Prom

The moment I pushed through the front door of our modest pack house, the words spilled out of me before I could even take off my coat.

"Chase asked me to the prom."

Mum dropped the tea towel she was holding. It landed on the kitchen linoleum with a soft thud. She stared at me, her eyes wide, before a brilliant, ecstatic smile broke across her face.

"Chase? The Beta heir?" She crossed the kitchen in two strides, gripping my shoulders. "Oh, Tallulah! I knew it. I knew people would finally start seeing how wonderful you are. We need a dress. We need shoes. We are going to the high street right now."

Before I could protest Mum was already grabbing her handbag and keys. For the next three hours, I was dragged through every boutique in the town centre. I hated shopping – the harsh lighting and the mirrors that only highlighted every soft, unwanted curve of my body usually brought me to tears. But Mum's infectious enthusiasm wore me down. We finally settled on a deep emerald green gown. It had long sleeves to hide my arms and a sweeping skirt that made me feel, for the very first time, almost graceful.

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Friday evening arrived in a blur of hairspray, nervous energy, and Mum's proud tears.

"You look breathtaking, sweetheart," Mum whispered, adjusting a loose curl around my face as we stood in the hallway.

When the doorbell rang, my heart hammered against my ribs. I opened the door to find Chase standing on the porch in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. He held out a white corsage, his caramel eyes sweeping over me.

"Wow," he breathed, looking genuinely struck. "Tallulah, you look amazing. Shall we?"

He played the perfect gentleman. He opened the car door for me, complimented my dress again on the drive, and offered his arm as we walked up the steps to the school hall. When we stepped inside, the music was pulsing, the lights were low, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and nervous sweat.

As we walked onto the dance floor, every eye in the room turned towards us. I saw the shocked whispers, the widened eyes, the open mouths. For fifteen glorious minutes, it was absolute magic. Chase fetched me a drink, held my hand, and smiled down at me as if I were the only girl in the room. I let my guard drop entirely, letting myself believe the impossible – that the fairy tale was real.

Then, the music abruptly cut out.

The harsh, blinding overhead lights snapped on, illuminating the hall. A piercing squeal of feedback echoed from the speakers as Chloe, the head cheerleader, tapped the microphone on the stage.

"Alright, Lightmaw!" she beamed, her voice dripping with venomous glee. "It is time for the main event. Football boys, line 'em up!"

Confusion rippled through me. Beside me, Chase’s warm, attentive demeanour instantly vanished. His grip on my hand hardened to a vice as he practically dragged me to the front of the stage. I looked around, panicking, as five other football players shoved their dates – girls who were notoriously quiet, awkward, or considered the 'outcasts' of our year – into a humiliated, trembling row beside me.

"Let’s see who takes home the prize for this year's 'Pigs to Prom' contest!" Chloe announced, the crowd erupting into cruel, raucous cheers.

My blood ran completely cold. The breath left my lungs in a rushed gasp.

Chloe walked down the line, evaluating the sobbing girls, before stopping squarely in front of me. She looked at my emerald dress, then up at Chase, and burst into laughter. "Well, I think we have a clear winner. Chase, you really outdid yourself this year. You brought the biggest, most pathetic omega in the pack."

The entire hall roared with laughter. It was a physical force, a tidal wave of humiliation crashing over my head. I looked up at Chase, desperate, pleading with my eyes for him to defend me, to tell them it was a mistake.

Instead, he looked down at me, his lip curling in utter disgust. The charming boy from the corridor was dead.

"You actually thought it was real?" Chase sneered, his voice carrying perfectly in the sudden quiet of the room. "You thought I could ever want a fat, ugly omega like you? You’re a joke, Tallulah. You always have been."

The fairy tale shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. The tears spilled over, hot and blinding, ruining the makeup Mum had spent an hour perfecting. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak.

I ran. The sound of their laughter – sharp, echoing, and victorious – chased me out of the hall, tearing at my back as I fled into the cold night.

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