CHAPTER 2: BULLIED BY THOMAS’S MATE

HAILEY

The packhouse hovered above me, its shadow stretching across the worn stone path as I mounted the creaking stairs; the weight of the laundry basket tugged at my arms, heavy with the scent of detergent, damp fabric, and bleach that clung to my skin. It was as if the building lived and breathed through its thick walls and heavy beams, exuding an unshakeable power weighing upon me like a cage of a reminder of my place within this space of elitism.

None of the clothes in the basket belonged to me. They never did. My days had turned into a monotonous cycle of scrubbing floors, folding linens, and tending to tasks nobody else would touch. It wasn't just work; it was a prison. And the walls felt closer and suffocating every day. Hope looks like such an impossible fantasy.

But something was off today. The air vibrated with tension, an electric feeling I couldn't quite place. The source? Marissa Devaro. The pack had spent weeks preparing for her arrival, and now she was here—Thomas's chosen mate, his perfect, noble-born match. She was everything I wasn't: beautiful, powerful, and utterly ruthless. The only child of a billionaire Alpha who had died in a plane crash with his Luna, making her his only heir, yet she's greedy for more power; her stories are whispered about everywhere.

Cheers rang on in the packhouse, and feasts were held to welcome her, including music and bright flowers. Except that Marissa wasn't some visiting guest for an immediate takeover. Her coldness oozed out and crept into even the very edges of the pack, and somehow I was just her target. Being the rejected one didn't seem to appease her, as if my presence threatened whatever her plans were, yet I had no regret about being rejected by that jerk; nothing good could come out of loving a monster like him.

Halfway up the staircase, I cut my breath with the razorlike silence when her voice ripped like a whip:

"Hailey!"

I froze, my heart plummeting as the basket wobbled in my grasp. Her voice was sharp, oozing condescension, and I could already tell how this was going to go. I turned slowly to face her, standing at the far end of the hall, her golden hair shining in the gloom like polished steel. Her pale blue eyes flicked to me, cold, calculating.

"Yes, Luna?" I said softly, bowing my head in submission, hoping she'd lose interest.

Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "Don't call me that," she snapped. "You're not one of us. You don't get to use that title."

I swallowed hard. "Yes, Marissa." I fold my hands before me.

Her heels clicked slowly on the floor as she neared me deliberately to torture me. She stopped before me, only a few inches separating us, and her eyes glided over me as though I were some sort of dirt beneath her feet.

"Thomas told me about you," she said, her tone smooth and cruel. "Hailey Quin, poor little reject. How tragic."

Her words cut, opening old wounds I had desperately tried to bury. I clutched the basket tighter, digging my fingers into the fabric as I stared at the floor. I just would not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

"What's wrong? Still holding on to some pathetic hope that Thomas will come back to you?" Her laughter then came sharp and cutting. "Let me save you the embarrassment, don't.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to say nothing, then changed my mind and whispered, "No, I'm not."

"Good," she said, her smirk spreading. "Because he's mine now. And I don't ever want to see your pathetic face near him. Understood?"

"Yes," I muttered.

"Yes, what?" Her voice was as cold as steel, commanding.

"Yes, Marissa," I said through gritted teeth, my cheeks burning with humiliation.

Her smile twisted into something sickly sweet as she reached out and patted my cheek, her touch mocking. "Good girl. Now let's see if you can manage to be useful."

She turned on her heel and went down the stairs, leaving me to follow after. My legs felt like lead as I went down after her, every step heavy with dread.

The dining hall was a disaster zone: leftover food everywhere, hanging linens like ghosts, and the smell of wine that had been spilt sometime in the air. It was a scene of excess, an aftermath of a night well spent for Marissa and Thomas.

"Clean it," she ordered, flicking her wrist at the chaos. "And hand-wash the tablecloth. That fabric is too delicate for the machine."

My hands curled into fists, the sting of my nails grounding me as I nodded. "Of course, Marissa."

She leaned against the doorframe, watching me with a smile that was more predator than person. "I'm glad you know your place.

Hours passed. My hands were raw from scrubbing, my arms burning from wringing out the heavy fabric. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but I kept going. This wasn't just about cleaning – it was about survival. I couldn't afford to break, not here, not now; there's still so much to do. Amenia is bristling around inside me, and it has taken almost all my strength to shut her down because she just wants to snap everybody's necks and be done with it, but that can't be done, so I keep my head bowed and do what I need to do till I can leave.

She came back, her face as cold as ever, with an uninspected, slow, deliberate stare, running a perfectly manicured finger over the edge of the table.

"I suppose this will do—for someone like you," she said, the words twisting the knife.

I bit the inside of my cheek and kept my head down.

She leaned in close, her warm breath cold words: "Don't forget – you're nothing. And you'll always be nothing."

The words fell like a blow, yet I didn't flinch. I refused to. I exhaled, a slow and steady breath, as she began to walk away from me, heels clacking against the floor. I breathe in and out, calming Amenia.

They could mock me. They could try and break me. But they never got to define me. One day, I'd prove them wrong.

I straightened my back and swung to the window. The sun poured in, soft and gold. It reached deep inside me and touched that something hard and unrelenting, that fire they couldn't snuff out.

One day, I promised myself, one day they'll see, and then they'd realise just what they had.