2

My fingers tightened around the edge of my apron. I wanted to tell him that Victoria had done this. I wanted to say I had made his breakfast with one good hand because no one else would. But people like me did not explain things to people like him.

Dominic pointed at the floor. “Now you made a mess too. Clean it before someone comes in.”

I bent down for the broken pieces first. My right hand screamed the moment I forgot and tried to use it, so I tucked it against my chest and worked with my left. The shards were slick with egg, and one cut into my thumb. I watched the blood bead there, small and bright, then wiped it quickly on my dress before Dominic could complain about that too.

When the bigger pieces were gone, I took the mop from the corner and dragged it across the tiles. My ribs hurt every time I leaned forward. My legs felt weak, and the kitchen seemed to tilt slightly when I moved too fast. I knew I was not cleaning well.

After a while, I was not really using the mop to clean anymore. I was using it to stay standing.

My vision blurred at the edges. I blinked hard and tried to focus on the floor, but the gray tiles shifted beneath me. I took one step, then another, and my knees softened without warning. I thought I was going to fall face-first into the mess.

A hand caught the back of my collar and yanked me up.

The fabric tightened around my throat so violently that I choked. My toes left the floor, and the mop slipped from my hand. Dominic held me in the air as if I weighed nothing, his fingers twisted in the collar of my dress. My broken hand pressed against my chest, and panic rose inside me faster than pain.

“Put me down,” I whispered.

Dominic pulled me closer instead. His face was suddenly right in front of mine, so close that I could see the faint gold around his pupils.

My stomach dropped.

I raised my left hand at once and covered my eyes.

For a moment, Dominic said nothing. I could feel him staring at my hand, then at the hair falling over my face, trying to understand why I had reacted so quickly.

“What are you hiding?” he asked, his voice low with suspicion. “Do your eyes look worse than your body?”

Rendered speechless, my only response was a silent gaze. However, it was evident that my silence fell short of his expectations.

Impatience danced across his face as he reached out, attempting to forcefully move my trembling left hand away from my eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Fear gripped me tightly, a chill running down my spine, as the realization dawned upon me that the carefully concealed color of my pupils, a secret held deep within, was now on the brink of exposure.

Please, do not!

"What are you doing?!" A sharp question interrupted Dominic's movements.

When Victoria rushed into the kitchen, she saw Dominic carrying me in his hands. It was not exaggerated that she did "rush" into the kitchen and not like the well-bred young lady she appeared to be, which I attributed to her possessiveness of Dominic.

In the Black Moon pack, whoever had eyes knew that Victoria was paranoid about Dominic, almost to the level of a lioness who protected her cubs, and clearly saw herself as the next Luna.

This might be the first time I felt grateful to see Victoria.

Dominic stopped moving his hands and threw me out casually. I fell to the ground and all I could do was make a painful huffing sound.

Dominic explained to Victoria, "Just bored."

Victoria was amused by Dominic's gesture and she looked in a good mood as she said to me, who was struggling to get up from the floor.

"Dirty puppy, I do not know why Alpha still keeps you. You do not even have a wolf." She pressed her shiny nails against her pink lips and pretended to think. "Well, but even if you had a wolf, then your wolf would look just like a dirty puppy like you!" she said, and left with her breakfast.

**

Even for me, that day was too unlucky.

A group of boys and girls my age entered the kitchen while I was trying to finish the morning work. Most of them followed Victoria and Dominic everywhere, so the moment I heard their laughter, I already knew they had not come for food.

“Look at her,” one girl said, covering her nose with two fingers. “You would think she just crawled out of the fireplace.”

I kept my head down and reached for the tray on the counter. If I finished arranging the bread and left through the side door, maybe they would get bored before touching me.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the tray.

Alex was Victoria’s suitor, a tall boy with broad shoulders and a cruel mouth. I still remembered the day he had thrown me from the second-floor landing just to make Victoria laugh. I remembered the air rushing past my ears, the screams from the servants below, and Victoria clapping once when I hit the ground and did not get up right away.

“Where are you going, little traitor?” he asked.

“I have work to do,” I said, trying to move around him.

He caught my right hand.

Pain shot up my arm so violently that I cried out before I could stop myself. His fingers had closed exactly where the bone still throbbed beneath the ugly splint I had made from twigs and cloth.

“Oh,” Alex said, widening his eyes in fake surprise. “You are hurt?”

He squeezed harder.

My knees weakened, but I refused to fall. I bit my lip and stared at his chest because looking at his face would only make him happier.

He shoved me back toward the others.

They laughed as I stumbled. Someone pushed my shoulder. Another hand tugged at my hair. I caught the counter with my left hand before I could fall against the hot stove.

Alex picked up a croissant from the table and held it in front of my face. It was still warm, golden at the edges, soft enough that flakes fell onto his fingers. My stomach cramped at the smell.

“I suppose you have never had one of these,” he said.

I said nothing.

“Say, ‘I am a traitor’s daughter.’”

I pressed my lips together and tried to breathe through my nose. My face burned, not from shame alone, but from the effort it took not to snatch the croissant and throw it in his face. I could survive hunger. I had survived it for years. But the way they looked at me, as if I should be grateful for being humiliated, made something hot and ugly stir under my ribs.

Alex lowered the croissant until it almost touched my mouth.

“Come on. You are already on the floor most of the time.”

I slapped his hand away.

The croissant fell onto the floor.

For a second, everyone went silent.

My left hand still hovered in the air, trembling from the movement, and my right hand pulsed against my chest as if the pain had found a heartbeat of its own.

Alex slowly looked from the fallen croissant to me.

“You really want to die today?”