"You missed a spot, omega trash."
I didn't look up from where I was scrubbing the marble floor of the pack house entrance. I knew better than that. Looking up meant making eye contact, and making eye contact with Lydia Thorne always led to more pain.
"Are you deaf as well as useless?" Her voice got sharper. I could see her expensive boots stepping closer to where my hands were working. "I said you missed a spot."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, scrubbing harder at the already clean floor. My knees ached from being on them for the past three hours, and my hands were raw from the harsh cleaning chemicals. But I couldn't stop. If I stopped, it would only get worse.
Lydia laughed, that cruel sound that made my stomach twist. "You're always sorry, aren't you? Sorry for existing, sorry for breathing our air, sorry for being such a pathetic excuse for a wolf."
I kept my mouth shut and continued scrubbing. After five years of this treatment, I'd learned that responding only gave them more ammunition. The best strategy was to stay quiet, stay small, and wait for them to get bored.
But Lydia wasn't finished with me today.
I saw her boot lift out of the corner of my eye, and then she kicked the bucket of dirty water I'd been using. The dirty liquid splashed across the floor I'd just spent hours cleaning, soaking into my dress and spreading across the white marble in a murky puddle.
"Oops," Lydia said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Looks like you'll have to start over. Better hurry too. Alpha Thorne wants this floor spotless before the evening meal, and you know how he gets when things aren't perfect."
My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. For just a second, I felt something hot and angry rising in my chest. Something that wanted to stand up, to fight back, to tell Lydia exactly what I thought of her and her cruelty.
But I pushed it down like I always did. Fighting back would only make everything worse. I was an omega, the lowest rank in the Silverwood Pack, and Lydia was the future Alpha's girlfriend. There was no world where I won that fight.
"Yes, ma'am," I said quietly, reaching for the fallen bucket. "I'll clean it right away."
Lydia stood there for another moment, probably hoping I'd crack and give her an excuse to make my life even more miserable. When I didn't react, she made a disgusted sound and walked away, her designer boots clicking on the dry part of the floor.
I waited until I heard her footsteps fade before I let out a shaky breath. My hands were trembling as I picked the bucket and went to fetch more water and cleaning supplies. As I walked toward the supply closet, I caught my reflection in one of the large windows.
I looked exactly like what I was a twenty-year-old girl who'd been beaten down by life. My dark brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping and sticking to my sweaty face. My hazel eyes looked tired and hollow. The dress I wore had been donated by one of the pack members, already worn and stained when I got it. Now it was soaked with dirty water and clinging to my thin frame.
I'd been told I was found at the pack borders as a baby, wrapped in a silver blanket with nothing to identify where I came from. The Silverwood Pack took me in, but they made sure I knew I should be grateful for their charity. From the moment I could walk, I was put to work. And when I presented as an omega at thirteen, my life went from hard to nearly unbearable.
In Silverwood, omegas were considered weak and worthless. We did all the jobs nobody else wanted. We were servants, punching bags, and objects of ridicule. Alpha Thorne believed that showing kindness to weakness would make the whole pack soft, so he encouraged the mistreatment. As long as we didn't die, anything was fair game.
I filled the bucket with fresh water and grabbed new cleaning supplies, hauling them back to the entrance hall. My arms burned from the weight, but I'd learned to ignore physical pain a long time ago. The emotional pain was harder to push away, but I was working on that too.
As I got down on my knees and started scrubbing the floor for the second time, I heard footsteps approaching. These were heavier, more purposeful. My stomach dropped. I knew those footsteps.
"Well, well. The little omega is making a mess instead of cleaning it up."
Marcus Thorne's voice made my whole body tense. He was the Alpha heir, twenty-four years old and already one of the most feared wolves in the region. He was tall and muscular with black hair and dark eyes that held no warmth. Where Lydia's cruelty came from a place of petty meanness, Marcus's came from something colder and more calculating.
"I'm cleaning it, sir," I said softly, keeping my eyes on the floor. "There was an accident with the bucket."
"An accident." He said the word like he didn't believe me. "You know, Nessa, sometimes I wonder why we keep you around. You can barely shift, you have no family, no status, nothing to offer this pack. You're just a drain on our resources."
Each word was designed to cut, and they did their job well. I'd heard variations of this speech a hundred times before, but it never stopped hurting. The worst part was that I'd started to believe it. Maybe I really was worthless. Maybe they were right about me.
"I work hard, sir," I said, hating how small my voice sounded. "I earn my keep."
Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You earn your keep? Nessa, you eat scraps and live in a closet. A trained dog would be more valuable to this pack than you are."
I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I just kept scrubbing, my movements mechanical, trying to pretend his words weren't tearing me apart inside.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Marcus commanded, his Alpha authority pressing down on me.
I had no choice but to obey. I lifted my head and met his dark eyes, seeing the contempt there. He looked at me like I was something disgusting he'd stepped in, something to be scraped off and forgotten.
"Tomorrow is your birthday, isn't it?" he asked, and something in his tone made my skin crawl. "Twenty years old. The age when most wolves have already found their mates and started making something of themselves. But not you. No one would want a defective omega as a mate."
His words shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. I'd never let myself dream about finding a mate because I knew Marcus was right. What wolf would want someone like me? But hearing him say it out loud made something in my chest ache.
"The monthly gathering is tomorrow night," Marcus continued, circling around me like a predator. "Every unmated wolf has to attend. I'll enjoy watching you stand in the corner alone while everyone else finds their connections. It'll be a good reminder to the pack of what happens when weakness is tolerated."
"Yes, sir," I whispered, because what else could I say?
Marcus stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he turned and walked away without another word, leaving me kneeling in the dirty water with my heart pounding and my hands shaking.
I took a deep breath and went back to scrubbing. The floor needed to be perfect before dinner, and I still had hours of work ahead of me. After this, I needed to help prepare the evening meal, then serve it, then clean up afterward. If I was lucky, I'd get to my small basement room by midnight and have a few hours of sleep before starting all over again tomorrow.
Tomorrow. My birthday. Twenty years of this life, and I couldn't see any way it would ever get better.
I worked in silence, my mind drifting to the one escape I had books. I'd taught myself to read using stolen books from the pack library, staying up late into the night by candlelight, losing myself in stories about places where people like me might be treated with kindness. It was probably foolish, but those stories gave me something to hold onto when everything else felt hopeless.
"Nessa!"
I looked up to see Cassidy hurrying toward me from the kitchen. She was my only friend in this place, another omega with red hair and a smile that somehow survived despite everything. She was carrying a small cloth bundle, glancing around nervously to make sure no one was watching.
"I saved you some bread from lunch," she whispered, pressing the bundle into my hands. "You need to eat something. You're getting too thin."
My throat tightened with emotion. This small act of kindness meant more to me than Cassidy could ever know. "Thank you," I said softly. "But you should keep it. You need food too."
"I already ate," Cassidy insisted, which was probably a lie. "Besides, tomorrow's your birthday. Consider it an early present."
I carefully tucked the bread into my apron pocket, planning to eat it later in my room where no one would see and take it away. "You're too good to me, Cass."
"Someone has to be," she said with a sad smile. "Are you nervous about tomorrow night? The gathering?"
I shrugged, turning back to my scrubbing. "It doesn't matter. Nothing will happen. No one wants an omega mate."
"You don't know that," Cassidy said, her natural optimism shining through. "The Moon Goddess works in mysterious ways. Maybe she has someone special planned for you."
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that somewhere out there was someone who would see value in me, who would want me despite all my flaws and weaknesses. But hope was a dangerous thing for someone in my position. Hope just made the disappointment hurt worse.
"Maybe," I said, not wanting to crush Cassidy's optimism. "We'll see tomorrow night."
"That's the spirit!" Cassidy squeezed my shoulder. "I have to get back to the kitchen before Chef notices I'm gone. But Nessa? Happy early birthday. I'm glad you exist, even if no one else here seems to be."
She hurried away before I could respond, leaving me alone with my bucket and my thoughts. I watched her go, grateful for her friendship but also worried about her. Cassidy was too kind, too hopeful for a place like this. I was afraid that eventually, Silverwood would break that spirit of hers like it had broken everything else.
I spent the next four hours finishing the floor, making sure every inch was spotless. My back screamed in protest when I finally stood up, and my knees had gone numb from kneeling for so long. But the floor gleamed, perfect and clean.
I gathered my supplies and headed to the kitchen to help with dinner preparation. The kitchen was hot and chaotic, with several omegas rushing around under the sharp eye of Chef Morris, a large man who ruled his domain with shouted orders and flying spatulas.
"About time you showed up," he barked when he saw me. "Start chopping vegetables. We're making stew for two hundred wolves tonight and we're already behind."
I washed my hands quickly and got to work, falling into the familiar rhythm of chopping carrots, potatoes, and onions. Around me, other omegas worked in silence except for the occasional whispered conversation. We'd learned not to talk too much or too loudly because it annoyed the chef.
As I worked, I found myself thinking about tomorrow night. The monthly gathering was a tradition in Silverwood where all unmated wolves came together in the great hall. It was supposed to be about building pack bonds and giving wolves a chance to find their mates, but in reality, it was just another social event where the ranks were reinforced. The high-ranking wolves stood in the center, laughing and talking, while omegas like me pressed ourselves against the walls and tried not to be noticed.
I'd been to nineteen of these gatherings since I turned thirteen, and each one was exactly the same. No one ever talked to me. No one ever looked at me like I might be worth their time. I was invisible, and that was actually a blessing because being noticed usually meant being targeted for abuse.
Tomorrow would be no different. I would stand in my corner in whatever worn dress I could find, and I would watch other wolves find their happiness while I remained alone. And that was fine. I'd accepted my fate a long time ago.
Hadn't I?
Deep inside, in a place I tried hard to ignore, there was a tiny spark of something that might have been hope. A foolish, dangerous hope that maybe, just maybe, the Moon Goddess had someone out there for me. Someone who would look past what I appeared to be and see something worth loving.
But I quickly smothered that spark. Hope was a luxury I couldn't afford. Hope would only make tomorrow night hurt more when nothing happened and I was reminded once again that I was exactly what everyone said I was worthless, unwanted, and alone.
I chopped vegetables until my hands were sore and my eyes watered from the onions, and I tried very hard not to think about tomorrow at all.