HIRING

Honestly, if I spent another month living in my parents’ house without earning my own money, I might lose my mind. Or end up in the hospital… again.

I needed this job more than anyone could imagine.

Let’s just say my parents had made my life a living hell. Being born into a family with both parents alive didn’t always mean you were lucky.

My father believed that because I was his daughter, he had the right to do whatever he wanted to me. My mother wasn’t any better. In fact, she was the reason my father started hitting me.

Whenever he beat me, she either watched in silence or joined him in reminding me how useless I was. Sometimes, all it took was a bad day. Other times, it was my weight.

Why, you might ask? How could one’s biological parents hate their own daughter because of her body? I wondered that too. I have yet to receive an answer.

My mother had once told me that I should be grateful that I had parents who allowed me to live under their roof.

Grateful? For being insulted every day? For being slapped until my ears rang? For having to smile at family gatherings while hiding bruises beneath my clothes?

Sometimes, I wondered whether they remembered I was their daughter. But the worst part was that I had nowhere else to go. I had no job, no money of my own, and no friends willing to take me in indefinitely. So, I stayed and endured.

And every night, I promised myself that one day, I would leave. I just had to get a job first.

Today was supposed to be that day. If I got this job, I planned to save from my income so that before the year ended, I would move out of that house. I would get a place where I could sleep without worrying about someone storming in to hit me. A place where I could eat without being insulted. A place where I could finally breathe.

I sighed and straightened my shoulders.

No crying, Bianca. You can cry when you’re free. For now, you need a job.

With renewed determination, I walked farther into the lobby. And then I saw the queue.

My jaw nearly dropped.

Hundreds of applicants stood in line, dressed in expensive-looking outfits. Everyone looked confident and sure of themselves.

I glanced down at my own outfit. It was neat and decent, but I couldn’t help feeling out of place. And, of course, I was the only plus-size woman in line.

You see, in our world, people weren't classified by gender alone.

Everyone was born with a secondary gender: Dominant Alpha, Alpha, Beta, or Omega.

No, we are not werewolves or wolf-shifters.

Dominant Alphas were people born with special genes and were rare to exist. They commanded other Alphas and were so powerful that weaker individuals struggled to remain standing in their presence.

Mere Alphas were also known for their strength and power, but not like the Dominant ones.

Betas were the most common and generally lived ordinary lives, while Omegas were known for their ability to attract Alphas and reproduce with them.

Pheromones—the natural scents our bodies released—played an important role in this world.

They could reveal our presence, attract certain people, or even affect those around us.

But being an Omega wasn't always a blessing.

Society had its own cruel standards of beauty, and plus-size Omegas like me rarely made the list of desirable women.

Slim waists, slim bodies, and pretty faces were praised everywhere.

The slimmer an Omega is, the more attention she receives.

And me?

Well, let's just say I was unfortunate to be born.

Being bullied as a child was normal because how dare you be different?

Even my parents used my weight as an excuse to humiliate me.

Apparently, being their daughter wasn't enough to earn their love.

I pushed those thoughts aside as a few applicants glanced at me.

I was used to people staring.

I just wished I could get through one day without feeling like there was something wrong with me.

Just then, someone called my name.

"Bianca?"