Istri Muda sang Mafia

Lyra’s POV

A sharp chill bit into Lyra’s bare feet as she crept through the darkness, clutching her thin, tattered blanket close to her chest. The air was heavy and damp, lingering with the earthy scent of the river that lay just beyond the pack’s territory. She hugged the blanket tighter around her bruised arms, hurrying down the narrow path that twisted away from the cell and into the woods. Every step sent pain lancing up her legs, but she pushed forward, guided by the soft glow of moonlight and the thought of the cold, cleansing water waiting for her.

The soft trickle of the nearby river could be heard through the stone walls, a haunting reminder of freedom she could only dream of. She longed for the warmth of sunlight on her skin, but she knew that the only warmth she would ever feel was in the fleeting moments when she could clean herself in its waters before the sun rose.

Lyra’s breath hitched as she thought of her parents, the last memories flickering like a broken film reel in her mind. Her mother’s laughter, her father’s strong hands lifting her high into the air. They were gone now, victims of betrayal and lies. The Alpha’s cruel decree had severed the only thread that had held her life together. She was alone in this dark, cold world, with nothing to her name but a tattered dress and a blanket that was more ragged than warm.

Today was supposed to be special, but the thought only brought more despair. Tomorrow was her eighteenth birthday - the day she would be revealed to her mate. The day when the bond would ignite, or so the stories went. Yet, after years of suffering, she couldn’t afford to hope. Not anymore.

When she get back Lyra curled into a tight ball on the cold, hard ground of her cell, a thin blanket pulled over her to ward off the chill. The dampness seeped through, biting at her skin, but it was nothing compared to the anguish twisting inside her. Each day bled into the next, a haze of pain and despair, and today was no different.

A heavy bootstep echoed down the hall, and her heart raced, not with anticipation, but with dread. She knew that sound all too well. It was Luna Regina, the Alpha’s mate, her harsh voice carrying through the air like a knife slicing through flesh.

“Get up, slave!” Luna’s voice was a venomous hiss, filled with disdain. “I need you to clean the banquet hall before the guests arrive. And don’t you dare embarrass me again with your filthy presence!”

Lyra cringed, scrambling to her feet. She brushed off the dirt from her dress, but there was only so much she could do to mask the evidence of her life. A knock on the door, and two of the pack’s guardians entered. Their faces were grim, their expressions unreadable.

“Get her out of here,” one said, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek. He was one of the few who sometimes offered her scraps of food. The other, however, was cruel, always quick to strike when she stumbled.

They grabbed her arms, their grips painful, and dragged her down the hall. Lyra stumbled, trying to keep her footing, but she was weak from days without proper food. As they marched her toward the banquet hall, she couldn’t help but look down. She was nothing more than a shadow, a servant meant to remain invisible.

“Do you really think anyone will want you for a mate?” the cruel one sneered, shoving her forward. “You’re nothing but a filthy Omega, a disgrace to this pack.”

The words stung, but Lyra swallowed her pride, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her tears. Her heart ached at the thought of Aiden, the Alpha’s son, the boy who had once played with her in secret before everything changed. She had thought maybe he would look at her differently now, that he would see her as someone worthy. But deep down, she knew that was a fantasy.

Once in the banquet hall, the space opened up before her, grand and bright, filled with decorations for the upcoming celebration. It was an event meant to draw the attention of nearby packs, a potential alliance with the Lycan Prince- someone with power and status, someone she would never meet. The thought sent a wave of despair crashing over her.

“Clean it faster!” Luna barked, her sharp tone cutting through Lyra’s thoughts. “I don’t have time for your sluggishness.”

Lyra nodded, swallowing hard, and moved to obey. She grabbed a rag and began wiping the table, her hands shaking with every stroke. As she worked, the laughter of the pack members drifted through the air, a cruel reminder of the life she would never have.

Time slipped away, and as the sun began to set, Lyra’s heart sank further. She could hear the murmur of excitement building outside as guests arrived. Soon, they would gather in the hall, and she would remain a ghost among them, unseen and unwanted.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp shove, and she stumbled, knocking over a stack of plates. They shattered on the floor, the noise echoing loudly in the now-silent room. Lyra’s cheeks flushed with humiliation as she dropped to her knees, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces.

“Idiot!” Seraphine, Aiden’s sister, snarled, stepping forward with a disdainful smile. “You’re so clumsy. It’s a wonder they even let you out of that filthy cell.”

“Please, I- ” Lyra started, but Seraphine’s laughter cut her off.

“Save your breath, slave. No one wants to hear your pathetic excuses.” She turned to her friends, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s see how much fun we can have with her tonight.”

Lyra’s heart raced as Seraphine’s friends circled her like vultures. This was what she had feared all along - a night filled with mockery and pain.

Just as she thought things couldn’t get worse, the heavy doors of the hall swung open. Light poured in, and a hush fell over the crowd. Lyra looked up, her heart leaping in her chest as Aiden entered, flanked by other pack members.

He looked regal, his dark hair tousled, eyes bright with the thrill of the night. But as his gaze swept over the room, it landed on her. For a brief moment, time stood still. Recognition flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by indifference.

Her heart plummeted as he moved past her without a word, laughing with his friends, leaving her in the shadows once more. The connection that once bound them felt frayed and weak, slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Look at him,” Seraphine sneered, breaking the spell. “He would never even think of looking at you, Lyra. You’re nothing.”

Lyra’s breath quickened as the laughter and mocking words crashed around her like waves. It was unbearable. She fought to keep her composure, forcing herself to breathe, to withstand the tidal wave of humiliation and despair threatening to swallow her whole.

Suddenly, a flicker of defiance sparked within her. I am not nothing. Even if the pack saw her that way, she wouldn’t let them extinguish the flicker of hope that still resided in her heart.

As the night dragged on, she finished her tasks mechanically, her mind reeling with thoughts of escape, of breaking free from this nightmare. The banquet continued, but she was already miles away, imagining a life beyond these walls.

And in that moment, as she cleaned the last remnants of the party away, she made a silent vow to herself: one day, she would find a way to reclaim her life.

But for now, she remained a ghost, a shadow in the pack house, waiting for the dawn to break and hoping for a miracle. As Lyra finished her tasks and prepared to retreat back to her cell, she overheard whispers of the upcoming visit from the Lycan Prince, a promise of power and danger that sent a shiver down her spine. What would happen when the prince arrived? Would he see her? Would he change anything? On the dawn the river was her only sanctuary. Her only escape, even if it was only for a few minutes before dawn would force her back to the pack house.

The icy river stung as she stepped into it, sending a shiver through her battered body. She leaned down, splashing the water over her face and rubbing it into her arms, scrubbing away the dirt, blood, and grime left over from another day’s work - and another day’s beating.

But some marks couldn’t be washed away.

She pulled at the hem of her dress, trying to clean off the mud and stains from yesterday’s punishment. Seraphine, the Alpha’s daughter, had screamed at her for missing a spot in the entry hall - then made sure Lyra’s face would remember her rage. Even now, she could feel the dull throb in her cheek where Seraphine had slapped her over and over again.

"It would be easier if you’d just fight back," her wolf murmured quietly, deep in the back of her mind. "If we shifted, they wouldn’t be able to do this to us."

Lyra felt a familiar ache bloom in her chest at her wolf’s voice, distant but ever-present, a faint echo of the strength that could have been hers. Her wolf was right, but shifting wasn’t an option. Her body was too frail, too exhausted, and her spirit too worn down. A shift could kill her in this weakened state, and even if it didn’t, it would make her more of a threat - an excuse for the Alpha or his family to end her life just as they’d ended her parents’.

Be strong, her father’s voice echoed in her mind, the memory as clear as if he’d spoken the words yesterday. She could still picture him, his gentle eyes shadowed by the burden of being an Omega, warning her to be cautious before they’d taken him away. The pain of his absence settled into her heart, heavy and relentless, a reminder of all she’d lost.

As she leaned down to splash her face again, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the water - a hollow-eyed girl with tangled hair and faded bruises coloring her cheeks. She barely recognized herself anymore.

But even as she took in the image, a familiar scent drifted over her: lavender, wild and sharp. The bushes grew at the river’s edge, and she reached out to run her fingers over the soft, purple flowers. Inhaling deeply, she let the fragrance wrap around her, comforting her, if only for a moment.

One day, she thought. One day, I’ll be free.