My room wasn't in the main hallway. It was down a narrow flight of stairs, near the kitchen-the servants' quarters.
I opened the door, expecting my few belongings.
The room was empty.
'Closet open. Drawers hollow.'
"No."
I ran back out and collided with a maid carrying laundry.
"Where are my things?" I demanded.
"Madam Cecil..." the maid whispered, looking around fearfully. "She ordered them cleared out. She said... trash belongs in the dumpster."
'My mother's photo. The only thing I had left.'
I sprinted toward the back exit, to the industrial dumpsters.
There, spilling out of the green metal bin, were my clothes. Covered in coffee grounds and slime.
And there, lying in a puddle of grease, was the silver frame. 'Glass shattered. Photo soaked, my mother's smile distorted by oil.'
I fell to my knees, snatching the photo up, trying to wipe it clean, but the grease just smeared.
"Mom," I choked out. A sob ripped through my throat.
"Pathetic."
I froze.
Damian stood on the patio steps. Cecil stood beside him, smirking.
"I told you," Cecil said. "I'm redecorating. We need the room for Hadley's shoes. We can't have clutter."
"Clutter?" I stood up, clutching the ruined photo. "This was my life!"
"Your life is what we say it is!" Cecil snapped. "We fed you! We clothed you!"
"I saved his life!" I screamed, pointing at Damian.
"Enough of that lie!" Damian roared. 'His Alpha Voice hit me like a physical blow.'
I stumbled back. My heel caught on a crack.
I fell hard.
The back of my cheap dress snagged on the sharp metal edge of the dumpster.
'RRRIIIP.'
'Fabric tore. My back was exposed to the night air.'
For a second, silence.
Then, Hadley screamed. "Oh my god! What is that?"
I scrambled to cover myself, but it was too late.
The moonlight shone directly on my back.
'It wasn't a normal burn scar. It was a roadmap of agony. The claws of the rogue had been dipped in dark magic poison. The flesh was twisted, purple and black, a raised, grotesque web covering my spine.'
It pulsed with a faint, necrotic energy. The mark of my sacrifice.
Cecil recoiled. "It's hideous! You're a monster!"
"A cursed mark," Hadley whimpered, burying her face in Damian's chest. "Damian, don't look! It's bad luck!"
I looked at Damian. I waited for him to defend me. To recognize the wound I took for him.
Damian stared at my back. His expression twisted.
'He looked nauseated.'
"Cover yourself," he muttered, turning away. "It's repulsive."
The words hit harder than the poison.
'Repulsive.'
"It's... it's a mark of honor!"
The voice came from the shadows. Keith, a perimeter guard, stepped forward.
"Alpha, please," Keith said, shaking. "She got that scar pulling you from the West Wing. I saw the medical report-"
"Silence!" Damian barked. "Are you questioning your Alpha? Or are you sleeping with this... thing?"
Keith went pale. "No, Alpha. But-"
"Get out of my sight, Ariana," Damian spat. "You're polluting the air. And take your trash with you."
I pulled the torn fabric together.
'The shame was a cold fire. But beneath it, the White Wolf stirred.'
"I'm leaving," I said hollowly. "But I'm taking Rodriguez."
Rodriguez. The old gardener. My adoptive father. The only person who loved me.
"Fine," Damian waved his hand. "Take the old cripple. One less mouth to feed."
I walked away. I didn't look back. 'I couldn't let them see the tears. Or the hatred.'
