Goodbye Deadbeat, Hello Alpha!

Only The Young Dream

[Isolde]

My name is Isolde Corbin and no—this isn't one of those stories where I'd be all excited about turning eighteen and expecting to find my mate in some unbelievably romantic setting.

But goddess, I wish it were.

Wishes, however, were for those who haven't lived through hell and learnt the hard way that they don't always come true.

In our world, a female wolf was considered past her prime by the time she neared thirty. Even breeders were often discarded once they passed that age.

This year, I would be turning thirty-two and most people would think that at my age, I'd have gotten my life together.

I hadn't.

There was a time when I believed in love. Believed that one day, I too would find my mate and fall in love with him. We would mark each other and have so many cubs to raise. To love.

There was a time when I used to dream. I was going to study as a doctor and then take care of my pack and family. And if my loving mate ever asked me to become a housewife, I would've gladly said yes.

But dreams were a liberty I no longer had the right to. Dreams were for the young ones who still had a future to look forward to. Those who still had the cruel motion of time on their side.

I wasn't sure where everything had gone wrong. Maybe just before I fled from my pack, going rogue. Maybe on the day, I turned eighteen with those laughable fantasies and dreams that clouded reality.

Or maybe, it had gone wrong from the moment I was born.

My father was a beta of the Ashen Pack. On the outside, he was a respected warrior and amongst the Alpha's closest friends. But on the inside, he was a wife-beater, a child-beater and a sorry excuse of a father.

I survived each day by clinging to the thought that once I turned eighteen, everything would change. That I'd finally be free.

I could never understand my mother. Despite the abuse, despite the disgrace—she stayed. She would lock me in a room when my father was having one of his outbursts and take the brunt of it alone. I used to hate her for it. For staying. For shielding me instead of saving us both. But I didn't understand back then what sacrifice really meant. I do now.

Unfortunately, she was an omega and omegas often got the short end of the stick within a pack. She died in what they termed a "freak accident."

Things only got worse after that and on the day I turned eighteen, I found my mate. But he wasn't the handsome Prince Charming I'd imagined he'd be. He was a twisted old man from my pack who was our alpha's dearest aide.

I rejected him on the spot.

It was an insult to him. To be rejected by a child and an omega at that.

Somehow, my bad days became worse than I ever imagined after that. Despite being one of the promising omegas, I was given the worst jobs. I was bullied by anyone who wanted to curry favour with the alpha and even my father began to show his true colours in public without fear.

The shame, the humiliation—all of it. It all hurt more than the pain. More than the cold nights I spent shivering on the floor, the chill biting through my thin blanket while my joints ached against the wooden floorboards.

I was often hungry. If I took more than my scrap portions, I would be beaten.

If I raised my voice, I would be beaten.

If I even dared to glare at someone...

Even then, I still had the heart of a dreamer. I believed I would get a second chance mate. That if I endured long enough, life would get better.

But once again, I was wrong.

I still remember the night I ran. Barefooted and with no real plan or destination in mind. Just a bag of bread, a bruised body, and the will to live. I wasn't brave enough to take my own life, but I was desperate enough to run.

I remember looking up at the stars and laughing because I thought I was free. Unaware that freedom came at a cost. That surviving alone was much harder than I'd initially anticipated.

And then—I met Johnny.

He wasn't my mate, but he felt like salvation. He made me laugh. Made me feel wanted. And when we had nothing but each other, it was enough. We were broke, scraping by—but happy. And when our son, Erickson, was born, I thought my story had finally shifted. I thought fate had taken pity on me at last. That my dream—though delayed, had finally come true.

But it was just another lie.

Although I progressed in my career, Johnny didn't. He couldn't keep a job and always had one excuse or the other for his misbehaviour.

Still, I stayed. Because, unlike my father, Johnny had never raised a hand to me—just his voice sometimes.

Pfft... how laughable. The fact that I thought it was normal for a man who claimed to love me to dare raise his voice at me. And I wanted to believe that the man I fell in love with was still buried in there, somewhere. I told myself love was patience. That it was loyalty. Somehow, I finally understood my mother.

But Johnny didn't change. He only got worse.

Some days, he wouldn't come home until after midnight and when he did, he would reek of booze. Over time, he developed an uncanny addiction to gambling, believing that he'd get it big one day.

Though sceptical at first, I decided to support him. At least until he got bored. But years later, he still hadn't.

Soon, it became open knowledge that I couldn't leave because Johnny had racked up multiple debts in my name. I still remember the first time debt collectors came to make a fuss in the school where I worked. Of course, I was fired the next day and when I confronted my husband—no, Johnny, about it, he went:

"Well, I planned to tell you, but you were always busy."

Bullshit!

I was a fool for hanging onto a fantasy that didn't exist and now I'd paid the price by losing my son!

But... he wasn't lost yet.

If money was what the debt collectors wanted, then that was what they would get. Right now, all I wanted was to get my baby back and be done with this s**t show I called a marriage. For good.

Fuck happy endings. f**k mates and f**k Jonathan f*****g Corbin!

***

QUINN FAMILY ESTATE

***

"Good morning, Mrs. Isolde."

The head butler greeted me in a thick British accent, looking over his rectangular-framed glasses to the small suitcase that rested beside me. He was trying not to seem judgmental, but I had a thing for reading people.

His grey hair was combed back into a low tie behind his nape, matching the silver in his neatly trimmed goatee. "Is that all your luggage?"

"Good morning, Mr. Harlan." I smiled brightly, taking up my modest luggage in one hand, barely noting the grand exterior of the mansion before me. I wasn't here to be impressed and I wasn't here to stay.

After taking a temporary leave from my university position, today marked my first official day as a maid for the Quinn family—one of the most powerful werewolf dynasties in the country.

And Nicolo Quinn?

He was my target.