Elara Vance POV:
The next morning, I forced myself out of bed and down to the communal dining hall. My eyes were puffy and my heart felt like a lead weight in my chest, but I refused to let them see they’d broken me. Years of being the outsider, the charity case, had taught me how to build a fortress around my pain.
I grabbed a piece of toast and a glass of water, finding the most secluded corner table to hide myself away. I kept my head down, focusing on the texture of the bread in my mouth, trying to will myself invisible.
It didn't work.
The heavy doors of the dining hall swung open, and they walked in. Ryker and Seraphina. They moved together with an easy confidence, a king and his chosen queen, and the entire room seemed to hold its breath. A wave of reverence and envy washed over the assembled pack members.
Seraphina’s sharp, emerald-green eyes scanned the room, a predator surveying her territory. It didn't take them long to find me. Her lips, painted a blood-red, curved into a malicious smile. She tugged on Ryker’s arm, deliberately steering him in my direction.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. *Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.*
Her expensive perfume, roses and pepper, hit me a second before her shadow fell over my table. “Well, look what we have here,” she cooed, her voice pitched just loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. “It’s our little pet. Did you sleep well?”
A few snickers rippled through the nearby crowd. Humiliation, hot and sharp, crawled up my neck. I slowly raised my head, meeting her triumphant gaze. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “Perfectly, thank you for asking.”
Ryker stood beside her, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. His stormy gray eyes were cold, indifferent. He was watching this unfold as if it were a mildly amusing play, one he had no intention of joining. His silence, his absolute lack of intervention, was a fresh stab to my already bleeding heart.
Seraphina’s smile widened. She picked up her own plate, which held nothing but the greasy remains of bacon, and with a flick of her wrist, she scraped the contents onto my clean plate. “Since you’re so helpful, you can clean this up for me. You should be good at Omega’s work, at least.”
The insult was blatant. It was a public declaration of my worthlessness. I was the Alpha’s ward, raised in his house, yet she was treating me like the lowest of the low.
My face flushed a painful, burning red. A tremor of pure rage shot through me. I surged to my feet, my chair screeching back against the stone floor. The sound was unnaturally loud in the now-silent room.
“I am not an Omega,” I said, my voice low and tight, each word carefully enunciated.
Seraphina laughed, a short, ugly sound. “You’re right. You’re not even that. You’re nothing.”
The air crackled with tension. I could feel dozens of eyes on me, waiting to see what I would do. What could I do?
“That’s enough.”
The voice was a deep baritone that cut through the tension like a hot knife. Alpha Corbin Blackwood stood there, his presence radiating an authority that silenced the entire room in an instant. His gaze, however, wasn't on Seraphina. It was fixed on his son, and it was filled with a chilling disappointment.
Ryker’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
The Alpha’s expression softened as he turned to me. “Elara. Come with me to my office.”
It was an act of rescue, a shield of his authority to save me from further humiliation. But it didn't feel like a rescue. It felt like another spotlight on my weakness. I was, once again, the child who needed a powerful adult to fight her battles.
My eyes flicked to Ryker one last time. There was no apology in his gaze, no remorse. Only a flicker of annoyance at being interrupted.
That was it. The final, crushing blow. My heart, which I thought couldn't break any further, turned to ice.
I ignored the Alpha’s command.
Instead, I picked up my defiled plate, my hands shaking so badly I was surprised I didn’t drop it. I turned my back on all of them—on Seraphina’s sneer, on Ryker’s cold indifference, on the Alpha’s pitying gaze.
I walked with as much dignity as I could muster to the kitchens, my back straight, my head held high. I scraped the disgusting mess into the trash and slammed the plate into the wash basin with a loud clatter.
Then, without looking back, I walked out of the dining hall, out of the Packhouse, and into the woods. I would rather be a coward who runs than a charity case who accepts their pity.
I will not be their charity. I will not be their fool. Not anymore.
