me; my wolf’s pacing becomes restless. His unease creeps into my veins.

"What’s the plan? Are you going to attend?" Wyron prods.

I pick the card back up, mulling over the possibilities. "It’s a good opportunity to take a closer look at their pack. Four requests in such a short time? Something’s happening over there."

Bouncing the card against my fingertips, I catch an intriguing scent—a faint trace of jasmine. My wolf perks up, growling low in my head, sensing something meaningful hidden amongst the mix of lesser aromas.

Setting the card down, I grab a pen, scribble my RSVP, seal it in the return envelope, and hand it to Wyron.

He hesitates for a moment, eyeing me suspiciously. "You’re definitely going," he remarks as I bring the card to my nose for another sniff.

"I am," I confirm, nodding firmly.

Wyron groans as he starts for the door. "And you’re going to drag me along, aren’t you?"

"You bet I am," I call after him, enjoying his obvious discomfort.

Stopping short, he spins back toward me. "Come on. Take Jovin. He loves crap like this."

I shake my head. "Nope. You’re my plus one."

He narrows his eyes, trying a weak glare. We’ve been best friends since childhood, so I know his protests mean little. Raising a brow, I tease, "I could always call Hestara."

The mention of his mate makes him flinch. Raising both hands in surrender, he concedes. "Fine. I’m in. Just leave Hestara out of it."

Wyron practically bolts from the room, his retreat earning a burst of laughter from me. Still chuckling, I refocus on my papers. Warrior training starts in two hours, and I need these tasks squared away. Yet my attention keeps drifting back to the card resting on my desk.

Picking it up one last time, I let the jasmine scent wash over me, sparking curiosity that neither I nor my wolf can ignore.

Who owns this scent?

Chapter 6 Rae’s POV

This week has been nothing short of pure misery. The coming ceremony has turned the entire pack house into a whirlwind of frantic preparations, with every able body scrambling to meet the Luna's and Alpha's impossible expectations. The hall has been scrubbed until it gleams, not a speck of dust daring to linger on the polished floors.

The guest list keeps growing, forcing us to order more tables. That little mishap—running short on tables—was naturally pinned on me. Never mind that both the Alpha and the Luna-to-be’s family sent out invitations without coordinating. My punishment for it came swiftly: ten lashes across my back, layered atop bruises left from the boys’ earlier punishment. My body, aching and barely healed, stands no chance of catching a break. Yet still, I’m expected to keep working, catering to the whims of these overprivileged women who want everything done yesterday.

The ceremony looms tonight, and the pack house pulses with chaos. Flowers arrived an hour ago, and I directed the delivery guys to their respective spots. Once that was sorted, I finished setting every single table and chair. The tables are adorned with white lace cloths, silver plates trimmed in gold, and chairs swathed in pristine white covers. At the center of each table sits a vase filled with neatly arranged white roses. The moment I finish checking on the bar—ensuring it’s fully stocked, glasses spotless—I move the trays into position for the servers.

Surveying the hall, I breathe out a brief sigh of relief; it’s done. Pulling the grand doors shut, I make sure no one stumbles in and messes up weeks of hard work. But there’s no time to linger. The kitchen calls, and it’s guaranteed chaos there, too. For days now, the cooks have been preparing enough food to make an army feel bloated. It’s ridiculously excessive to me, but none of this has ever made sense.

I step inside, and the head Omega immediately locks her scornful gaze onto me. “Well, look who finally bothered to show up,” she says, her tone sharp with annoyance. Her eyes rake over me with palpable disdain before she deliberately rolls them.

Resisting the impulse to sneer back at her, I keep my expression neutral. She knows exactly why I’m late; the Luna and Alpha have been piling chores on me nonstop. She just wants to throw her weight around.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask carefully, clasping my hands together in front of me to seem deferential.

Her smirk grows. “You? Cook? Doubtful. I don’t want my kitchen up in flames. Go chop fruit over there. Luna-to-be insists fresh fruit is served tonight.” With a dismissive wave, she moves on to bark orders at someone else but pauses as I turn away. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, wash your hands first. Honestly, the stench. Do you ever bathe?” Her wrinkled nose and exaggerated disgust make her contempt painfully clear.

Shame rolls through me as I look down. She’s not wrong. The rules only allow me a proper shower once a month, leaving me to clean up as best I can in the single shared bathroom. It’s humiliating, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

Turning to the sink, I scrub my hands quickly. Bin after bin of fruit awaits, each brimming with apples, grapes, berries—more variety than I care to count. Settling into a corner table, I slice each piece methodically. I figure I can drag the task out; working slower means less time spent dealing with the others and a rare moment of easing my aching body.

No one bothers me, at least for now. I work steadily, finishing off one bin, then moving on to the next. My bubble of solitude lasts a blissful stretch of time until, at last, I cut the final piece in the fifth bin. The kitchen has mostly emptied by now, save for a few lingering cooks. Rising to stack the bins together, I place the knife in the sink.

“What are you still doing here?” rings out the shrill voice of the Omega again as she storms back into the room.

“I just finished,” I begin to explain, but her hand shoots up, silencing me.

“Don’t care. Guests have started arriving already. Alpha’s strict orders—you stay here, out of sight, until everyone’s gone. Got it?” Her glare looms over me like a dark cloud.

I nod quickly, head bowed. “Yes.”

Returning to my corner, I slump against the wall, careful not to press too hard against the lashes on my back. A hiss escapes me; the pain's still sharp, though at least the bleeding has stopped.

“You!”

The sharp voice snaps me to attention. My body flinches, jarring pain through every sore muscle. A server stands before me, eyes narrowing. “Alpha needs more wine. Get to the cellar and grab cases. Snap to it!”

“Okay.” As I push myself up, his hand shoves my back—not gently. “I said snap to it!” he barks.

Not daring to look up or answer, I shuffle out the kitchen door into the backyard. The night air is cool, but I barely feel it against the pain radiating through my body. A few pack members pass by, ignoring me entirely. Barely able to lift my head, I trace the familiar path to the cellar doors.

Those old wooden doors stand tall ahead, thick and heavy as always. Tugging them open takes all my remaining strength, the iron hinges shrieking as they finally relent. Inside, dim yellow bulbs cast weak light over rows of crates lining the walls.

How many cases should I bring? Two seems manageable; I can always come back if needed. Lifting them cautiously, I feel their weight tug at my already exhausted arms. Setting them down briefly, I force the creaky doors shut, then hoist the crates once more.

My steps are slow as I turn, but before I can react, I collide with something solid. The cases tumble from my arms, smashing against the ground. Wine gushes from the shattered boxes, pooling around me as I fall back onto the rough earth.

Laughter pierces the air. I lift my gaze to find Lirion standing above me, face alight with amusement as he clutches his stomach. One of his sidekicks joins in, their laughter echoing cruelly.

“You are the definition of useless,” Lirion spits between chuckles. “Wait until my father hears about his wine—gone because of your incompetence.”

Scrambling to my feet, I feel panic clawing at my chest. “No, please,” I beg, desperation in my voice. “It was an accident.”

His laughter dies instantly, replaced by a sneer. “Nothing will save you now. Haven’t learned that yet, huh, useless?”

“Please, it wasn’t my fault,” I try again, anger flickering deep within me. He had been standing right where I couldn’t see him; how could this possibly be my fault?

“Oh, so now you’re saying I’m the idiot here?” he steps closer, malicious intent flashing in his eyes.

“No, no,” I rush to placate, hands gesturing nervously. “I didn’t mean that. No one’s at fault—it’s just an accident.”

“An accident?” His voice darkens, his steps deliberate as he advances. “You weren’t watching where you were going again. You ruined two cases. Just like Houston’s shirt—you ruined that too.”

Before I can find an excuse, he lunges forward, grabbing my arm in a bruising grip. Pain scorches through me as he yanks me closer, his hold crushing.

“And now, you’ll face punishment. No way am I letting this ruin my father’s evening or my brother’s. I’ll enforce this myself.” His tone is venomous.

“Please—anything else,” I plead, tears spilling freely despite my hatred of crying in front of him. “Don’t punish me.”

“Nothing will save you,” Lirion snaps, dragging me toward the woods. His grip tightens, and fear overtakes me. I claw at his fingers, desperate to break free, but he’s far too strong.

“Corvyn, shift,” Lirion orders, and terror spikes anew. Corvyn’s wolf materializes a moment later—grizzly gray, eyes hungry.

Thrown to the forest floor, I scramble to my feet, hope flickering briefly. I bolt in a panic, but I’m far too slow. Pain explodes in my leg as Corvyn’s teeth sink in, dragging me down. My head slams against the ground, dizziness overtaking me as Corvyn tears forward, dragging my limp body deeper into the woods.

Chapter 7 Joshua’s POV

I slide along the seat again, shifting to find a comfort that doesn’t exist. No matter where I plant myself, restlessness follows, an unrelenting itch under my skin. My wolf mirrors the agitation, which only sharpens the edge running through me. He feels something coming, though when I’ve pressed him for answers, silence is all I’ve received. It leaves me unsettled.

"What is going on with you?" Wyron asks, breaking into my thoughts. "You’ve been squirming like a cornered rabbit this whole ride."

I adjust my legs, stretching them as best I can in the cramped space. "Just feeling a bit on edge." That’s all I offer him for now, unwilling to reveal what I discovered on the invitation card. That piece of information remains locked within me.

His gaze sharpens, narrowing as he studies me. "What aren’t you telling me?" He leans in slightly, pointing a finger in my direction. "Don’t even try to act like you’re not hiding something, Josh. Spill it. Now."

"I’m not hiding anything," I reply with forced calm, even though he’s right. "We don’t know what to expect when we get there, that’s all."

Wyron folds his arms, leaning back as suspicion lingers in his expression. "Nah, there’s something more." He makes it clear he won’t let this go easily.

Thinking quickly, I add, "Look, it’s just nerves. We haven’t had much interaction with this pack, yet they flooded us with transfer requests out of the blue. I don’t know what we’re walking into, and I figure it’s best to stay alert."

Nodding slowly, he considers my words. "You think there could be trouble?" His tone carries just a hint of worry.

Shrugging, I meet his eyes. "Honestly, I can’t say for certain. But something feels off. I want to understand why so many wolves are desperate to leave their pack."

"Yeah," Wyron says, agreeing reluctantly. "It’s strange. You think their Alpha mistreats them?"

Reaching up to rake a hand through my hair, I reply, "Could be. Hard to pinpoint—but you’d hope that if someone were being abused, they’d speak up about it. I know there are cases when they don’t, but still... It’s odd for this many to want out."

Wyron’s brows dip. "So you plan to sniff around? See if anything doesn’t add up?"

"Exactly. I won’t make it obvious, but there are details that will reveal themselves if things are amiss. The condition of the pack members alone might tell us a lot."

A low voice interrupts us: "Alpha, we’ve arrived."

The car slows, coming to a halt at the edge of a gravel lane where a gate looms ahead. Rust stains streak its hinges, and the structure itself looks like time has long since forgotten it.

"Does this thing even open?" Wyron mutters, peering out the window, his nose wrinkled.

"Guess we’ll find out," I answer.

A guard emerges at the driver’s window, his stance rigid. "Name and rank?" he demands.

My driver lets out a low growl at the obvious lack of respect; anyone with sense could feel the power emanating from this vehicle. But the guard, to my surprise, doesn’t seem to care.

"Alpha Joshua and Beta Wyron," my driver responds curtly.

Wyron shifts closer to me, dropping his voice. "Josh, why is he armed?" His tone is pointed as he gestures subtly toward the guard.

Leaning slightly, I follow his line of sight and see the glint of a weapon holstered at the man’s hip. "No clue,"****