4 - REJECTED AS THE DAUGHTER

The sun barely crested the horizon when Penelope woke up in the cold guest room.

Her fractured ribs throbbed the moment she sat up. She ignored the pain and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.

She had a reason to get out of bed today.

For fifteen years, she was the only person who managed Madeline’s morning medication. She knew the exact ratio of crushed willow bark for the Luna's joint pain. She knew how many drops of tincture to put in her chamomile tea.

Penelope dressed quickly in the plain gray clothes she found folded on a chair.

She walked down the quiet hallway toward the east wing kitchen. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the floor. Her mind ran through the familiar checklist of Madeline's diet.

The routine felt like a lifeline. It was the last thread connecting her to the family she used to know.

She passed the grand foyer. The estate was a disaster after the Lycan King's arrival banquet last night. Empty wine glasses littered the side tables, and crushed rose petals stained the expensive rugs.

Penelope pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

She stopped just inside the room.

The pack doctor stood by the island counter with a clipboard in his hand. A young nurse stood next to him, organizing a row of small amber bottles.

Stella was standing right in the middle of them.

Stella wore a pristine white robe and held a silver tray. A steaming cup of tea and a small porcelain bowl of pills sat perfectly arranged on top.

"You are doing a wonderful job, Stella," the doctor said, smiling warmly. "The Luna's blood pressure is much better this week. Your dedication is making a difference."

Stella beamed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Doctor. I just want to make sure my mother is comfortable."

Penelope stepped forward. Her hand reached out toward the medical chart resting on the counter. It was pure instinct.

The young nurse looked up and frowned at her plain gray clothes. "Can I help you? The kitchen is closed for cleaning."

Stella turned around. Her smile didn't waver when she saw Penelope standing there.

"Oh, Penelope," Stella said softly. "You're up early."

Penelope dropped her hand back to her side. "I came to prepare the Luna's tea."

Stella let out a light, breathy laugh and picked up the silver tray.

"That's sweet of you, but you don't need to worry about that anymore," Stella said. She walked past Penelope and paused just near the door. "I handle all of Mother's care now. The doctor prefers someone who is always around."

The doctor nodded in agreement. He clearly had no idea who Penelope even was.

Penelope stood in the middle of the kitchen.

The old version of her would have argued. She would have pointed out that Stella didn't know how to properly measure the willow bark. She would have fought to take the tray upstairs.

Penelope just looked at the empty space on the counter.

The one role that gave her a reason to stay in this house had been handed to someone else. There was no argument left in her.

She turned around and walked out of the kitchen without saying a word.

She wandered back into the main hallway, keeping near the walls so she wouldn't bump into anyone.

The estate was waking up, and the staff was panicking. Servants rushed past her with armfuls of dirty linens and stacks of plates from the banquet.

A stressed woman in a black uniform hurried around the corner. She carried a heavy metal bucket and a wooden scrub brush. When she saw Penelope standing by the wall in her shabby clothes, she stopped.

"Are you the new temp?" the woman asked, breathless.

Penelope looked at her.

"Never mind, we don't have time," the woman said. She shoved the bucket and brush into Penelope's hands. "Take this to the east wing gallery. Scrub the marble until it shines. The royal guard will be walking through there after breakfast, so hurry up."

The woman didn't wait for an answer before she rushed off down the hall.

Penelope looked down at the rough bristles of the brush. She didn't correct the woman. She didn't tell her she used to live in the bedroom just upstairs.

She walked to the east wing gallery. She filled the bucket from a utility closet and dropped to her knees on the cold floor.

She dipped the brush into the soapy water and started scrubbing.

The repetitive motion sent dull aches through her healing ribs, but the physical labor felt peaceful. It was quiet here. Nobody was looking at her with pity or anger. She just watched the soap suds swirl over the white stone.

"Penelope? What are you doing?"

Penelope paused and looked over her shoulder.

Miriam, the head housekeeper, stood in the archway. Her eyes were wide with shock. Evelyn, Miriam's twenty-year-old granddaughter, stood right behind her.

Miriam hurried across the wet floor. Her hands reached out to grab Penelope's shoulders.

"My sweet girl," Miriam whispered, her voice cracking. "What are you doing on the floor? Get up."

Evelyn dropped the towels she was carrying and knelt next to Penelope. She reached for the wooden brush. "Give me that. I'll do it. You shouldn't be working."

Penelope held onto the handle. She looked at Evelyn and offered a small, tired smile.

"It's fine, Evie," Penelope said softly. "I don't mind."

"You are the Alpha's daughter," Miriam argued. She pulled a rag from her apron to wipe the soap off Penelope's hands. "Alpha Orion would throw a fit if he saw you doing a servant's job."

"He wouldn't care," Penelope replied.

She pulled her hand away gently and dipped the brush back into the water.

"Please let me do this," Penelope asked, keeping her voice low. "It's quiet. No one bothers me when I'm working."

Miriam stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She understood exactly what Penelope meant. The house was no longer safe for her.

Evelyn sighed and grabbed a spare rag from her pocket. She settled onto her knees beside Penelope and started wiping down the baseboards.

"If you're scrubbing, then I'm scrubbing," Evelyn muttered.

For the next hour, they worked in a comfortable silence. The rhythmic sound of the brushes against the stone was the most normal Penelope had felt since the prison doors opened.

She moved down the hallway, keeping her head lowered as she focused on a dark scuff mark near the wall.

A pair of heavy combat boots suddenly stepped directly onto the wet marble she had just cleaned.

Penelope stopped scrubbing.

She looked up past the dark pants and the thick leather belt, straight into the furious eyes of Augustus Lombardi.

Augustus was one of the pack's elite warriors. He wore a fitted black shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders, and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He glared down at her with pure disgust.

He had always hated her. From the moment Stella accused her of the crime, Augustus was the one who pushed for the maximum sentence.

Penelope didn't speak. She just sat back on her heels and waited.

Augustus let out a harsh laugh that echoed down the empty gallery.

"This is unbelievable," Augustus sneered. He kicked her bucket slightly with his boot.

Water sloshed over the edge and soaked into the knees of her pants.

"You really have no shame, do you?" he asked.

Penelope looked down at the spilled water. "I am just cleaning the floor."

"Cut the act," Augustus snapped. He leaned down, his face twisting with anger. "Do you think we are stupid? You dressed up like a peasant and got on your knees right where the guests would see you."

Evelyn jumped up to defend her, but Penelope held out a hand to stop her.

Augustus scoffed, pointing a finger at Penelope's face.

"You're deliberately doing servant work just to make Stella and Orion look pitiful to the Lycan King," Augustus accused, his voice rising in volume. "You're trying to make everyone feel sorry for you."