Chapter 8
Elara POV
The rich, savory scent of roasted venison hit me the second I pushed through the swinging doors of the main kitchen. It was a prime cut from the recent Pack hunt, a delicacy strictly reserved for the Alpha and his inner circle. My stomach cramped violently in response.
The Pack Cook, an elderly Omega, was basting the meat in a cast-iron skillet. When he saw me, his shoulders hunched defensively.
"Is there any left?" I asked, my voice raspy.
He wouldn't meet my eyes. "The Alpha ordered the venison specifically for Ms. Karly, ma'am." With a trembling hand, he slid a plastic tray across the stainless steel counter. On it sat a chipped bowl filled with the freezing, gray nutrient paste. The standardized ration for the wolfless.
The contrast was a physical slap to the face. Karly was feasting on the spoils of the Pack, while I was being fed like a stray dog in my own home.
"Smells delicious, doesn't it?"
I froze. Karly strolled into the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the tiles. But it wasn't her smug smile that made my blood run cold; it was what she was wearing.
The emerald silk robe draped over her shoulders was unmistakable. Declan had given it to me four years ago, the night I brought our son, Leo, home from the Pack hospital. It was the only gift he had ever given me that felt like it meant something.
"Take that off," I said, my voice shaking with a sudden, violent rage. "That's mine."
Karly let out a breathy, mocking laugh. She ran her manicured fingers down the silk lapel. "Everything in this manor belongs to the Alpha. And *I* belong to the Alpha." She stepped closer, her expensive perfume failing to mask the sour scent of her jealousy. "Declan told me about your little tantrum with Sylvia Vance. And the Blood Pact he forced you to sign. You're mentally unstable, Elara. A broken, wolfless thing. I am the mother of his heir. You're just a ghost he hasn't bothered to exorcise yet."
The realization that Declan had used my deepest humiliations as pillow talk to entertain his mistress made the room spin. I opened my mouth to fire back, but a small blur of motion darted through the doorway.
"Mommy!"
Ava ran into the kitchen, her little blonde curls bouncing. She wasn't looking where she was going and crashed directly into my legs.
Instinct took over. I reached down and caught her by the shoulders to keep her from falling.
The second my skin touched hers, a violent jolt shot up my arms. It wasn't static electricity. It was a deep, resonant familiarity that vibrated in my very marrow. A strange, ancient hum echoed in my blood, pulling toward the sickly, fragile energy radiating from the little girl. Ava gasped softly, looking up at me with wide, confused eyes, as if she felt it too.
"Get away from her!" Karly shrieked.
She lunged forward, snatching Ava by the arm and yanking her behind her legs as if I were covered in acid. "Don't let that wolfless filth touch you!" Karly snarled, her eyes wide with irrational panic. She grabbed the plate of venison from the counter. "Come on, Ava. We're going to eat with Daddy."
They swept out of the kitchen, leaving a suffocating silence in their wake.
I stood there, my fingertips still tingling from that impossible, electric connection. I didn't understand what it was, but the sheer terror in Karly's eyes told me it was real.
I looked down at the bowl of gray paste. The humiliation, the desecration of my memories, the isolation—it all crystallized into something hard and unbreakable in my chest. I picked up the bowl and dumped the sludge directly into the industrial trash can.
I walked back to the cramped, dusty room in the East Wing. The walls were paper-thin. Through the plaster, I could hear the muffled sounds of Declan, Karly, and Ava laughing in the master suite. A perfect, happy family built on the ashes of my life.
I reached into my hidden duffel bag and pulled out a protein bar I had stashed for my eventual escape. I ate it in silence, chewing methodically. It wasn't a meal; it was fuel.
I pulled my noise-canceling headphones over my ears, shutting out the sickening sounds of their domestic bliss. I opened my laptop, the screen casting a harsh blue light over my face.
If they were going to treat me like an enemy, I would start acting like one.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a fraction of a second before I typed into the search bar: *Karly Rowe Social Media Archive*.
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