0004:Waffles And Panic

ANGELA’S POV

The sundress clung a little to tightly to my damp skin as I slipped it over my head. The fabric was cool, soft, yet almost irritating against the spots my towel had missed.

My fingers dragged through wet tangles of hair, tugging too hard on a stubborn knot. The mirror caught me staring again, and for a moment I almost didn’t recognize the girl in the reflection. She wasn’t the one who used to bite her tongue and smile because silence was safer. No. What stared back was someone harder. A woman honed by loss, betrayal, and death.

By the time I finished getting ready, my stomach growled—loud, almost rude. I pressed my palm against it, smirking bitterly at myself. Hunger, of all things, was the one craving I couldn’t bury under steel and anger. My reflection didn’t smirk back. Her eyes were too cold. Her jaw too set. She looked steady. Unbothered. But inside… the storm hadn’t stopped brewing.

This is it, Angela. No turning back. You step out, you face them. One foot after the other.

The hallway floor groaned under my bare feet, each creak sharp and accusing, like the house itself was warning me to trade carefully. A smell drifted through the air—warm, buttery, sweet. Waffles as I neared the bottom of the stairs. My chest tightened at the memory of countless mornings pretending everything was fine at this very table. Still, my body betrayed me; I quickened my steps, my mouth watering before I even reached the kitchen.

There she was. My mother. Graceful, calm, flipping waffles as if she hadn’t once been silent when I was torn apart piece by piece by the people in the pack when they thought I was barren and incapable of birthing their Alpha an heir.

Her long wavy hair was tied neatly in a bun, her movements fluid as she move through the kitchen. And there was my father—Beta Hunters—seated at the table, posture as rigid as steel, eyes buried in the pack’s reports. One hand wrapped around his mug, the other flicking through pages like the world depended on it. For him, maybe it did.

Fulfilling his duty as the pack’s second in command was his language. Duty before words, and even before comfort. Always.

“Morning, Mom,” I said, voice lighter than I felt, stepping into the room as though ghosts weren’t brushing at my heels.

Her head turned, surprise flickering before amusement softened her face. “Well, look who’s up before the sun has finished yawning,” she teased, brow arched. “Trying to impress someone?”

A laugh slipped from me, airy, almost careless, though it didn’t reach my chest. “No. Just… thought I’d try this whole ‘being early’ thing. See how it feels.”

She smirked, flipping another waffle into an empty plate. “Mhm. I know your game. You’re practicing. One day, when you’re Luna, people will be running around doing things for you. Until then—” her eyes narrowed with playful warning—“it won’t kill you to actually survive in a kitchen.”

The word Luna hit harder than I’d prepared for. A sharp sting beneath my ribs. My throat tightened, but I forced a smile, forced air into my lungs. If only she knew how bitter that dream had become. To stand beside Julius, adored and envied by everyone, wasn’t a crown I aim to wear anymore. It was a set of chains I Intend to break free from.

“Here,” she said, sliding a plate of golden waffles toward me. “Set the table for me.”

“Of course.” My voice was steady, but my fingers trembled faintly as I carried the plates to the table.

“Morning, Dad,” I chirped politely.

My father barely looked up. A curt nod, then back to his reports. His silence was meant to mean he saw me. That was how he loved. I tried not to resent it.

Breakfast rolled by in soft chatter—her warmth, his silence, the clinking of forks. Ordinary. Almost too ordinary. My father was the first to leave, summoned away, of course, by Alpha’s command. The slam of the door echoed through the quiet house.

“I’m going to see Kimberly,” I said casually, standing from the table.

Mom wiped her hands on a cloth and nodded without suspicion. “Be safe. Be back by lunch time, Angela. No excuses.”

“I will.” I leaned down, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and slipped out the door.

Sunlight spilled across the street, golden and sharp against my skin. I inhaled deep, and for a second, the world seemed… calm. Too calm. And then I saw it. Julius’s familiar jeep.

My heart stuttered. The growl of the engine rolled up the road, low and familiar, vibrating through the air. My pulse spiked. I couldn’t breathe properly—the air felt thick, sticky. I wasn’t sure how I would react if I saw him now but one thing was clear, I wasn’t ready.

Not today.

I ducked fast behind the bushes along the short fences, the branches snagging at my dress. Crouching low, I pressed my palm into the cool, damp earth. The soil was grounding, but my chest still hammered like I’d been caught.

The jeep roared closer, rattling my ribs. Leaves scratched against my cheek as I held my breath, every muscle screaming to move, to hide deeper, to disappear. The jeep passed and I exhaled a breath.

Coward, the voice inside me hissed.

Survivor, I snapped back. Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know I remembered. That I’d lived through betrayal, humiliation, death at his mistress hands— The girl I once called sister. He thought his lies had stayed buried. He thought I was still blind. But I wasn’t. Not anymore.

When the sound of the engine faded, I let out a shaky breath and pushed myself up, brushing dirt and leaves from my dress. My heart was still racing, uneven and wild, when a voice slid from behind me—smooth, low, dangerous enough to freeze me in place.

“Can you watch where you’re stepping?”

I spun so fast the world tilted. My breath caught, a scream trapped in my throat, my heart ramming against my ribs so hard it hurt.