Chapter 4

Ever since I could remember, my parents were rarely home.

They dedicated almost their entire lives to herbal research.

They would often leave for a year or more at a time.

Besides the hired Omega servants, the only ones who took care of me were my twin sisters, eight years older than me.

When I was six and just starting elementary school, I was bullied by classmates because I was smaller and weaker than them.

My parents were thousands of miles away, so I came home and cried under my blankets.

Fourteen-year-old Riley came into my bedroom late at night to check if I had kicked off my covers.

When she pulled back the blanket, she saw my tear-stained face.

She held me and wiped away my tears just like Mom used to do.

While patting my back, she comforted me.

"It's okay. Your sister will protect Caleb."

The next day, she went to my school and beat up all the bullies. The teachers caught her and punished her by making her serve as a combat training partner for the elite Alpha wolves.

When I couldn't find her after school, I ran to her campus. In the training arena, those Alpha wolves were beating her until her face was covered in blood.

My eyes turned red with worry.

She ran down from the platform, her face covered in wounds, and grinned to reassure me. "This is nothing. Your sister loves combat training. When I finish, I'll be stronger and better able to protect my little brother."

We walked home together after her training.

When we arrived, the Omega servant was on leave.

Alexa had already prepared hot, delicious food. When we opened the door, the wonderful aroma filled the house.

The teenage girl grabbed bowls and chopsticks from the kitchen, poking her head out. "Wash your hands. Dinner's ready."

Alexa had always been firm but gentle and attentive.

Whenever I played too roughly and got seriously hurt, trying to sneak back home without telling anyone, she would silently roll up my sleeve and treat my wounds.

When she finished, she'd look up as if wanting to say something.

Seeing me nervously biting my lip, she'd just sigh softly.

She'd pat my head and say. "Be more careful next time."

I was mischievous and active as a child, never learning to be careful.

So she would bandage my wounds again and again.

And each time, seeing my panicked expression, she would sigh and tell me. "Be more careful next time."

For many years while our parents were absent, they were both sisters and parents to me as I grew up.

Until I turned fourteen and saw the Caribbean on television.

Riley promised to take me to see the ocean, and Alexa booked tickets for the three of us.

Then the very next day, our parents suddenly died.

Before the tragedy, my parents were developing herbs to enhance werewolves' self-healing abilities, on the verge of success and planning to sell them at low prices to werewolves worldwide.

When word leaked out, they became targets of hatred from other pharmaceutical companies.

The arsonist set fire to the research lab in the early morning.

When Alexa, Riley, and I got the news and rushed over, we found only two charred bodies.

As they burned to death, a brave warrior had rushed into the inferno trying to save them, but was also burned alive.

That warrior left behind an orphan — his child was eleven years old when he died, and the child's mother had already passed away.

Alexa and Riley spent four exhausting years searching until they finally found that child in an orphanage.

Life has its strange coincidences.

Six months after fifteen-year-old Wesley was brought to the Pack house, I went for dinner with classmates and ran into the orphanage director, who tearfully confessed after too much alcohol.

I learned that the real Wesley had died of pneumonia in the orphanage when he was only eight.

The "Wesley" who came to us was another orphan with a chronic respiratory condition who couldn't afford treatment.

The director felt sorry for him and let him take the place of the deceased Wesley so my sisters would pay for his medical care.

I rushed home only to find Wesley going through my desk drawer again.

He was holding my last remaining family photo with all of us together. As I came through the door, he turned and smiled at me — that careful, pleasant smile — and let the frame slip from his fingers.

It hit the floor and the glass shattered.

He immediately knelt and reached for the broken glass with his bare hand, palm down, pressing into a shard hard enough to draw blood.

Then he held up the cut palm with that same pleasant face, waiting for Riley to come running.

Just like countless times before.

I yanked him away by the wrist, losing control, and shouted. "Get out!"

For the first time, Riley's face darkened toward me.

Even the usually firm but reasonable Alexa looked disappointed.

"Caleb, your arrogance and selfishness need to stop."

I told them everything I'd heard at the dinner.

Then I saw Wesley's panicked expression.

I thought at least his medical care had been covered.

An impostor shouldn't continue occupying my home and my sisters, shouldn't keep cutting his own hand on shards of glass from photos of my dead mother to bait my sisters into hating me.

But what answered me was Riley's angry voice.

"Caleb, why can't you accept Wesley? His father burned to death trying to save our parents — he's his only flesh and blood, his only concern. Doesn't your conscience hurt when you make up these lies?"

After that, things were never peaceful between us again.

A month ago, Wesley used his old tricks and broke my necklace that contained my mother's ashes.

I chased him to the stairs, lost control, and slapped his face.

He deliberately fell down the stairs. When I tried to grab him, I fell with him.

My arm was injured, and I struggled to get up.

Before I could say a word, Alexa slapped me across the face for the first time.

The usually firm and steady Alexa raised her voice in anger.

"Caleb, if you can't live with us, then get out!"

I didn't raise my hand back. I could have. I'd been sparring with Alexa since I was old enough to stand, and I knew exactly where her balance broke. I could have caught her wrist on the next swing. I could have pushed her back.

I didn't.

She was my sister. Even with my face stinging and Wesley smirking on the floor at the foot of the stairs, she was still my sister.

That was the part I couldn't make her understand. The part I would never be able to make her understand.

I loved them.

I just didn't matter to them anymore.

They took Wesley to the hospital, leaving me behind despite my injuries.

The Caribbean trip they had promised to take me on — four years later, they were taking Wesley instead.