The Alpha Wears Number Nine

Aria The smell of burnt toast and wet dog filled the kitchen. It was barely 6:30 a.m., and I was already elbow-deep in dirty dishes while everyone else in the house shouted over one another about school, work, and the latest pack gossip. A damp sponge squished in my hand as I scrubbed the same pan for the third time. My sleeves were soaked, and the oversized hoodie I wore clung to my thin arms. It used to be someone's gym hoodie...I didn’t know whose...but it was dumped in the donation pile last year and ended up in my drawer. I was lucky if it didn’t smell like old socks. “Aria!” Mrs. Blackstone’s voice cracked through the house like a whip. “Did you iron Jordan’s clothes yet?” I bit the inside of my cheek. “It’s hanging on the door.” “Did you polish his shoes?” “Did that last night.” “Well, go fix breakfast. And don’t burn the damn toast this time.” I didn’t even eat toast yesterday. I dried my hands and turned to the kitchen counter where everything was laid out like some perfect breakfast ad...except I was the one who made it all. Eggs. Bacon. Jam. Toast. A fresh pot of coffee. There was even orange juice this morning, and I knew better than to touch it. Jordan Blackstone, eighteen, strong, broad-shouldered, and forever smirking like he owned the world, walked in with that smug face of his. “Took you long enough,” he said, sliding into the chair at the head of the table. His wolf was Beta bloodline. Mine was... well, barely awake. “Make me another egg. This one’s cold,” he added, not even looking at me. I nodded and went back to the stove. His sister, Maddie...seventeen, all gloss and glitter, the type who sneezed and still looked like she stepped off a magazine...came down the stairs, already in full makeup. “Ugh, why is she breathing near the food?” she said with her nose scrunched like I was contagious. “I’m not...” “Then move!” she snapped and shoved past me to grab a glass of juice, bumping my shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. I said nothing. I never did. I just adjusted the hoodie and kept cooking. They all sat around the table now. Mr. Blackstone had already left early...probably for another Alpha council meeting or whatever those people did. He had a good spot in the pack, second only to the Alpha himself. Which is why I was still here. That, and because I was too weak to make it anywhere else. I turned off the stove and looked over at the table. The food was nearly gone. There was one slice of toast left. Just one. I hadn’t eaten a thing yet. My stomach growled loud enough to make Maddie snort. I didn’t even care. I reached for the last toast...dry, slightly burnt, but food was food. Then Jordan leaned over, plucked it from my hand, and held it up. “Aw, poor little omega thinks she can eat.” “Jordan,” I warned softly, but it didn’t matter. He tossed the toast to the floor. Their dog, a chunky golden retriever named Bruno, barked happily and devoured it in two seconds. I stared at the crumbs. Maddie laughed. “Look at her face! She looks like she’s gonna cry.” My jaw clenched. “I’m not,” I said. “Could’ve fooled me,” Jordan muttered under his breath. My stomach twisted again. I turned to leave the kitchen, trying to keep my head down, but Mrs. Blackstone was in my way. She stood with her arms folded, eyes like daggers. “You done sulking?” she asked. I nodded. “Good. Clean this place up before school. I don’t want a mess when I get back.” She moved past me, but not before shoving me out of the way with her hip. I caught myself on the counter, heart thudding in my chest, and stayed there until the door slammed and the engine started outside. Silence. I slowly looked down at myself. My jeans were too short. Ankles exposed, frayed at the bottom. The hoodie had holes in the sleeves. I was pale, skinny.not the pretty kind of skinny, just the kind that made people think you were sick. I’d been living like this since I was thirteen. Five years. Five years of being the adopted omega girl in a Beta’s home. I didn’t even blame them anymore. I wasn’t strong. My wolf was quiet most days. Tired. Like she knew she didn’t belong here either. I dropped the sponge into the sink, hands shaking slightly, and wiped them on my jeans. I stared at the crumbs under the table, the empty plates, the full dog bowl. And I told myself the same thing I told myself every morning. ‘It’s fine. You’re fine. Just get through the day.’ I had no idea that today would be the beginning of the last time I’d ever be ignored. But for now, I was just Aria Vale. Weak omega. Broken bond. Unwanted stray. And I was late for school. Some minuets later, I wiped down the last of the counters, dumped the trash, and slipped on my worn-out backpack. The left strap had a tear, so I held it with one hand as I stepped outside. The sun was already up. My hair, which I’d twisted into a low, messy bun, clung to the back of my neck from sweat. I jogged the last three blocks to school because if I walked, I’d miss the first period entirely. Not that it mattered much. No one cared if Aria Vale showed up or not. By the time I got to Blackridge High, my chest was tight, and my legs felt like jelly. The front steps were empty, everyone already inside. I hated being late. Hated how the hallway always fell silent when I walked through it. I pushed open the classroom door and stepped in. The teacher, Mr. Darnell, paused mid-sentence. He was tall, sharp-nosed, and looked like he ironed his emotions every morning. His eyes narrowed the second he saw me. “Nice of you to join us, Miss Vale,” he said, chalk in hand, voice dry and cold. I kept my head down. “Sorry, sir.” “You’re always sorry.” He turned back to the board. “Take a seat. Try not to disrupt the actual students this time.” My heart stung at that. A few quiet laughs echoed across the room. I didn’t have to look up to know where they came from. “Hey, Maid,” Jordan muttered from the third row. “Forgot to wash the school floors too?” More laughter. I slid into the seat at the back, the same one I’d sat in all year. Scratched desk. Wobbly leg. It fit. I stared at it like it might split open and swallow me whole. I wished it would. This was my morning. Every day. Repeating itself like some cruel joke. The pack hierarchy didn’t end at home...it ruled the school too. Betas and Alphas sat at the top. Omegas like me? We were lucky to even breathe the same air. “Honestly, this class is not a maid service,” Maddie whispered just loud enough for the girls around her to hear. They snickered like it was the most original thing ever said. I swallowed and kept staring at my desk. Then the door opened again. The room froze. He stepped in like he owned the place. Tall, confident, sharp jaw, hair pushed back in that careless, perfect way. His eyes scanned the room once, not in a hurry. Like everyone was just waiting for his next move. Cassian Draven. Number 9. Captain of the Blackridge hockey team. Alpha heir. Future ruler of the pack. And completely untouchable. He wore a dark jacket over his shirt, unbuttoned, the sleeves slightly rolled. His tie was loose like he didn’t give a damn...and maybe he didn’t. He had that look in his eyes. Cold. Focused. Not interested in anyone around him. Girls straightened in their seats. Some actually gasped. One even started fixing her lip gloss. “Mr. Draven,” Mr. Darnell said with a tight smile, “how nice of you to join us.” No scolding. No sarcastic comments. Just that. How nice. Cassian didn’t say a word. Just gave the teacher a small nod and walked past him like it didn’t matter. Like nothing mattered. He walked right past Jordan, who straightened in his seat, smirking like being near Cassian somehow made him royalty too. Cassian sat in the third row, middle seat. Alone. No one ever sat beside him. Not because it was assigned...because they didn’t dare. That seat was sacred territory. He dumped his bag next to the chair and leaned back like he didn’t plan to learn a thing. Everyone pretended to go back to normal. I didn’t. I just stared harder at my desk, the scratches and ink stains. My face was burning. My stomach still empty. My wolf barely breathing. This was what it meant to be nothing. To have crumbs thrown to a dog while others walked in late and were welcomed like kings. I didn’t hate Cassian Draven. I didn’t know him enough to hate him. But I hated how easy his life looked. And I hated myself for wishing, even for a second, that mine could be the same.