Chapter Three

Ivy’s POV

"Ivy, open this door right now!" my father shouted again.

I couldn't move. I was shaking from head to toe, my breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches that burned in my throat. My father, Alpha Marcus, was a scary man who hated when people disobeyed him and his fury was a terrifying, suffocating force that filled the entire hallway.

"Please..." I whispered, collapsed in a helpless heap on the floor, crying silently as tears blinded my vision.

BANG.

The lock splintered with a sickening crack, and my father kicked the door open. His face was distorted, dark red with pure, uncontrolled anger.

"Where were you?!" he demanded, walking into my room like a predator cornering its prey.

"I... I was at a bar," I mumbled, staring helplessly at the floor, squeezing my eyes shut to hide the terror.

Before I could draw another breath, he lunged forward. His massive, heavy hand grabbed my jaw tightly, digging his fingers brutally into my flesh until bones popped, forcing my head up. The agony flared down my neck. Beyond his shoulder, Elena, Eric, and my stepmother Vera were standing in the hallway, watching the scene with sick amusement.

"Look at me when I speak to you!" he roared, his voice shaking the walls. "Why do I smell another Alpha on you?!"

"I just went out for a drink…"

SLAP!

The force of his strike was deafening. My head cracked to the side, white heat blinding my eyes as the bone-deep pain exploded across my cheek.

"Dad, please! I'm telling the truth!" I sobbed, clutching my burning face.

"So you went out and slept around?!" he shouted, swinging his heavy arm back and slapping me again.

The second blow tore skin as blood dripped from my torn lip, my blood dripping on the carpet. My head throbbed violently, vision blurring as I felt dizzy.

"Do you know what people are saying?!" he raged over my whimpering. "People saw you leave a hotel!"

"What?" I gasped, looking up in sheer shock and horror, the taste of my own blood thick in my throat.

"You are a disgrace to this family! Why can't you be normal like your sister?" He loomed over me, his presence suffocating. "Do you want me to throw you out?!"

"I'm sorry, Father! Please, I made a mistake!" I cried out, dropping completely to my knees, pressing my blood-stained lips together as I begged on the hard floor. I was wolfless. A weak, helpless runt. If I got kicked out of the pack, I wouldn't survive a single night on the streets. They would tear me apart.

"Marcus, calm down," my stepmother Vera said smoothly, stepping into the room with a practiced, icy elegance. "She is still your daughter. Just punish her."

My father glared down at me like I was a stain on his boot. "You are under house arrest. You will not leave this room until I decide what to do with you."

"Yes, sir," I whispered into the carpet, my voice broken.

He turned on his heel and walked out, Vera gliding behind him like a shadow.

Elena stepped up to my doorway, her eyes dancing with cruelty as she laughed. "Serves you right, you slut."

I lifted my bruised, bloodied face to look at her, but I wasn't surprised. She had always hated me. Then my eyes shifted to Eric standing right behind her. He wouldn't make eye contact with me. He just stared at the floor, his posture rigid and distant. In that agonizing silence, I saw him for what he really was: a coward who traded me for power.

"Congratulations," I said to them coldly, forced courage masking the agony tearing through my chest. "You two deserve each other."

Elena's smile disappeared instantly, replaced by a vicious snarl. "You should be ashamed of yourself. That's why Eric didn't want you."

"Whatever," I said softly, numb to her insults, I was already used to it.

"If I were you, I'd just kill myself already," she sneered before spinning around and walking away with Eric clinging to her side.

I dragged myself up just enough to shut the door, then collapsed onto the cold floor and cried until my ribs hurt. The room felt like a graveyard. I had no friends, my family hated me, and the boy I had given everything had used me like trash.

My mother died the very night I was born. But her death wasn't just sad…it terrified the entire pack. Right before my mother took her last breath, a pack prophet gave a dark warning: the baby girl born tonight will bring total destruction to the Ashworth pack.

From that moment on, my father looked at me with fear and disgust. When it turned out I didn't even have a wolf, everyone assumed I was cursed. They treated me like a ticking time bomb, waiting for the day I would bring ruin to our home.

When I was little, I used to dream about my mother as a beautiful white wolf with seven tails, keeping me safe. But after my father married Vera, those dreams stopped. Vera and Elena became my father's real family, and I was left behind in the dark.

Two full weeks passed under house arrest. Fourteen miserable days of rotting in isolation. Lately, the physical torment had only gotten worse. I had been feeling extremely tired, my limbs heavy as lead, and sick to my stomach every single morning. My body also felt unusually warm, burning up with a feverish heat that left me shivering under the sheets.

The heavy click of the lock sounded, and the maid unlocked my door, walking in with a tray of food.

The moment the thick, greasy smell of the cooked meat hit my nose, my throat constricted violently. My stomach churned upside down. Gagging softly, I covered my face with the blanket to block the stench.

"Miss Ivy, are you alright?" the maid asked.

Before I could answer, she pulled the blanket back. The heavy smell hit me again with full force, a wave of violent nausea crashing over me. I scrambled out of bed and ran straight into the bathroom, collapsing by the toilet to throw up until my throat burned and stomach heaved on empty air.

I washed my mouth with trembling hands and stumbled back out, completely dizzy, the room spinning around me.

"Please take the food away. I can't eat," I said weakly, clutching the doorway for support.

The maid looked worried. She took the tray and immediately told my father, who called the pack doctor to check on me.

The doctor sat by my bed, checking my pulse in silence. He looked at me with a heavy, serious face that sent a chill straight down my spine.

"Ivy... how long have you been feeling sick like this?"

"A few days," I whispered, barely able to keep my eyes open.

He let out a long sigh, dropping his hands. "Ivy, you aren't sick. You are two weeks pregnant."

My heart dropped into a dark, bottomless void.