The Alpha's Hidden Luna

“I should have listened to the doctor and gotten rid of her when I had the chance.” The words landed before I had even stepped fully into the dining room. For a second, I thought I had misheard her. My hand tightened on the strap of my bag as I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else. Mother didn’t look angry. She didn’t even look at me. She was calmly spreading butter on her toast, as if she had just commented on the weather. Virelle let out a short, surprised laugh. “Mother…” “What?” she said coolly. “Don’t act shocked. You’ve thought the same thing before.” My throat went dry. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The morning sun streamed through the windows behind me, casting my shadow across the polished floor. Victor folded his newspaper with a quiet rustle. “You’re being dramatic again,” he muttered, though there was no real disapproval in his voice. “I’m being honest,” Mother replied. Finally, she looked up—straight at me. Her gaze swept over my face, lingering on my eyes, and her lips twisted in disgust. “Look at her. Every time I see that face, I’m reminded of what a mistake you were.” The word mistake lodged itself somewhere deep in my chest. I forced my feet to move and stepped into the room. “Good morning,” I said softly, because I had been taught to be polite, even when it hurt. Virelle snorted. “She really said good morning after that.” I ignored her and kept my gaze lowered. “I have an early shift today.” Mother took a slow sip of her tea. “At that hospital that was foolish enough to hire you?” “It’s…. It’s not foolish,” I said quietly. “….They needed staff.” “Exactly,” Virelle said with a grin. “Desperate people make desperate decisions.” I swallowed, my fingers tightening around my bag. “I’m doing well there.” Mother set her cup down with a sharp click. “Doing well? Aurelia, you’ve never done well at anything in your life. You were a difficult pregnancy, a strange-looking baby, and now you’ve grown into… this.” She gestured vaguely at me, her expression full of distaste. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. “I studied hard….” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. “I earned my place there.” “Earned?” she repeated, her brows lifting. “With what? That face? Those eyes? People probably pity you so much they just let you stay.” Victor turned a page of his newspaper. “Leave the girl alone,” he said flatly. “She’ll be late for whatever she does all day.” “She should be late,” Mother snapped. “Maybe they’ll realize they made a mistake hiring her and send her back.” Virelle rested her chin on her hand, studying me with open amusement. “You know, Aurelia, if you stood next to me in public, people would think you were my servant. At least then you’d be useful.” The words stung more than I wanted to admit. I focused on the pattern of the marble floor so they wouldn’t see my eyes watering. On the table, a stack of neatly wrapped gift boxes sat beside Virelle’s plate. She picked one up and opened it slowly, revealing a bracelet that glittered under the light. “Tobias sent this,” she said, admiring it on her wrist. “He said I deserve the best.” Mother’s face softened instantly. “Of course you do. You’ve always been the pride of this family.” I shifted my weight, feeling like a stain on the edge of a beautiful picture. “Did you see what came for me yesterday?” Virelle leaned against the counter, waving a hand toward the hallway table. A small stack of envelopes sat there, ribboned and neatly arranged. “Three letters. All inviting me to sign a ambassadorship deal ” “They have excellent taste darling, and you are more than fit to do it.” Mother said, proud in that particular way she only ever was about Virelle. “Awwn, thank you mummy,” Virelle looked at me. “ I said nothing. “What about you, Aurelia?” Virelle asked sweetly. “Did anyone send you anything? Or are you still waiting for someone to notice you exist?” “No one… sent me anything,” I admitted quietly. “No?” She pressed two fingers to her lips like she was thinking very hard. “Strange. You’d think someone would at least write or gift you something out of pity.” Mother laughed under her breath. “Why would they? You’ve never given anyone a reason to care.” The words scraped against something raw inside me. “I’m trying,” I whispered. “I’m working. I’m saving—” Her hand slammed onto the table, making the dishes rattle. “Stop talking like you’re some kind of victim,” she snapped. “You’ve brought nothing but bad luck to this house since the day you were born. You remember how our business collapsed that same year? Your father’s reputation suffered. And then you had the audacity to grow up looking like that.” My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t pull in enough air. “That’s not my fault,” I said before I could stop myself. Silence fell over the room. Dad slowly lowered his newspaper. Virelle’s smile widened, sensing drama. Mother’s eyes hardened. “What did you just say?” “I said… it’s not my fault,” I repeated, though my voice shook. “I didn’t choose how I was born….” The slap echoed through the dining room. My vision blurred as my head snapped to the side. Heat spread across my cheek, and I tasted blood almost immediately. “You don’t get to talk back to me,” Mother said coldly. “Not after everything you’ve put this family through!” I pressed a hand to my face, my fingers trembling. No one moved to help me. Virelle clicked her tongue. “Honestly, Aurelia, you should learn to stay quiet. You’re not pretty enough to be this bold.” Dad picked up his newspaper again. “She’s wasting time. Let her go to work.” Mother leaned back in her chair, as if nothing had happened. “Yes. Go. And try not to embarrass us any further today.” My eyes burned, but I forced myself not to cry. Not in front of them. “I’m leaving,” I said hoarsely. As I turned toward the door, Virelle called out behind me, her voice light and cheerful. “If the hospital fires you, don’t come running back here. We don’t run a charity case here.” My steps faltered for only a second before I kept walking. The front door felt heavier than usual as I pushed it open. Cool morning air hit my face, stinging the fresh bruise on my cheek. I stood on the doorstep for a moment, staring at the quiet street, my chest rising and falling unevenly. I should have listened to the doctor and gotten rid of you. The words replayed in my head, over and over, like a curse I couldn’t escape. I tightened my grip on my bag and stepped off the porch. “Maybe one day,” I whispered, my voice shaking but determined, “I won’t be the child she regrets.”