THE GIRL WHO DIDN'T BOW

The diner smelled like burnt coffee, old grease, and too many secrets. It was a Thursday evening, the kind where time crawled. The neon sign outside buzzed like a restless insect, flickering EAT. EAT. EAT., as if mocking everyone who dared to enter.

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling as I wiped down the counter for the third time.

Calm down, Ella. It’s just a job. Just another night.

But my heart hadn’t learned that yet—it still jumped at every slammed door, every male voice raised from across the room. The laughter of strangers still sounded too much like mockery from my past pack days. I’d thought running away would silence those echoes. I was wrong.

A sharp bell jingled by the door.

I looked up.

A group of girls walked in—five of them—dressed in designer dresses that didn’t belong in a roadside diner. Diamonds glimmered on manicured fingers. Their perfume clung to the air, thick and expensive, making the room feel smaller. Their laughter was high-pitched, brittle, and already dangerous.

Rich brats. The kind of trouble that came wrapped in luxury.

They took the booth by the window, the one most visible from every angle. Of course they did.

I checked the schedule—no other waiter was free. Great. Just me.

It’s okay, Ella. You can do this.

I smoothed the front of my apron, forcing my shaking legs forward.

“Good evening, ladies,” I said, voice as polite as I could manage. “What will you be ordering tonight?”

The blonde at the center—obviously their queen—looked me over, her gaze slow and deliberate. Then, she smiled. A smile with no warmth.

“Well, isn’t this cute?” she purred, tucking a strand of perfect golden hair behind her ear. “They really let anyone serve here now.”

Laughter exploded across the table, bright and cruel. I froze, my notepad digging into my palm. Their voices echoed the taunts I’d heard for years. Wolf-less, weak, unwanted.

I forced myself to breathe.

“Would you like to order something?” I asked, my tone even but tight.

The brunette beside her leaned in, her perfume sharp enough to sting. “Do you even know the menu? Or should we explain it to you… slowly, sweetheart?”

More laughter. My face burned.

For a second, I almost shrank—like I always used to. But then, from somewhere deep within me, Kate’s voice rose. Calm. Commanding.

Don’t let them get to you. Stand tall.

I straightened, lifting my chin. “I know the menu,” I said quietly. “And I know the kitchen’s busy. So unless you’d like to wait all night, I suggest you place your order now.”

The laughter faltered.

Just a flicker—but I saw it. A small crack in their perfect little performance.

The blonde’s smirk sharpened, her pride stung. “Four steak dinners. Medium rare. And make sure it’s perfect.”

I scribbled it down. “Anything to drink?”

Her eyes gleamed. “Surprise us. Let’s see if you’re good for something.”

I nodded once and turned to go, spine straight despite the tremor in my fingers.

As I walked away, I heard one of them whisper—loud enough on purpose—“She won’t last a week.”

Their laughter followed me like smoke.

But I didn’t look back.

Maybe I wouldn’t last. Maybe I’d burn out like I always did.

But not tonight. Tonight, I was staying upright.

At the counter, Mr. Dallas barely looked up when I dropped the order slip.

“Table seven?” he asked, his deep voice like gravel and whiskey.

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced toward the girls’ booth, jaw tightening. “Rich kids. They like to play games.” He handed the slip to the cook. “Don’t let them rattle you.”

I swallowed. “Got it.”

But inside, my stomach twisted. Every sound in the kitchen was too loud—the clang of pans, the hiss of the fryer, the shouted orders. Still, I forced my body to move on instinct.

Grab tray. Balance plates. Don’t spill. Breathe.

When their order was ready, I took a deep breath and whispered under my breath,

“Steady hands. Steady heart.”

Walking toward their table felt like stepping into a battlefield.

Their laughter hushed as I approached.

“Here you go,” I said softly, setting down each plate, my movements careful, deliberate. I wouldn’t give them another reason to sneer.

One plate. Two. Three.

The fourth—almost done—when it happened.

The auburn-haired one bumped her elbow—accidentally, on purpose.

The glass toppled.

The drink spilled across the blonde’s pristine white dress like blood across snow.

She gasped, jerking to her feet. “You idiot!”

The diner fell silent. Every conversation stopped. All eyes turned to me.

My throat went dry. “I—I didn’t—”

She cut me off, her words sharp enough to slice through bone.

“You can’t even carry a tray without ruining someone’s night? What are you even doing here?”

The other girls cackled, feeding off her fury. My chest squeezed, my vision blurring at the edges.

The old instinct clawed up again—apologize, make it stop, take the blame.

But then Kate’s voice surged inside me like lightning.

Don’t bow, Ella. Not this time.

I straightened, the tray still trembling in my grip. “If you wanted drama,” I said, my tone firm but calm, “you could’ve gone to the theatre. It’s not my job to babysit toddlers.”

Gasps swept through the diner.

The blonde’s eyes went wide, her painted lips parting in disbelief. No one ever talked back to her—that much was obvious.

For a heartbeat, I thought she’d lunge at me. But before she could, a shadow fell over the table.

Mr. Dallas.

The noise in the diner died instantly.

He didn’t have to raise his voice. His presence alone was enough to silence the entire room.

“What’s the problem here?” he asked, tone quiet but carrying the weight of command.

The blonde blinked rapidly, her expression switching into fake innocence. “Your waitress spilled all over me. Completely unprofessional—”

“I didn’t spill,” I said before I could stop myself. My voice was sharper than I’d intended. “She bumped the table.”

A collective inhale ran through the crowd. I’d interrupted Mr. Dallas—a rookie mistake for anyone who wanted to keep their job.

His dark eyes turned to me, steady and unreadable. “Is that true?”

The fear roared again, urging me to apologize, to shrink back into safety.

But I thought of Kate, of the way her voice had sounded when she said, Don’t bow.

I met his gaze. “Yes, sir. It’s true.”

The blonde scoffed. “You’re really going to take her word over mine?”

Mr. Dallas didn’t move. He studied the stain on her dress, then me. A faint muscle in his jaw twitched—something between irritation and amusement.

“Then here’s what we’ll do,” he said finally. “You clean up the spill, Ella. And you—” his eyes locked onto the blonde—“sit down and eat your steak before it gets cold. No more games in my diner.”

The entire place went dead silent.

Then, soft murmurs rippled through the crowd. The blonde’s friends stared, wide-eyed. No one had ever dared talk to her like that—not even her own parents, probably.

Her lips parted, then closed again. She sat down stiffly.

And me? My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear the rest of the world.

But for the first time, I didn’t feel small.

As I knelt to clean the spill, my cheeks still hot, I could feel eyes on me—not mocking this time, but curious. Maybe even impressed.

When I finished, I glanced up, expecting Mr. Dallas to be gone. But he was still there, watching.

His gaze was… strange. Not soft, not cruel. Just steady. Like he saw more than I was saying.

“You handled yourself,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder: “Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.”

I rose, the rag damp in my hands, but my spine straighter than before.

As I walked back to the counter, I caught my reflection in the diner window—tired eyes, messy ponytail, grease-stained apron.

But something had changed. My gaze didn’t dart away anymore.

I’d faced cruelty before. I’d survived worse.

This time, I’d stood my ground.

~•~•~•~•

When the rush finally died down, I sat on the back steps, breathing in the night air. The moon hung low, spilling silver light over the parking lot. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Kate stirred faintly inside me, her tone proud. You didn’t bow, Ella.

A shaky laugh escaped me. “Yeah. I didn’t.”

For a moment, I closed my eyes, feeling the ache in my arms, the faint tremor still in my chest. Then… that strange feeling again—like being watched.

The hairs on my neck stood up. I scanned the shadows near the tree line.

Nothing.

Still, I could feel it. That pull. That familiar, dangerous awareness.

Jake.

How I knew his name? That I don't know but I felt that suited him well.

If he was there, hidden in the darkness, he didn’t step forward. But my heart recognized the energy, the way the air seemed to thicken around it.

He’d seen everything. Every word. Every trembling breath.

And though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was fighting something too—whatever storm brewed in his chest every time I refused to break.

The silence stretched long, heavy, electric.

I looked back at the diner, the neon glow spilling faint red across the pavement.

Maybe I wasn’t the same Ella anymore. Maybe that’s what scared him most.

I stood up, wiped my hands on my apron, and whispered to the night, “I’m not your weak girl anymore.”

The breeze shifted, carrying the faintest growl through the trees—low, guttural, restrained.

Jake.

I smiled softly, lifting my chin toward the moon. “Then watch me rise.”