Chapter Four- Masks of Survival

Celeste’s POV

The next morning, Elyse walked into my room and threw a set of clothes at me.

“W-what are these?” I asked raspily, my voice rough from the damp night. A sneeze tore out of me, leaving my chest aching.

“You look like a mess,” she said bluntly, hands on her hips. “Better take a nap and save your strength. I’m pretty sure you know the owner will throw you out if you collapse during work tonight.”

I nodded, clutching the bundle of fabric to my chest, biting back the tears that pressed behind my eyes. Crying solved nothing. I had learned that the hard way.

My world had collapsed yesterday—the graves, the laughter, the papers, the door slammed in my face and now here I was, in a bar storeroom that smelled of beer and rats, clutching borrowed clothes like they were lifelines. The contrast was dizzying.

I unfolded the outfit. A black blouse with lace at the sleeves, a skirt that seemed too short, and stockings rolled tightly at the corners. Not my style. Not my world. But this world didn’t care.

“You’ll wear that tonight,” Elyse said. “Boss likes the girls to look sharp. Customers too.”

I looked up at her, my throat raw. “Elyse… why are you helping me?”

Her face shifted, like she almost wanted to smile but forced it away. “I’m not. I’m just making sure you don’t make me look bad when I’m training you. Get cleaned up, Celeste.”

When she left, the silence pressed in again. I changed slowly, my fingers clumsy with fatigue, and lay back down on the thin mattress. The blanket barely covered me, but it was dry. For a moment, I allowed my eyes to close.

Sleep dragged me under.

When I woke hours later, the storeroom was lit by a sliver of golden sunlight creeping through the high window. I sat up, disoriented. The bar outside was quiet now, only the faint sound of glasses clinking as someone cleaned. My stomach growled so loud it startled me.

A knock at the door.

“Up,” Elyse’s voice called. “Shift starts soon. And wash your face, you look like a ghost.”

I rubbed my eyes and pushed myself to my feet. The new clothes hung loose on my frame, the skirt swishing against my knees. I caught sight of myself in the cracked mirror again. Not Celeste, daughter of a pack. Not the girl who had parents yesterday. Just… a waitress.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped out.

The bar was already beginning to stir with life. The owner sat at his usual desk, cigarette smoke curling around him. His sharp gaze caught mine as I walked past, but he said nothing- just nodded once. Approval or warning, I couldn’t tell.

Elyse handed me a tray. “Tonight, you shadow me. Watch. Listen. Don’t screw up.”

I nodded, gripping the tray until my knuckles hurt.

The first customers trickled in men with tired faces, women with painted lips, laughter spilling too easily. The smell of beer thickened the air. Elyse moved quickly, effortlessly, weaving through tables with a practiced smile that never touched her eyes.

I followed her, mimicking, trying not to stumble when eyes lingered too long on me. Every time a man smirked or a hand twitched too close, my skin crawled, but Elyse’s warning echoed in my head: don’t flinch, don’t fight, don’t show fear.

Hours blurred again. My body ached, but I forced myself upright. Forced myself to keep moving. Forced myself to smile, though it felt like stretching cracks into my skin.

By midnight, my feet were on fire. Elyse shoved a glass of water into my hand. “Not bad for your first night,” she said, almost grudgingly.

I blinked at her, too exhausted to answer.

“Don’t get used to compliments,” she added, turning away. “This place doesn’t hand them out.”

I sipped the water slowly, staring at the crowd, at the haze of smoke and shadows, and felt the tiniest ember of something unfamiliar stirring in me. Not hope. Not yet. But survival.

"Celeste," The owner called from the corner where he sat.

I walked gingerly over, watching as he pointed to a distance in the bar.

"There, you'll serve them, give them whatever they want and if you make any mistakes, you know the consequences too well," he said and I nodded, straining my eyes to see who was sitting at the corner of the club.

"Now, go ask them what they want," He ordered.

I wiped my sweaty palms on the apron until they stopped trembling and forced my feet to move toward the corner the owner had pointed to.

They were easy to spot even in the dim light, two men at the table, alone, like a thorn in the crowd.

He sat straight-backed, shoulders broad enough to throw a shadow across the booth.

The room’s noise seemed to fold around him and dim, as if his presence pulled the sound into a smaller, sharper place.

He was older than most around him, his hair grey, and jaw set like carved stone. His coat had a silver thread at the collar that caught the lamplight. When my eyes drifted to his hands, they were callused, knuckles white where he held his glass, not because of drink but because he was holding himself together by force.

The first thing that hit me wasn’t sight, or even heat from the bodies near us. It was scent, a sharp pull to him that made my stomach dip as if I’d been punched. My wolf rustled under my skin with the recognition that had nothing to do with names and everything to do with blood.

I gave the practiced smile Elyse had taught me. “Evening. What can I get you?”

He looked up at me like he was measuring my weight in the air, not with contempt, exactly, but with a tired, awful sort of curiosity. His eyes were gray as ash and hard as ice. For a second he didn’t speak; he simply watched the rise and fall of my chest as if counting my breath.

"Three bottles of the strongest drink you've in this bar," He said, and I couldn't tell if it was the grief in me or his husky voice that made my knees weaken.

"I'll bring it right up," I replied and turned around, walking back briskly to the owner.

"He says three of the strongest drinks we've," I relayed.

He handed me the heavy bottles and I walked as fast as I could to the table, but he wasn't there.

I set them down on the table and turned to the other man who accompanied him.

"Please, do you have any idea where he is?" I asked and he shook his head.

"Alpha Kaelith's upstairs, first room, take the drink to him," He said, making me swallow hard at the thought of being in a room with an Alpha.

"Don't worry, he's not like that," He said again and I sighed, a relieving smile tugging from my lips as I lifted the drink and headed upstairs.

A slight knock and I pushed the door open, closing it behind me, and set the drinks on the table.

"Here's your drink sir," I said, moving to leave when he held my hands back.

"Elara..." He whispered.

"No sir, I'm not Elara, my name's Elyse and I'm just here to serve your drinks..." I said, writhing to be freed.

"No, you're Elara, my wife, my mate, my Luna," He dragged, pulling closer.

My heart was thumping hard and frantically as I struggled to free myself from his grip.

"Sir please, I'm not your wife, I'm just your waitress!" I screamed

His grip only grew tighter when I begged him to let go. My wrists burned beneath his hold.

“Stop—please,” I whispered, thrashing against him, but he was too strong, too heavy with the weight of an Alpha.

“You won’t leave me again,” he murmured, dragging me closer until I could feel the heat of his breath at my temple. His voice cracked like a man broken in half. “Not this time, Elara. Not again.”

“I’m not her!” I screamed, my voice ricocheting off the walls. Panic clawed up my throat, tearing into every inch of me. My wolf howled inside, powerless against the dominance rolling off him like a suffocating tide.

He didn’t hear me or maybe he refused to. His grief had turned to madness, and I was drowning in it.

He pushed me back onto the bed so fast the air rushed out of me. My head hit the thin mattress, the smell of stale sheets filling my lungs. His hands caged me in, trembling but unyielding.

“Sir, please, I beg you”

His mouth crushed against mine before I could finish. I whimpered against the kiss, bitter tears slipping between our lips. His beard scraped my skin, his desperation staining every movement.

“Don’t fight me, Elara,” he breathed, tearing his lips from mine only to press them against my jaw, my throat. “You’re here. You came back to me. My Luna”

“No,” I cried, twisting, pushing, but his weight bore me down like a mountain. My nails raked his arm, but he only groaned, mistaking resistance for passion.

“Alpha Kaelith stop! I’m not her!”

He stilled at the sound of his name, eyes wild, chest heaving above me. For a moment, just one fragile moment I thought reason might slip through.

But then he buried his face against my neck, inhaling deeply, shuddering. “You even smell like her… gods, Elara, don’t do this to me.” His voice broke as he forced my wrists above my head.

Terror flooded me. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the noise from the bar below. I kicked, bucked, anything to create space, but he pressed harder, grief twisting into obsession.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, voice rough with agony and hunger. “You’ve always been mine.”

And in that moment, I realized no one was coming to save me. Not Elyse. Not anyone. It was me against the madness of an Alpha who saw his dead wife in my face.