Bought by the Alpha who hates me

The silence felt wrong the moment I opened my eyes. Not peaceful. Not comforting. Not the kind of quiet that belongs to early mornings in a sleeping house. This was different. It felt like the entire building had been instructed not to breathe too loudly while I was still asleep. For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening carefully, trying to find the familiar sounds that usually marked the start of a day inside the pack house. Footsteps in the hallway. Distant voices from the servants’ quarters. The faint clatter of pots in the kitchen. Even the occasional bark of a guard speaking to someone outside. Nothing came. Even my wolf stirred under my skin, not panicked yet, but alert in a quiet, watchful way. Like it had noticed something my human mind had not fully accepted. I sat up slowly and pushed the blanket aside. The air in my room felt colder than usual. Or maybe it just felt emptier, like warmth had been drained out during the night. I glanced at the clock. It was the right time. So it wasn’t early. It was the house that was wrong. I stood and walked toward the window. Outside, the sky was heavy with gray clouds stretched across the horizon. The forest beyond the pack grounds stood still, its trees swaying slightly with the wind. From here, everything looked normal. Guards patrolled their usual routes. A few distant figures moved near the training grounds. But something in the atmosphere didn’t match the image. It felt… muted. Like sound itself had been lowered. I turned away from the window and quickly got dressed. By the time I stepped out into the hallway, the feeling had not faded. It deepened. The corridor was empty. Not just empty of people, but empty of life. No chatter. No movement. No casual morning greetings that usually echoed through this part of the house. I started walking. My footsteps sounded too loud against the polished floor, each step stretching farther than it should in the quiet. At the corner near the stairwell, I saw two servants carrying folded linens. They were talking softly, but the moment they saw me, they stopped completely. Instantly. One of them lowered her head. The other gave a quick, polite bow that looked almost rehearsed. “Good morning, young mistress,” she said carefully. Her voice was polite. But it didn’t feel relaxed. “Good morning,” I replied, watching them closely. They didn’t stay. They moved past me quickly, avoiding my gaze. Too quickly. As if standing near me too long might expose something. I frowned slightly but continued down the stairs. As I descended, a faint scent reached me. Herbs. Bitter ones. It was subtle, almost hidden beneath the usual smells of the house, but my senses caught it anyway. I paused at the bottom of the stairs for a moment. The scent vanished. That made me more uneasy than its presence. The dining hall doors were already open. Inside, everything was set for breakfast. The long table was arranged perfectly, silverware aligned, food placed neatly. But the atmosphere felt wrong. Too controlled. Too quiet. Servants moved around without speaking, avoiding each other’s eyes. There was no warmth between them, no casual interaction, nothing that usually made mornings feel alive. I stepped inside. A few heads turned toward me. Then quickly away again. My chest tightened slightly. Something had already happened. Or something was about to. At the far end of the table, Father was already seated. Seeing him brought a brief sense of relief. At least that part of my world was still normal. He looked up as I approached, and his expression softened immediately. “There she is,” he said. His voice carried warmth, familiar and steady. I walked toward him and took my seat beside him. “Am I late?” I asked. He shook his head lightly. “The house just woke up slowly today.” That answer should have relaxed me. It didn’t. I studied his face instead. He looked tired. Not visibly sick. Just… worn. There were faint lines under his eyes I hadn’t noticed before. “You didn’t sleep well?” I asked quietly. “I slept enough,” he replied. Not a real answer. Just a dismissal wrapped in calm words. Before I could press further, footsteps entered the room. Lady Morwen appeared. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Not loudly. Not visibly. But I felt it. She moved with calm precision toward the table. “Good morning,” she said smoothly. Father nodded. “You’re late.” She smiled slightly. “Time is flexible.” Her eyes briefly met mine. Polite. Measured. Empty of emotion. She took her seat beside Father. A servant approached immediately carrying a silver tray. On it rested a glass filled with a dark liquid. The smell reached me first. Sharp herbs layered over something metallic beneath. My instincts reacted immediately. Not fear. Discomfort. Father reached for it without hesitation. “Medicine,” Lady Morwen said before he drank. “For what?” I asked. “Headaches,” she replied calmly. Too calmly. Too prepared. Father drank anyway. The moment he swallowed, something inside me tightened. Not logic. Instinct. I watched him carefully. He didn’t react outwardly. But I noticed the smallest hesitation in his breathing afterward. Almost nothing. But not nothing. Conversation continued around the table. Reports. Borders. Patrol updates. Normal topics. But I wasn’t listening properly anymore. I was watching. Every movement. Every pause. Every breath. Father reached for a document and paused briefly before gripping it fully. I saw it. So did she. Lady Morwen. Her attention sharpened for just a moment. Then softened again. Controlled. After breakfast, Father stood. He brushed my shoulder lightly as he passed. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “Don’t overwork yourself,” I replied. He smiled faintly. “That’s not possible.” I didn’t like that answer. As he and Lady Morwen left the room together, I stayed behind. The servants began cleaning slowly around me. Too slowly. Too carefully. Like even their movements had rules now. I remained seated, replaying everything in my mind. The silence this morning. The drink. The way she watched him. The way no one spoke freely anymore. One servant passed behind me and hesitated. Then stopped. She looked at me briefly. Then lowered her voice. “The tonic… used to be different.” My breath paused. “What do you mean?” I asked. She immediately shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” And she walked away quickly. Leaving me with the words hanging in my mind. Used to be different. I stood slowly. My thoughts no longer felt scattered. They were aligning. Not fully formed. But close enough to make my chest tighten. Something was wrong. Not sudden. Not random. Something that had been happening quietly. And I had only just started noticing it. I walked toward the corridor. At the far end, I saw Father again with a guard. He looked steadier now. But not fully. At one point, he rested a hand lightly against the wall. Just for balance. It lasted a second. But I saw it. He didn’t notice me at first. I called softly. “Father.” He turned and smiled. But it wasn’t as strong as before. “Still watching me?” he asked lightly. “You look tired,” I said. “I always do,” he replied. But this time, it didn’t sound certain. It sounded practiced. Like a sentence he had repeated too many times. Lady Morwen appeared again at the end of the corridor. Perfect timing. As always. “Come,” she said gently. “You have meetings.” Father nodded. Before leaving, he looked at me once more. Longer this time. Like he wanted to say something. But didn’t. Then he left. I stood still long after they disappeared. And for the first time that morning, I allowed the thought to fully form. Not as fear. Not as confusion. But as understanding. Something was very wrong. And it had already started before I noticed.