Chapter Four

Home is supposed to be where things stop hurting.

That’s what everyone says.

But the moment I push the door open, I already know I was wrong again.

“Finally,” my mother’s voice cuts through the room before I even step inside. “You took long enough.”

“I walked,” I say quietly, slipping off my shoes and placing them neatly by the door. I’ve learned that if I don’t, she’ll notice. She always notices.

“Of course you walked,” she replies sharply. “It’s not like you have anything else to do.”

From the couch, my older brother Andrew snorts. “Maybe she got lost. Wouldn’t be surprising.”

My younger sister Catherine giggles, swinging her legs as she sits beside him. “Or maybe she was crying again.”

“I wasn’t,” I whisper.

Andrew leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at me like I’m something unpleasant. “You always look like you’re about to.”

I lower my gaze to the floor. The tiles are easier to look at than their faces.

“Did you at least do something useful today?” my mother asks. “Or did you just embarrass us again?”

My chest tightens. “I… I went to class.”

Andrew laughs. “Wow. Bare minimum. Impressive.”

Catherine tilts her head. “Did anyone sit with you? Or are you still alone?”

I don’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, smiling faintly.

I try to move past them toward the hallway, but my mother’s voice stops me.

“Wait.”

I freeze.

She looks me over slowly, like she’s checking for something wrong. “You need to stop slouching. It makes you look even more… obvious.”

I know what she means. She doesn’t say the word, but she never has to.

Omega.

The word hangs in the air anyway.

“I’m not slouching,” I say softly.

Andrew stands up and walks over, grabbing my shoulder and pushing it back. “You are. Stand straight.”

His grip isn’t gentle. It never is.

“See?” he says, releasing me with a small shove. “It’s not hard.”

I stumble a half step but steady myself quickly. Catherine watches, amused.

“She’s so weak,” she says. “It’s embarrassing.”

My mother sighs. “I don’t know why you had to turn out this way.”

The words land quietly, but they hurt more than anything else.

“I didn’t—” I stop. There’s no point finishing that sentence. I’ve tried before. It never changes anything.

Andrew crosses his arms. “You know, if you just stayed out of the way more, it’d be easier for everyone.”

“I try,” I whisper.

“Not enough,” Catherine replies immediately.

My mother gestures toward the kitchen. “Go clean the table. And don’t break anything.” she wasted me to clean apart from the alpha and beta we rank second to none we are prominent and powerful amongst both werewolves and humans, we leave in a bloody damn mansion that smells and feels like old money, we are bloody fucking rich, we have over seventy maids, thirty cleaners, twenty drivers, twenty-five chefs and each have very good accommodation that's why they always refuse to leave,we pay them well too.... and yet my own mom wants me to clean. I look at Catherine who has never cleaned or touched a mop a day in her life. My mother gestures towards the kitchen again looking impatient.

I nod and move quickly, grateful for something to do, even if my hands are still trembling. The plates are stacked unevenly, crumbs scattered across the surface. I wipe them carefully, making sure I don’t miss a spot.

Behind me, they keep talking like I’m not there.

“She probably failed another test,” Andrew says.

“Obviously,” Catherine replies. “When does she ever do anything right?”

My mother’s voice is quieter. “Just… don’t let anyone know she’s related to us.”

The cloth in my hand stills.

For a second, everything goes quiet in my head. Like the world narrowed down to just those words.

I finish wiping the table anyway. Slow. Careful. Like nothing happened.

Because if I stop, they’ll notice.

And if they notice, it’ll get worse.

When I’m done, I rinse the cloth and hang it neatly. My hands are cold even though the water was warm.

“I’m going to my room,” I say softly.

No one answers.

I walk down the hallway, each step lighter than it should be, like I’m floating somewhere outside myself. My room is small, barely more than a bed and a desk, but I close the door gently behind me like it’s something fragile because it is. Even the servants have better rooms than me, even the servants treat me like their servants, they hate me because most of them have their wolves only few are omegas and the fact that an Omega like them is richer than them and was born into a prominent family annoys them. I fall on my bed and sigh as it creaks beneath me.

The silence inside is different.

Not kind. Just… empty.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They’re still shaking, just slightly.

I curl them into fists, pressing them into the fabric of my skirt until the trembling slows.

From the other side of the door, I can hear Catherine laughing at something Andrew said. My mother’s voice joins in, softer, warmer than the one she uses with me.

I listen for a moment.

Then I lie down, staring at the ceiling.

I don’t cry. I don’t move.

I just stay very still, like if I make myself small enough, quiet enough, maybe I won’t feel so out of place in my own home.

I try to stay in my room, but it never lasts.

“Hey! Omega!”

Andrew’s voice echoes down the hallway. My shoulders tense automatically. He only calls me that when he wants something—or when he’s already annoyed.

I open my door. “Yes?”

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Catherine stands beside him, watching me like she’s waiting for a show.

“Mom said you didn’t finish the dishes,” he says.

“I cleaned the table,” I reply quietly. “There weren’t any dishes—”

Andrew pushes off the wall and steps closer. “Are you arguing again?”

“No.”

“Then go check.”

I nod and move past them into the kitchen. The sink is empty, just like before. I turn back. “There’s nothing—”

A cup clatters into the sink behind me. Catherine drops it in with a small smile. “Now there is.”

They both watch me.

I swallow and turn back to the sink, washing the cup slowly. The water runs too hot, stinging my fingers, but I don’t adjust it. I just scrub carefully, making sure it’s spotless.

Andrew leans against the counter. “You know, if you actually helped more, Mom wouldn’t be so stressed.”

“I try to help,” I say.

“Try harder,” he replies immediately.

Catherine tilts her head. “Why do you always sound like you’re apologising?”

I don’t answer. I dry the cup and place it back neatly.

“Done,” I whisper.

Andrew glances at it, then flicks it lightly with his finger. It wobbles but doesn’t fall. “Careful. If you break something, you’re paying for it.”

“I don’t have money.”

“Exactly,” he says with a faint smirk.

They leave first, like they’re bored again. I follow a few seconds later, hoping to slip back into my room without being noticed.

It doesn’t work.

My mother looks up from the couch. “Come here.”

I stop in front of her, hands clasped together.

She studies me for a long moment. “Your sister has a presentation tomorrow. You’re going to help her practise.”

Catherine perks up immediately. “Oh, yeah. I need someone to test it on.”

“I don’t think I’d be helpful,” I say softly.

Andrew laughs. “You’re perfect for it. If you understand, anyone will.”

Catherine smiles, stepping in front of me. “Sit.”

I sit.

She starts reading from her notes, confident and loud. I listen carefully, nodding when she pauses.

“Well?” she asks.

“It’s good,” I say.

“That’s it?” Andrew says. “That’s your feedback?”

“I… I don’t know what else to say.”

Catherine sighs dramatically. “You’re useless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she snaps. “It’s annoying.”

I lower my gaze. “Okay.”

Andrew nudges my shoulder with two fingers, not hard, just enough to make me shift. “At least pretend to pay attention.”

“I am.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Catherine closes her notebook. “Whatever. I’ll just practise in front of Mom instead.”

She walks away, brushing past me. Andrew follows, shaking his head.

“Don’t just sit there,” my mother says. “Go fold the laundry.”

I stand immediately. “Yes.”

The laundry basket is heavier than I expect. I carry it to the table and start folding each piece carefully—Andrew’s shirts, Catherine’s clothes, my mother’s blouses. Mine are at the bottom, wrinkled and small.

Catherine returns and watches me for a moment. “Don’t mix mine with hers,” she says, pointing at my pile.

“I won’t.”

“She always does,” Andrew mutters.

“I don’t,” I whisper.

“Just hurry up,” my mother says, not looking at me.

I fold faster, my hands moving automatically. One sleeve, then the other. Smooth the fabric. Stack neatly.

Halfway through, Catherine picks up one of my shirts between two fingers. “Why do you even have this? It’s so plain.”

“It’s just for school,” I say.

She drops it back into my pile. “It looks like something you’d wear.”

Andrew chuckles. “That’s because it is.”

They laugh together. My mother doesn’t stop them.

I finish folding and carry their piles to their rooms first. When I pass Andrew, he glances at the stack in my arms.

“Don’t wrinkle them,” he says.

“I won’t.”

By the time I return to the living room, only my small pile remains. I pick it up carefully.

“Wait,” my mother says.

I freeze again.

“You forgot to thank your sister for letting you help,” she says.

I blink. “Thank you,” I say quietly, looking at Catherine.

She shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Say it properly,” Andrew adds.

“Thank you for letting me help,” I repeat.

“See?” he says to Catherine. “It can learn.”

They laugh again.

I take my clothes and walk back to my room. This time, no one stops me.

Inside, I place the folded stack on my desk. My hands are shaking again, small tremors I can’t fully stop.

From the hallway, I hear them talking—Andrew teasing Catherine, my mother responding softly. Their voices sound relaxed, easy.

I sit on the edge of my bed, listening.

For a moment, I wonder what it would feel like if they spoke to me that way.

Then I lie down and face the wall instead, pulling the quiet around me like something thin and fragile, hoping it’s enough to get me through another night..