Plus-Sized Assassin

(Aya’s POV)

The scent of popping bacon filled the pack house kitchen, mixing with the natural aroma of brewed coffee and fresh bread. The dining hall buzzed with chatter as pack members gathered for breakfast, but I remained in the kitchen, my hands deep in a sink full of soapy water. The dishes from last night’s feast still needed scrubbing, and I knew better than to leave even a single plate not touched.

"Aya, hurry up with those dishes!" Jolene's sharp voice cut through the air, startling me instantly, making my hands move faster as I scrubbed the last of the greasy pots. "I need you to press my dress for the Alpha's meeting," she added, her tone mixed with impatience.

I felt a familiar sense of resentment in my stomach, but I pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand. I rinsed the final pot and arranged it neatly on the drying rack, my movements quick and productive. "Yes, ma'am," I replied, my voice neutral as I dried my hands on the worn towel hanging from the hook.

Jolene's eyes narrowed, her gaze pinning Aya in place. "And don't think about skipping on the details, Aya. The Alpha's meeting is a big deal, and I need to look perfect." Her voice was mixed with noticeable threat, one that I knew all too well.

I kept my head down, scrubbing the plate in my hands with a vigor that bordered on desperation. The warm water and gentle soap were a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves, but I knew better than to let my guard down around Jolene.

“I won’t, Jolene,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. I hoped to avoid her wrath, to lay low and escape her notice. But Jolene was not one to be easily ignored.

She snapped her fingers, the sound sounding like a crack in the tense air. “I am Jolene, your superior,” she spat, her voice dipped with venom. “Don’t forget your place, omega.” The word hung in the air, smashing into me harshly, a reminder of my lowly status in the pack. Even if it wasn't my choice, it had been my father that had cruelly placed me in this lowly position. I never wished for the life of an omega. My father had been the one to enforce it.

I felt a familiar sense of shame and resentment, but I pushed it down, burying it beneath my mask of pretence. I knew better than to cross Jolene, not when she was in a mood like this. So I kept my head down, my eyes fixed on the plate in my hands, and muttered a submissive, “Yes, ma’am.”

My stomach twisted at the reminder, a familiar ache that had become very common these recent years. Jolene wasn’t even the Alpha’s real daughter—I was. But ever since my father, Adam Johnson, took a new Luna after my mother’s death, I had been pushed to the bottom of the hierarchy, treated worse than a stray dog. It was as if my mother's passing had erased my own identity, leaving me to be like a mere shadow of my former self.

My title as the Alpha’s daughter meant nothing now. It was a lowly label, making me recall all the privileges and respect I once commanded, but was now denied. I had been stripped of my rightful place, forced to watch as Jolene, the daughter of my father's new Luna, took my place as the Alpha's favored child.

The injustice of everything burned deep inside me. But I had learned to keep it hidden, to mask my true feelings behind a bright smile and a submissive behavior. It was the only way to survive in a pack where my own father seemed determined to erase me.

I finished the dishes as quickly as possible and hurried back to the laundry room to press Jolene’s dress. The fabric was soft beneath my fingers, an expensive silk that only the highest-ranked pack members could afford. My own clothes, on the other hand, were faded, secondhand pieces thrown my way after others had outgrown them.

Just as I was about to finish, a sharp slap hit the back of my head, making me flinch in shock. "Ow!" I gasped, my hand immediately rising to rub the tender spot. I turned around, my eyes wide with a mix of pain and fear.

Jolene stood behind me, her arms crossed over her chest, a smirk curling her lips. Her eyes gleamed with a malicious gaze that scared me, and I could sense the satisfaction she derived from slapping me and causing me pain

"You're so slow," she ridiculed me, her voice dipped with contempt. "Do you want to embarrass me today?" Her tone assumed that my incompetence was a personal revenge on her, and that I was somehow deliberately trying to shame her.

I felt a sense of resentment at her words, but I knew better than to speak up. Instead, I bit back my anger and hung my head in shame, muttering a small, "No, Jolene. I'm sorry." The apology tasted bitter on my lips, but I knew it was necessary to appease her.

"You are what?" She mused.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. “I—I was just finishing up—”

She snatched the dress from my hands, her fingers closing around it. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the garment, her gaze scanning every inch of the fabric with an intensity that made me nervous. I could feel her displeasure coming out of her like a noticeable force, making my skin prickle with anxiety.

"Tch," she spat, her lips curling in disgust. "You're useless, Aya. No wonder nobody wants you." Her words were like a slap, stinging my skin and leaving a pain that I couldn't shake.

I felt a familiar ache in my chest. Her words cut deeper than I'd ever admit, slicing into my defenses and exposing the raw, vulnerable flesh beneath. I wanted to scream, to rage against the how badly I got treated, to remind her that this was my home too, that my father was the Alpha, that I had once been loved and cherished.

But I knew better than to argue. I knew that Jolene was someone never to be tampered with, that she would stop at nothing to infuse her dominance and maintain her grip on power. So I bit back my anger, swallowing the bitter taste of resentment that rose in my throat. I stood silent, my eyes cast downward, my shoulders slumped in defeat. It was a familiar pose, one that I had learn perfect over the years, and it was the only way I knew to survive in a world that seemed determined to crush me.

Before I could retreat, a new voice joined in. “Jolene, is she still not done?”

My stepmother, Luna Vivian, entered the laundry room, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. She was as elegant as ever, her long black hair perfectly curled, her makeup flawless. But behind her beauty lurked something cold, something cruel. Something evil, just like her daughter. You know, how they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. 

“She’s as slow as always,” Jolene sighed dramatically.

Vivian’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Maybe she needs another reminder of who’s in charge.”

My breath hitched as Jolene’s fingers curled around my wrist, pulling me forward. “Mother’s right. Maybe some discipline will fix that attitude of yours.”

Before I could react, Jolene’s perfectly manicured nails raked down my arm, her claws digging into my skin just enough to leave a thin, burning scratch. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Showing weakness would only make them worse.

“There,” she said sweetly. “A little mark to remind you of your place.”

Vivian chuckled. “Good girl, Jolene. Now, come along. We shouldn’t waste time on her.”

As they walked away, laughter left behind them, I pressed a hand to my arm, feeling the slight sting of the scratch. This was my reality—always at the mercy of my stepmother and stepsister.

And the worst part? My father, Alpha Adam Johnson, knew.

And he did nothing.

I exhaled shakily and turned back to my work. I had no choice but to endure. For now.