Fated to One, Chosen by the Other

Adanna woke before dawn, as she always did.

The Scarlet Moon Pack compound was quiet at that hour, a hush that came just before the day's first stirrings. Her small attic room creaked with the shifting of the old beams, a faint draft curling through the cracks in the window. She wrapped her mother's worn shawl around her shoulders and sat on the edge of the narrow cot, staring at the dark ceiling.

Another day. Another battle to simply exist.

The silence should've been peaceful, but inside her chest was the familiar knot-a mix of restlessness and dread. She'd grown used to it, the way one grows used to an ache that never heals. Being the Omega with no wolf meant she was never allowed to forget her place. She carried it in every stare, every whispered insult when she passed by.

Her wolf had never come. Not on her first full moon, not on any moon after that. At eighteen, the elders had muttered that it was a delay. At twenty, they said perhaps the bond was weak. By twenty-two, they stopped pretending. She was broken. Cursed.

And Tristan, the Alpha, had ensured no one forgot it.

Adanna rose, bare feet padding across the wooden floor. She pulled her hair into a messy knot, not caring that strands fell loose around her face. She couldn't afford vanity, not here. Grabbing the basket by the door, she descended the narrow staircase into the chill of the morning.

The kitchen was already busy. Women stirred pots, boys carried trays, and the scent of baking bread filled the air. Her job was clear-fetch water, scrub, serve, repeat. Always the tasks no one else wanted.

"Move faster, cursed one," hissed Mara, one of the kitchen matrons, as Adanna passed. "We don't need your shadow lingering over the food."

Adanna bit the inside of her cheek and kept walking. She had long since learned silence was the sharpest weapon she had. Words only gave them more to mock.

She pushed open the back door and stepped into the frosty morning. The compound sprawled across Hyde Park, a maze of old stone halls and newer glass-fronted extensions, their mix of tradition and wealth flaunted for anyone who came near. It was strange, she often thought, how they built their homes over ancient roots-roots watered by blood and cruelty.

She walked the path toward the well, the basket bumping against her hip. Two young wolves lounged nearby, shoulders broad, confidence oozing from them. They looked up as she passed.

"No wolf, no worth," one muttered.

"Careful," the other smirked, "she'll curse your pups."

They laughed, loud and sharp, and Adanna's shoulders stiffened. She didn't turn, didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. She kept walking, breath steaming in the morning air.

At the well, she dropped the bucket down, listening to the hollow splash as it met the water below. Her reflection rippled on the surface-dark eyes too serious for her age, hair a