CHAPTER FOUR - You Should Be Grateful [Part 1]

I stayed standing for a long time after I set the knife and folded the contract on the dresser.

The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that rang in my ears, filled with ghosts.

*Tomorrow night, under the moon.*

I could still hear my father’s voice as clearly as if he were in the room with me. The soft clink of glass. Lena’s amused lilt. My mother’s thready protest.

They were planning my death again.

Not in some vague, distant way. Not as a possibility.

As an event.

A scheduled sacrifice.

And they expected me to play my part, smiling all the way to the altar like a good, grateful daughter.

I moved to the door on bare feet, the carpet muffling my steps, and eased it open a crack.

Voices floated faintly down the corridor from their sitting room. I slid out and padded soundlessly toward them, my back close to the wall, breath held.

The door to their room was ajar, just like before. A slice of lamplight spilled across the hallway floor.

“—has to be tomorrow,” my father was saying. “The moon won’t be right again for months.”

“She’s… different,” my mother whispered. “What if she knows? What if she—”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Victor snarled. “She never has. She does as she’s told. She always has.”

“Not lately,” Lena’s voice chimed in, low and amused. “She talked back today. At breakfast. To you. To me. That was new.”

“She’s acting out,” he said. “Too much time around wolves. Too much time with the Alpha. She’ll remember her place when it matters.”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

*I remember my place perfectly,* I thought. *Face down in the dirt, under your boots.*

Lena snorted softly. “And if she doesn’t?”

My father’s voice turned cold.

“Then that’s what the witch is for.”

Ice slid down my spine, familiar and hated.

“Victor,” my mother pleaded. “We already risked—”

“We already survived,” he snapped. “Because of her. You should be grateful, Elena. If we hadn’t offered the girl up last time, we’d have been ruined. Dead or begging in the streets.”

There it was again. That word. A knife they’d used so often it gleamed.

Grateful.

“You really think the Alpha will believe it twice?” Lena asked. “Once, sure. The little human from nowhere, so easily bought. But again? First, the shrine, now this—”

“He believed it once because he wanted to,” Victor said flatly. “Because it was easier to kill the little Luna from nowhere than question his own people and the evidence put in front of him. As long as he thinks she’s a liability, he’ll let her go. One way or another.”

My stomach twisted.

It wasn’t just the witch. It wasn’t just the curse.

They had all decided I was the easiest piece to take off the board.

“And if she runs?” Lena persisted. “She might. I told you. She changed. You saw her face when he refused her divorce. That’s not the same girl who thanked you for selling her.”

There was a pause.

I could almost see my father’s mouth flattening, his eyes narrowing.

“She won’t run,” he said. “She has nowhere to go. No money. No allies. No one wants a used Luna with a temper. She’ll come when we tell her to. She always does.”

My hand on the doorjamb went numb.

Somewhere under the fear, anger burned hotter.

“You’re still our daughter,” my mother said in a small, shaking voice. “Victor, she—”

The sound of a glass slamming down.

“She’s our solution,” he snapped. “And we should be grateful for that.”

I couldn’t listen anymore.

I backed away from the door one slow step at a time, heart hammering. When I was far enough that the light no longer touched my feet, I turned and walked.

Not ran.

Walked.

Back to my room, back into the dim, closed space that had been both sanctuary and prison, and shut the door carefully behind me.

Then I locked it.

Only then did I let myself slide down the smooth wood until I was sitting on the floor, knees to my chest, skirt pooling around me in a puddle of black.

For a moment, I let it happen.

My breath hitched. My throat hurt. My eyes burned.

Tears spilled over, hot and humiliating.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and let myself shake.

Old Aria would have lain on the bed and sobbed until her voice broke. She would have begged in her head for someone to save her—Lucian, the pack, the Goddess, anyone. She would have thought: If I’m just good enough, quiet enough, grateful enough, maybe they’ll change their minds.

It had never, ever worked.

I let the memories wash over me just long enough to remind myself why I couldn’t be that girl anymore.

My father’s hand across my cheek when I’d begged him not to make me leave school.

My mother’s tight smile as she told me “This is for the best.”

Lena was twirling in my new dress while I wore a threadbare one she didn’t want.

Lucian’s voice in the forest.

The snap of my ribs.

The earth drinking my blood.

*Never beg again.*

I sucked in a ragged breath. Then another. Then another.

Slowly, the shaking eased.

I dropped my hands, wiped my face on my knees, and looked at the dresser again—at the folded contract copy, the small wrapped knife.

They were still there.

So was I.

Crying didn’t mean surrender.

It meant I was still human.

I pushed myself up, my legs unsteady, and crossed the room. My reflection in the small mirror above the dresser looked like something halfway between a ghost and a stranger: eyes red, hair mussed, black dress wrinkled.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” I told the girl in the glass quietly. “You’re not allowed to be stupid.”

I smoothed my dress, dabbed at my cheeks with a cloth until the redness faded, and straightened my shoulders.

*Get proof. Stay alive. Sever every tie.*

A knock rattled the door.

I stiffened, breath catching.

“Aria?” My mother’s voice, soft and tentative. “Breakfast.”

Of course.

Time marched on, even when your world had died twice.

“I’m coming,” I said, and my voice was steady.

I unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway before she could open it herself. She flinched a little when she saw me, hand flying to her chest.

“You’re dressed already,” she said, as if that was surprising.

It probably was. In my last life, I’d dawdled and hesitated, always coming second, always apologizing.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I replied. “Thought I might as well be up.”

She looked at me, really looked, for a long second. Her mouth opened. Closed.

“You should…” She hesitated, then clutched her shawl tighter. “You should be grateful the Alpha still wants you at his table after… everything.”

The old, familiar ache tried to crawl up my throat.

I swallowed it down.

“Grateful,” I echoed. “Right.”

We walked to the dining room together.

***

The Blackmoon Pack’s guest dining room was smaller than the grand hall the Alpha used for big meetings, but it still felt too large for the four people spread along the table like a bad painting.

My father sat at the far end, back straight, knife and fork moving with precise, economical motions. Lena lounged to his left, perfect posture disguised as nonchalance. My mother took her usual chair to his right, small and pale and careful.

My place waited near them. Not at the head. Not anywhere near Lucian’s usual seat.

Just there. An accessory.

“Finally,” my father said when we entered. “Sit.”

He didn’t look up from his plate.

A servant moved to pour coffee into his cup. He didn’t thank them.

I took my seat silently. My mother slipped into hers beside me, hands trembling as she reached for the bread basket.

The table was already half‑cleared. They hadn’t waited long.

“Today,” Victor said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “you will attend the elder’s luncheon. You will sit where you are told, say little, smile, and remember that you represent the Alpha’s house.”

I buttered a slice of bread.

“And tomorrow night,” he continued casually, “you will accompany the Alpha to the shrine for the blessing. You will behave. You will not embarrass us again with your… outbursts.”

I sliced the bread in half with unnecessary care.

My mother glanced at me nervously. Lena smiled over the rim of her cup.

“You should be grateful,” Mother said softly, as if rehearsed. “Your husband is an Alpha. He could have chosen anyone.”

The words landed like a punch and a joke and a curse all at once.

I am grateful as he tore my throat out.

Grateful, as they watched.

Grateful, now, that he hadn’t thrown me out.

I set the bread down gently.

“Grateful,” I said. “For what? Being sold? Or being sentenced?”

Silence crashed over the table.

Victor’s fork halted mid‑air. Lena’s smile went stiff. My mother dropped her gaze to her lap.

“What did you say?” my father asked, voice dangerously soft.

I met his eyes.

“I’m trying to understand what, exactly, I’m meant to be grateful for,” I said calmly. “That you traded me to the Alpha like a sack of grain? That you insisted I go to shrines and rituals where ‘accidents’ just happen to follow? That was the last time everyone told me to be grateful, I ended up in the forest bleeding while you watched?”

My mother flinched like I’d struck her. “Aria, please.”

Lena’s lips thinned. “You’re being dramatic,” she said. “Nothing like that has happened. You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“For now,” I said.

Victor slammed his fist down on the table.

Plates rattled. The servant at the door flinched.

“Watch your mouth,” he snapped. “Without me, you’d be nothing. We fed you. Clothed you. Married you into power. You live in the Alpha’s house because of me. You sit at his table because I negotiated it. You should—”

“Be grateful,” I finished. “Yes. I’ve heard.”

His nostrils flared.

“You’re forgetting your place,” he said. “You are still my daughter. You may play at being Luna, but your position here can vanish with one word from me to the Alpha.”

Old Aria would have shrunk. Apologized. He begged him not to ruin what little she had.

I felt something else instead.

A strange, quiet thing, cold and steady.

He was threatening me with Lucian, as if Lucian were some unpredictable beast that only my father could appease.

But I’d seen Lucian’s eyes when my magic brushed his curse. I’d felt his panic at the idea of me leaving. I’d felt his hand shake.

My father had no idea how much the ground under his feet had shifted.

“I don’t doubt your ability to talk,” I said. “You always have been good at that. Promising things you can’t pay for. Signing your name to deals you can’t fulfill.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Careful,” he said again, that same warning note Lucian used. “You’re treading on thin ice, Aria.”

“Thin ice is your specialty,” I said. “Remember the Sanderson debt? The one you ‘handled’ by selling off Mother’s jewelry and borrowing from men who don’t forgive?”

He went very still.

Beside him, my mother’s hand jerked. Lena’s eyes flicked to his face, then to mine.

“How do you know about that?” he asked, voice low.

I lifted one shoulder. “I was there, remember? Cleaning tables at the café while Mr. Sanderson talked about how lucky you were to have such a pretty daughter. I was there when you counted his money. When you promised to pay him back with interest. I was there when you didn’t.”

He stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

Old Aria had never brought that up. Old Aria had pretended she didn’t understand what men meant when they looked at her like that.

New Aria had died once already. What else was there to fear?

“That has nothing to do with this,” he said.

“Doesn’t it?” I asked softly. “You’ve been paying debts with pieces of me since before the Alpha ever saw me. Why stop now?”

My mother made a soft, broken sound.

“Aria, please,” she whispered. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” I asked, without taking my gaze off my father. “Tell the truth? You’re so fond of saying we should be grateful, but you never tell anyone what, exactly, we’re paying for.”

Victor’s jaw clenched.

“You’re my daughter,” he said. “You will do as you’re told. You will attend the shrine. You will smile. You will keep your Alpha content. If you embarrass us again, if you defy me again, I swear to you, Aria—”

He cut himself off, breathing hard.

I tilted my head.

“You’ll do what?” I asked. “Sell me? Kill me? We’ve already been down that road.”

His face went purple.

“You ungrateful little—”

“Enough,” Lena said sharply, putting her hand on his arm. “You’re making a scene.”

He jerked away from her, eyes still locked on mine.

“If you ruin this family,” he said in a low, shaking voice, “if your temper and your…” He waved a hand as if trying to find a word big enough. “Your delusions cost us the Alpha’s favor. Don’t expect me to save you.”

“I never expected you to save me,” I said. “That’s the one lesson you taught me well.”

For a second, I thought he might hit me. His hand twitched.

Then he stood abruptly.

“Eat your breakfast,” he snapped. “And be ready when the Alpha sends for you.”

He stalked out, heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

Silence settled over the table like a suffocating cloth.

My mother stared down at her plate, shoulders shaking. Lena dabbed at her lips with her napkin, eyes cool.

“You shouldn’t provoke him like that,” my mother whispered.

I looked at her.

I wanted to ask if she’d ever thought of telling him the same.

Instead, I said, “You should be grateful I don’t provoke him worse,” and pushed my chair back.

Lena’s voice followed me as I walked toward the door.

“You’ve changed, sister,” she said, syrup‑sweet. “Gratitude doesn’t suit you anymore.”

I didn’t look back.

***