Chapter 4

Aliyah’s POV

Skipped meals, slept in the club's garage, trained until I couldn’t feel my legs. I wanted to win—no, needed to win.

To silence the mockery. To prove I wasn’t just the president’s pitiful Omega daughter. To honor Papa.

I’d been to the Ember Pack stadium a few times growing up—always in the safety of Papa’s shadow—but today was different. Today, I was no longer in the shadows. I was at the center. Under the light. Under their judgmental stares.

The stadium roared with life as I stepped in. Banners flew in the wind. The strong scent of fuel and testosterone hung in the air. Tires screeched in practice laps and engines growled with power.

My throat dried up instantly.

I clutched my gloves tighter. I’ve been here before… but never this nervous.

My fingers trembled and I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth. Papa walked up to me, dressed in his racing gear, the club's crest proudly stamped across his chest. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

“You’ll do just fine,” he said gently.

But I shook my head. “My heart is in turmoil, Papa. I don’t know… What if I fail you?”

He smiled. “Then fail trying, Aliyah. Don’t run. Don’t hide. Just try.”

Try.

The word echoed in my head like a drumbeat.

But that fragile resolve cracked the moment I saw them.

Cohen.

And behind him, his obnoxious pack of club members—The Black Fangs.

The crowd went wild as they strutted into the stadium like gods of speed. Every step they took seemed choreographed, every smirk practiced. They lived for this applause.

And then… I saw him.

Asher Moretti.

The one I swore I’d never want to lay eyes on again.

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even notice I was there. But I saw him.

The way his hair curled beneath his helmet. The leather jacket clinging to his tall, massive frame. The same tattoo that once made me gulp in awe.

Now, it made me sick.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

I hate you, I whispered under my breath. You’re just like them. One of Cohen’s wolves. One of the animals who ruined me.

I stepped back, trying to make myself invisible, turning my face away so Cohen wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t strong enough.

But of course, he noticed.

“Look who it is!” Cohen’s voice rang out like a whip. “The star of our group chat.”

Laughter exploded from his club. I stiffened.

“Is that our dear Omega princess?” one of the girls sneered. “Did you bring more nudes to share?”

More laughter.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails pierced my palms.

Cohen’s wolfish grin curled wider. “Don’t be shy, Aliyah. You’ve shown us everything before.”

I froze.

Paralyzed.

Until two girls stepped forward—one brunette, one auburn-haired—fellow racers I had sparred with in training. They stood in front of me, backs stiff, glaring at Cohen.

“She’s not just an Omega,” the brunette snapped. “She’s an Omega with pride.”

“And more guts than any of you tail-wagging jackals,” the other growled.

Their words lifted something inside me… and yet, shame still wrapped around my throat like a collar.

All eyes were on me.

I could feel the jeers, the whispers, the camera phones pretending not to record.

My knees are weak… My chest hurts… I want to scream…

Then the horn blew—tournament starting soon.

Everyone began moving to their bikes.

And just then, Cohen swaggered toward me.

He bent close, lips nearly brushing my ear.

“Back off now… or you’ll lose your face very badly,” he whispered.

That was it.

The final shove.

My mind collapsed into chaos. I could see Papa from a distance, waving me over, motioning for me to get ready. I turned away.

What if I fail?

What if I crash out there?

Papa will be disappointed. I’ll be just another pathetic Omega who tried and embarrassed herself.

My body moved before I could stop it.

I dropped my helmet, spun on my heel, and ran.

I ran from the roars. From Cohen’s laughter. From Asher’s indifference.

From my own cowardice.

The light drizzle began just as I crossed the borders of Ember Pack. I didn’t stop running until the stadium was far behind, replaced by thick woods and silence.

Tears fell freely now.

I failed again…

I collapsed to the grass, wet, trembling, ruined.

I failed Papa… the only man who ever cared. I failed the man who picked me up when my own mother threw me away.

The soft patter of rain mingled with my sobs.

I was alone.

Just a broken girl with no wolf, no courage, and no future.

Or so I thought.

The tide whispered softly against the pebbled shore as I dipped my line into the water. The breeze carried the scent of salt, pine, and something strangely calming. For the first time in what felt like centuries, my lungs expanded freely. No judgment. No whispers. No mocking eyes. Just me… and the fish that weren’t biting.

A week had passed since I ran away like a coward from the tournament. A whole week of avoiding Papa’s calls, of crying under the stars, of eating barely enough to stay conscious. I built this tiny shelter by the beach—my own little tented world—where I could pretend for a second that I wasn’t a disgrace. That I hadn’t failed the only man who believed in me. That I wasn’t the joke of Ember Pack.

My fingers toyed with the smooth reel of the fishing line, but my eyes remained fixed on the horizon. I hated the silence.