The Scarred Wolf And Her Obsessive Alpha

Chapter Three

3..

Africa, the firstborn, grew up loved, awaited, and needed. From her earliest years, every lesson she received was carefully directed toward a single purpose. Her parents raised her with absolute dedication, providing her with affection, rigorous education, and impeccable discipline. Everything in her upbringing was geared toward making her a future Luna. She belonged to the Beta family, a lineage whose responsibility was no less significant within the hierarchy of Clan Asgard. Since ancient times, an unalterable obligation had rested upon this family: from their lineage had to emerge the she-wolf destined to become the Alpha's wife. This was not a symbolic tradition or a mere preference; it was a rule deeply ingrained in the power structure. The Beta not only sustained the Alpha with loyalty and strength, but also ensured the continuity of dominance through blood. Africa, therefore, was not just a daughter: she was a political promise, a future pillar, an essential piece in the Clan's equilibrium. As far as the Alpha was concerned, love was never a determining factor. In the upper echelons of power, the notion of a mate—the partner destined by instinct—was seen as a minor detail. The Alpha had to bond with a she-wolf whose bloodline guaranteed strength, stability, and continuity. The choice always fell upon a powerful family, like that of the Beta, capable of bearing the weight of the royal lineage. If the Alpha happened to have a destined mate who didn't come from a prestigious family, the most he could do was keep her as a lover. Never as a wife. Never as Moon. Marriage was an alliance, not an act of devotion. Among common wolves, the rules were different. They could marry their mates without question. Instinct and bond were enough. But the royal family didn't enjoy that privilege. For the Alpha, duty always prevailed over desire. On the other hand, the second twin grew up in a completely different world. She never knew her true origins. She didn't know she carried the Beta's blood, much less imagine that she shared the same blood with Africa, the she-wolf destined to become Luna. She grew up among the servants, breathing the same air as those who cleaned the corridors, lit the fires, and bowed their heads at every command. For years, she believed one of the servants was her mother, because it was that woman who held her when she cried and who taught her to speak her first words. It was also she who gave her a name: Sigrid.

Sigrid grew up believing that this was her natural place. The education she received was minimal, enough to obey orders, read simple instructions, and perform household chores without making serious mistakes. No Clan history, no protocols, no refinement.

Even so, Sigrid grew up with a learned docility and constant silence. She didn't expect recognition, she didn't demand affection. Her life unfolded in discreet corridors and rooms where she only entered to clean or assist. Until the wedding day arrived.

Africa, now a beautiful young wolf, was preparing to join the Alpha, fulfilling the destiny that had been imposed upon her since birth. And it was Sigrid who received the order to help her get ready.

With extreme care, Sigrid combed Africa's hair in front of the mirror. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from clumsiness, but from the weight of the moment. Suddenly, Africa let out a short, sharp cry.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, frowning. "Damn it!"

She stood up abruptly, turning violently. Before Sigrid could apologize, Africa raised her hand and slapped her brutally.

Sigrid lost her balance and fell to the ground, stunned, her cheek burning and her heart shrinking.

"Don't you know how to comb more gently?" Africa shouted from above. "Don't you ever comb your hair? You almost pulled out a clump of it!"

Suddenly, another female voice made itself known.

"Again..." he stammered. "The same thing with you again, Sigrid. Are you truly good for nothing but messing everything up?"

It was Morgana. She had stopped by the door, observing the scene with a cold expression.

"Mother," Africa said, "that stupid girl almost made me bald, and I gave her what she deserved, though now I feel like I've contaminated my hand. How disgusting!"

Sigrid was still on the ground. The blow had been strong enough to disorient her; she felt a persistent ringing in her ears and a deep burning sensation in her cheek.

Before she could get up on her own, Morgana approached her slowly, and without saying a word, bent down and grabbed her hair tightly, her fingers tangling carelessly. She yanked her up roughly, forcing her to her feet.

Sigrid let out a muffled groan, the result of the sharp pain that shot through her scalp and neck.

"If you keep bothering my daughter, I assure you that I'm the one who's going to make you bald," Morgana threatened.

Then he let go of her abruptly, as if he couldn't bear to touch her for another second. Sigrid stumbled, but managed to stay on her feet, head down and body rigid.

"Do your job. Style her hair properly," Morgana ordered. "Make her beautiful for her future husband, for the Alpha. She is the future Luna. And you will move with her to the Alpha's mansion to serve her personally. Do you realize the privilege this family has bestowed upon you? To personally serve the Luna of this Clan. Any other servant would have given her life for a position like yours. But you…" She looked her up and down with disdain. "You must be good for something, aren't you? After all, you grew up in this house, under our roof, eating our food."

Morgana took another step closer, lowering her voice.

"With that hideous face of yours, you're not even good enough to sell yourself to a rich wolf who'd want you as a wife. No one will ever want you. So remember this well: you exist only to serve Africa."

Sigrid nodded slowly, without raising her head.

—Yes, ma'am.

She said nothing more. She never did. She had learned from a very young age that any explanation, any defense, any plea only made things worse. This kind of mistreatment wasn't new to her; it was part of her daily life, part of an order she had never fully understood.