Second Class Citizen Novels & Stories

“Beta Jax made a new rule. All teens have to pick a training program or a community class. We actually wanted to join the make-up class run by Luna Celine.” My heartbeat quickened when I heard that name, but I said nothing and let her continue. “But we weren’t accepted. They said only kids from Class Two or Three could join. We’re all Class One. Children of gardeners, cleaners, and kitchen workers. So when no other class would take us, Sera told us your class was still open.” She lowered her head. “We came because we had nowhere else to go. We’re sorry, Luna.” I froze. For a moment, I felt a surge of anger, not at them, but at this system. At the cruel fact that even children had to learn ea

"How dare you point a gun at me? I'll make sure you're left with nothing! Do you even know who I am?" Justin let out a cold laugh, his eyes filled with disdain. "Of course, I know who you are. A self-righteous member of the so-called upper class. A high-and-mighty elite. A parasite feeding off the common people, sucking them dry. Someone who's lived her entire life enjoying privilege, treating human lives like bugs. People like you—even if every last one of you were executed, it wasn't without reason."

She remembered the day her father had said, “Girls don’t amount to nothing.” The pain it had caused her was the worst. She couldn’t sleep for nights until she found that justice was what she wanted to serve. The abstract notion of justice applied on all beings. Humans or aliens. But here on Canneti, the humans were the second class citizens. Well of course until the APN took over. Now they were the reigning party members. The journey of Indrani from a student leader in St. Luso’s to an active APN party member was nothing less than fascinating. She had recorded every feeling and emotion in her diary.

He was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I wouldn’t fall for it. “I can see you still stink of arrogance,” I said coolly. “Money can never buy class. Even with all your wealth, your rotten character still makes you look like a pauper. No, wait—a pauper still has better character than you. You think and act like a church rat. You don’t fit in here, where men and women of class stand.” Jason let out a low chuckle. “If I don’t have class, then who in this room does? Maybe being in that mental home tampered with your memory.”

“Then there are Class B wolves— kids from the middle class. Elders, warriors, scouts, healers, seers, teachers. They are respected and cannot be mistreated” Does that mean I was Class B? Only if Amber was openly my guardian. So what class was I? “If you don’t fall under any of these categories… then you’re Class C. They come from low-class families, normal wolves, sometimes omegas. Wolves with a weak bloodline, orphan wolves, late shifters, wolves who don’t fit pack culture, wolves considered… ‘defective.’ Like a wolf with an injury, a wolf who can’t mind link, a wolf whose wolf side is quiet, a wolf with a faint scent…”

“I want better. All the brothers do. Some are still mixed up with the ethnic shit from prison. Maybe they’ll change, maybe they won’t. The rest don’t really give a fuck. Families are diverse in their thinking and if we have each other’s backs and keep the club out of trouble, we can build something solid.” She rolls her eyes and looks at me like I’m stupid. “That’s easy to say but who the fuck do you have doing the cleaning? A wetback spic,” she bites out. “I was born in this country. I’m as American as you and your brothers, but I’ll always be a second-class citizen to the likes of you.”

But I must have imagined the distant look on his face when he replied because she was indeed meh. Marcus's parents bought a beautiful violet evening dress for her. I am sure I would have looked ravishing wearing that. She did not look like she was used to such fancy clothes or jewelry. I may be a plebeian, but my family is not any less rich or powerful. We have lands, slaves, and live a similar life like affluential folks in the town do, and yet, we are considered second class citizens. So much for class exaggeration, and now they end up with such a plain looking barbarian girl who doesn't satisfy any legal conditions required for marrying a Roman citizen.

I venture. She makes a thoughtful sound, her head tilting slightly. “Not necessarily,” she says after a pause. “If people come from money but don’t actually do anything in society, they’re not considered elite. There aren’t many of them, but those that do exist are considered bottom tier citizens.” My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? Why is that?”

"Mr. Carter’s office sent specific instructions for your file. You get zero benefits, minimum wage, and you work twelve-hour shifts cleaning the service corridors and the executive parking garage. If a single corporate executive logs a complaint about your presence, you are out on the street within five minutes. Do you understand the terms?" Adrian didn't read the fine print. He didn't look at the legal clauses that stripped him of his personal rights, his status, and his family name. He slammed the plastic pen down onto the paper, signing his name in rapid, violent strokes that tore through the thin sheets. His hand was trembling so hard the ink smeared across the wood.

Everyone knew Amber Sherry was hopelessly in love with me. She would even risk her life for me. I got into a severe car accident to save her. My health never fully recovered. Because I had a rare blood type, she was terrified that something else might happen to me. She found someone with the same blood type and kept him on standby. He would donate blood to me whenever I needed it. I was also hopelessly in love with her. After she gave birth to Aria, I did not care what people thought. We gave her Amber’s last name—Aria Sherry. I did not want her to go through another pregnancy, so I got a vasectomy. Every socialite in our circle was jealous of what we had. On the day of Aria’s baby de