Ava POV:
The butler led me through a long, cold corridor, his footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. He stopped before a set of imposing double doors made of dark oak and knocked once. A muffled voice from within beckoned us forward.
The butler pushed the door open and gestured for me to enter alone.
I stepped inside. The room was a library, or perhaps a study, and it smelled of old leather, cedar polish, and suffocating power. A thick Persian rug muffled my footsteps.
In the center of the room, seated in a high-backed leather armchair, was the matriarch of the Crescent Moon Pack, Elder Wilson. My grandmother. A silver-headed cane rested against her chair.
On a sofa to her right sat my stepmother, Bettie. She held a porcelain cup of coffee, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around the handle. Her eyes, cold and critical, raked over my simple dress, lingering on the scuffs on my boots.
Another woman, Eleanor, a high-ranking Beta, stood by the window with her arms crossed. I'd learned on the way here: she was the widow of the Gross pack, mother of Caleb, and remarried to my father's elder brother. Her silence wasn't empty—it was armor.
I walked to the center of the rug and bowed my head slightly, the customary show of respect. "Elder Wilson."
Bettie was the first to speak. She slammed her coffee cup down on the saucer, the sharp clatter echoing in the silent room.
"Is that truly what you chose to wear, Ava?" Her voice was laced with disdain. "You look like a vagrant. You are an embarrassment to this family."
"I apologize," I said, my voice soft, my eyes fixed on the floor. "These are the only clothes I own."
My quiet compliance seemed to enrage her more. It was like she had swung a fist and hit nothing but air.
Elder Wilson raised a hand, a simple gesture that silenced Bettie instantly. The matriarch's authority was absolute.
"Hush, Bettie," she said, her voice a dry rustle of leaves. She turned her gaze to me, and her severe features softened into a mask of grandmotherly concern. "My poor child. You have suffered so much out there, all alone."
I fought the urge to scoff. Instead, I let my shoulders slump and my head bow lower, playing the part of the grateful, overwhelmed orphan. I even managed to make my eyes well up with unshed tears.
"We will take care of you now," the Elder continued, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "This is your home. We will find a suitable place for you."
Beside her, Bettie's lips curved into a cruel, triumphant smirk at the mention of a "suitable place." I saw it. I knew, with chilling certainty, that whatever they had planned for me was a trap. Eleanor, by the window, shifted uncomfortably, her brow furrowed with what looked like disapproval, but she remained silent.
"Of course," the Elder said, her tone shifting slightly, becoming more businesslike. "The main house is quite full at the moment. We will have to arrange for you to stay elsewhere temporarily."
"The old groundskeeper's cabin on the back hill is empty," Bettie chimed in, her voice bright and eager. "It's quiet there. She'll have plenty of privacy."
The cabin. I knew of it. It was a dilapidated shack on the edge of the territory, a place used to punish servants who had grievously erred. It was cold, isolated, and barely habitable.
Eleanor finally spoke, her voice gentle but firm. "Elder, that cabin has a leaky roof. It is not fit for anyone, especially an Omega, in this cold."
Bettie shot her a look that could curdle milk. "It is more than she deserves."
A silent power struggle crackled between the two women for a moment before Eleanor looked away, defeated.
Elder Wilson tapped her cane on the floor. Once. Twice. The sound was a final judgment. "The cabin will suffice. It will build character."
I kept my head bowed, my body language a perfect picture of meek acceptance. I didn't argue. I didn't protest. I was a doll, a puppet, and they were pulling the strings.
"Thank you, Elder Wilson. Thank you, Bettie," I whispered, my voice thick with fake gratitude. "You are too kind."
The matriarch looked pleased. My obedience was exactly what she wanted. "You may go. The butler will show you the way."
I turned and walked toward the heavy oak doors. My steps were slow, my shoulders hunched in a posture of defeat. But the moment my back was to them, the mask fell away. My face became a canvas of cold, hard calculation. My hand closed around the cold brass doorknob.
This wasn't a home. It was a cage. And I had to find the key before they decided to slaughter the animal inside.
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