Chapter 8

Mabel’s POV

The Silverwood Pack

“Move!” Mira’s voice cut through the air like a whip, as she barged past, her arms weighed down with a pile of plates.

I stepped aside quickly, pressing my back to the wall. Mira didn’t need any excuse to take out her anger on me. She was an Omega, I was an Omega. But for her, that was enough reason to treat me like dirt. I never understood it. We shared the same rank, but somehow, that didn’t matter. She had a family to back her up. I had nothing.

Nothing except the walls of this packhouse, and my quiet corner in the attic.

The packhouse was a buzz of activity today. The chatter and hurried footsteps told me that something important was coming, probably an Alpha or Beta. I didn’t care who, really. More guests meant more food, and I was hoping for leftovers. Leftovers meant something to eat.

I stayed by the window, peering through the curtains. The whole place smelled like food, like the air was heavy with it. It felt like it always did when something special was happening, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked it. Especially on days like today.

The Omegas were too busy gossiping to pay attention to me. They probably hadn’t even noticed I was there. No one did unless they needed me to clean or cook.

I moved silently, the only sound my soft footsteps on the wooden floors, as I made my way to the small kitchen. A couple of apples and a dinner roll sat on the napkin near my futon. I sank onto the worn mattress, half-smiling at the sight. Small comforts were rare, but I cherished them.

As I bit into the apple, the sharp, sweet taste was a welcome distraction from my thoughts. I thought about the party from two nights ago, about how the music had spilled through the cracked window, reaching my ears as I snuck in bits of the food from the table. I hadn’t been caught, and I smiled at the memory of stuffing my face without anyone noticing.

Princess Lydia had been there that night too. I remembered the way she’d bumped into me. For once, someone didn’t treat me like a ghost. She apologized, even though it wasn’t her fault. I had a soft spot for her. Not that it mattered. She was a princess, and I was—well, nothing.

It was strange to think of her as a real princess. She had beauty products, fancy clothes, everything I couldn’t have. Still, I couldn’t help but admire her. She deserved everything that was good, but I didn’t belong in her world.

I glanced down at the book on my lap. It was the Cinderella story Diamond had given me. The thought of her made my heart twist. She was the only one who’d ever treated me like a person. She’d sneaked into the attic to patch me up when I’d been hurt, but she couldn’t stand up to the others. She’d always been careful—always watching from the shadows, just like me.

But she was gone now. Left the pack a year ago. Found her mate. I had seen her leave with Larry, and it had broken something inside me.

“Goodbye, Mabel. I’ll miss you,” she had said.

I wanted to be happy for her, but my heart just couldn’t let it go. Diamond found her prince, and I was stuck with my own loneliness.

The book in my lap didn’t make me feel better; it only reminded me of what I didn’t have. I closed it, sighing, and then tucked it into the small drawer beside my bed. Cinderella’s fairytale wasn’t for me. It never had been.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my head against the wall, letting my mind wander. When I was younger, I’d let myself dream of princes, of a life better than this. But now, I knew better. No one was coming to rescue me. Not in this world.

Mabel didn’t have a prince. She was just a girl in the shadows.

“Get up, Mabel,” I muttered to myself. I knew my duties would start soon. Cleaning. Then sneaking into the kitchen for food. It was the routine I’d followed for as long as I could remember.

The sound of laughter came from downstairs, and I imagined the guests mingling over platters of food. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten enough.

“Another night, another set of leftovers,” I murmured, as if the words could comfort me. And as the day went on, I allowed myself to enjoy the small moments. The feast meant food. Food meant a break from the emptiness that gnawed at me.

I stood up, ready to get back to work, my stomach twisting in excitement.

No matter how small, every day had its silver lining.