Chapter 5: Anger!

ALEXANDER

I could feel Jezebel’s intense gaze burning into me. My hands shook, and sweat slid down my skin as her voice tore through the air.

“You’ll suffer,” she screamed. “I will make you suffer. Every day of your life will be hell.”

I kept my eyes pinned to my toes.

My shoes were ruined—holes gaped in the leather, especially where my toes pressed through. When my stepmother first gave them to me, I’d been overjoyed. Then she’d leaned close and crushed that happiness with a single sentence.

“This pair of shoes stays on your feet,” she’d said. “Don’t remove them—not to bathe, not to sleep. Taking them off means you’re disobeying me, and you know what happens when you disobey.”

I had outgrown them years ago. To make them last, I’d been forced to poke new holes, stretch the leather, cut and refit pieces wherever I could—anything to keep wearing them.

When Jezebel’s voice faded and her footsteps disappeared up the staircase, I finally moved.

I ran to my room, trembling so hard my teeth clicked. The next morning, even when I heard that breakfast was ready, I didn’t leave. I stayed locked inside, too terrified to face her again. Fear twisted in my stomach—fear that if I showed myself, Jezebel would order her personal guards to slaughter me.

I crouched in the corner, arms wrapped tight around myself, shaking.

Then my door creaked open.

I flinched so hard I hit the wall, bracing for pain.

But the figure in the doorway made my breath catch.

My eyes widened. I blinked again and again, certain I had to be dreaming—except I wasn’t.

It was my father.

The same father who hadn’t spoken to me in years. The same father who had never bothered to step into my room, who had never cared what I looked like, what I wore, what I endured.

I stood frozen, still trying to understand what I was seeing when he spoke, his tone sharp with irritation.

“Why aren’t you greeting your father?”

My throat tightened. The word felt foreign, as if it didn’t belong to me anymore. Still, it slipped out in a shaky, broken voice.

“F-Father…”

Hearing it sounded strange, like someone else speaking through my mouth. I caught the dissatisfaction flicker across his face, and panic surged—waiting for the familiar cruelty.

But he didn’t comment. Instead, he scanned the room, taking in the walls, the cramped space, the emptiness. His brows drew together in a frown.

“The future Luna of this pack,” he said, “and the wife of an Alpha shouldn’t be living in a room like this. I’ll have it renovated. I’ll make sure it’s worthy of your status as Luna.”

I could only stare, wide-eyed, wondering if he’d been possessed by some benevolent spirit, or if I’d finally snapped and started imagining kindness where none existed.

The annoyance still sat on his face, grounding me in reality—he was still my father.

Before I could force out a single question, he turned and left, the door closing behind him as quickly as it had opened.

I stood there for a long moment, the silence roaring in my ears.

Then, barely above a whisper, I muttered to myself,

“Did my father really say that?”

It was unbelievable. I knew my father too well, the moment he realized I wasn’t the son he wanted, something in him curdled into hatred—first for my mother, then for me. He didn’t even bother to name me. My mother did. She called me Alexander.

At night, she would soak her pillow with tears. I could always hear her whispering into the dark, “I wish you were a man,” again and again—until the night she finally took her own life.

Even now, I still wonder if I’d been born male, would my father have cast off his mistress, Jezebel, and never married her?

My door flew open, snapping my thoughts in half. I jolted upright, eyes widening.

My room was crowded—more than twenty people moving with brisk, practiced efficiency. New curtains. Fresh bedding. Wall mirrors. Furniture being shifted, surfaces polished, fabrics smoothed into place. They weren’t here to clean. They were here to transform.

I was so stunned I stepped out into the corridor, just to breathe, and watched the renovation happen like a silent storm. When it was finished, they filed out one after another without a single word to me.

When I stepped back inside, it felt like I’d walked into another world.

I’d seen Tracy’s room before. I used to lie awake and imagine what it would feel like to live in a space that beautiful. Now mine could rival hers. My chest fluttered with a bright, unfamiliar excitement. A soft bed—one I didn’t have to fight bedbugs for—finally, impossibly, was mine.

I climbed onto it and rolled across the sheets, giggling like I’d forgotten how to be careful.

Half the day disappeared while I admired everything—the crisp curtains, the clean scent, the gleam of the mirrors. Even when my eyes burned with exhaustion, I forced them open, terrified that the moment I fell asleep I’d wake up and find it had all been a dream.

A knock at the door shattered the spell.

I stared at it, confused. No one ever knocked. My door was usually kicked open in this house, or people barged in like I wasn’t even there.

Then a voice came from the other side—calm, respectful.

“Mistress Alexander… may I come in?”

I blinked, stunned into silence. That tone—no one had spoken to me like that in years. The last time I’d been addressed with respect, I’d been four.

The door creaked open, and Anita—my personal maid—stepped inside. She bowed her head in greeting.

I blinked. The mansion’s servants were the ones who usually forced me to bow. So why was Anita, the sauciest of them all, bowing without being asked? The shock held me still.

“Your father, Mistress Alexander, invites you to join the family for dinner in the dining hall,” Anita said softly, her tone carefully respectful.

I blinked again. Had my father really made this happen? Had he changed? I shook my head. I knew him too well. If he was doing this, it was because I would soon become the pack’s future. A bitter tangle of emotion twisted in my chest—should I feel happy, or sick, knowing I was just his favorite pawn in a game for power?

The walk from my room to the dining hall was only ten minutes, yet it felt like a journey.

When I stepped inside, the air in the room seemed to drop. I didn’t even remember sitting down. Then my stepmother’s gaze landed on me, and sweat prickled along my skin.

A plate crashed.

My body went rigid, my heart leaping into my throat as her growl cut through the silence.

“What is the meaning of this?”