Chapter 3

The morning sun filtered through the barred window of my cell, casting prison-bar shadows across the damp floor. I'd barely slept, my body aching from the wolf suppressant injection and the hard stone beneath my thin mattress. The sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor made me sit up, my heart racing with dread.

It wasn't Diana this time. Xavier himself appeared at my cell door, his imposing figure blocking the light from the corridor. The key turned with a metallic scrape that set my teeth on edge.

"You," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "Clean the Alpha quarters today. Every inch."

Two guards flanked him, their expressions impassive as they unlocked my cell. I rose shakily to my feet, the suppressant still making my limbs feel like lead.

"Now," Xavier snapped when I hesitated.

They marched me up the stairs, through corridors I once walked freely, and into the Alpha quarters—the very rooms that should have been mine. The spacious suite was immaculate, sunlight streaming through large windows that overlooked the training grounds. It was beautiful, and it should have been my home.

A bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush waited in the center of the room.

"On your knees," Xavier ordered, nodding toward the bucket. "Starting with the floors."

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, fighting back tears of humiliation as I sank to my knees. The stone floor was cold against my skin as I dipped the brush into the water and began scrubbing.

"Faster," Xavier demanded, pacing behind me. "A slave shouldn't take all day to do simple work."

I scrubbed harder, my knuckles turning raw against the rough brush. Hours passed as I worked my way across the entire suite—bedroom, bathroom, living area—while Xavier watched from his comfortable chair, occasionally sipping wine.

When I reached the area where he sat, he deliberately kicked over my bucket, sending dirty water spreading across the floor I'd just cleaned.

"Oops," he said with a cruel smile. "Looks like you missed a spot."

I had to bite back a scream of frustration as I refilled the bucket and started the section over. My back screamed in protest, my knees bruised and bleeding from kneeling on the hard floor.

"Perfect," Xavier finally said when the sun was setting. "You can do this every day. It's all you're good for now."

---

That evening, the pack gathered for dinner in the great hall. I hadn't eaten all day, my stomach cramping painfully as the scent of roasted meat filled the air. Instead of being allowed to eat, I was ordered to serve.

"Bring me that platter," Xavier commanded from the head table, where he sat with Diana draped possessively across his lap.

I moved to obey, my legs shaking with exhaustion and hunger. The heavy silver platter nearly slipped from my hands as I carried it to them.

"Careful, slave," Diana hissed. "That's worth more than you are."

Xavier pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck as he reached for a slice of meat. Instead of eating it himself, he held it to Diana's lips.

"Feed her," he ordered me.

I stood frozen, unable to process his command.

"I said feed her," he repeated, his eyes flashing dangerously.

With trembling fingers, I took a piece of meat and offered it to Diana. She smirked triumphantly as she leaned forward to take it from my fingers, deliberately letting her teeth graze my skin.

"Mmm," she purred. "Almost as tasty as you look, Alpha."

The pack members around us snickered, some openly mocking me while others averted their eyes in uncomfortable silence.

"Now us," Xavier said, gesturing for me to continue serving as they fed each other intimate bites, whispering and laughing as if I weren't even there.

I felt something inside me harden with each passing moment, a tiny spark of rage igniting where there had only been pain before.

---

Later that night, I slipped into the kitchen to find scraps to eat. The cook had left hours ago, and the room was empty except for me and the remnants of the feast.

"Looking for food?" Diana's voice sliced through the silence as she entered, her father Marcus following close behind.

I straightened immediately, backing away from the counter. "I was just—"

"Just stealing," she finished for me, her eyes narrowing. "Like the worthless stray you are."

Marcus watched impassively as Diana moved toward the fireplace where an iron poker glowed red-hot in the embers.

"Let me teach you a lesson about boundaries," she said, reaching for the poker.

Before I could react, she pressed the burning metal against my forearm. The sizzle of flesh and the scent of burning hair filled the air as agony exploded through my arm. I bit through my lip to keep from screaming.

"Remember your place, reject," Diana hissed as tears streamed down my face. "You are nothing."

Two kitchen workers entered but froze when they saw what was happening. Their eyes widened in horror, but neither moved to help me. They looked away, too afraid to intervene.

As Diana finally pulled the poker away, leaving a perfect burn mark in the shape of a crescent moon on my arm, I caught Marcus's eye. There was something there—not sympathy or regret, but a flicker of calculation.

"Enough for tonight," he said quietly to his daughter. "We don't want her dead yet."

As they left me crumpled on the kitchen floor, clutching my burned arm, that tiny spark of rage inside me grew stronger. One day, I promised myself through gritted teeth, they would pay for every moment of this humiliation.

I just had to survive long enough to make them suffer.