In Love With The Scared Alpha

Burned

The blaring alarm pierced the silence of the tiny basement room, jolting Lyra awake. She felt the weight of exhaustion tugging at her, but there was no time to linger in bed—not with the threat of her aunt’s stinging slap echoing in her mind. Lyra had always felt alone and worthless ever since her parents’ death when she was four years old. Though her aunt and uncle took her in the aftermath of the tragedy, they treated her with disdain, less like family and more like a servant, relegating her to cooking and cleaning duties.

With a groan, Lyra pushed herself off the bed and shuffled toward the cramped bathroom. She turned on the shower, letting the water cascade over her momentarily before rushing out, urgency propelling her movements. With every memory of her maltreatment burning in her mind, Lyra knew she wasn’t ready to endure another beating. She hurried to prepare for the day ahead as her heart pounded with urgency, determined to avoid confrontation.

Lyra slipped into the kitchen, her footsteps as light as a whisper. She quickly set to work, preparing breakfast with a practiced efficiency that masked her unease. As the aroma of sizzling eggs filled the air, she mentally braced herself for the arrival of her family, praying to the moon goddess for a swift and painless day.

Freya, her stunning yet ruthless cousin, was the first to grace the dining room. Freya entered with an air of superiority; her nose held high as if she were royalty surveying her domain. She acknowledged Lyra’s soft “Good morning” with a sneer.

Though they were nearly the same age, Freya treated Lyra with a disdain that felt like a sharp blade. Instead of the camaraderie one would expect from family, Freya revelled in belittling and bullying her, pushing Lyra to the edge of despair. The weight of this unkindness hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the wall that separated them as cousins. As Lyra set the table, she was reminded that she was merely a servant in a house that should have felt like home.

“Well, who do we have here?” Freya asked mockingly, a smirk dancing on her lips. “It’s the birthday girl! Tell me, how does it feel to turn twenty and still be mateless?” With that, she strutted past Lyra, claiming the seat closest to the head of the table as if it were her birthright.

“Nice, I guess,” Lyra replied, her words clipped and accompanied by a tight smile. She hurriedly served her cousin, her hands trembling slightly, before retreating to a corner of the room. Yet, trouble refused to leave her alone. Freya’s laughter echoed in her ears, a constant reminder of her stinging barbs, and Lyra felt the familiar ache of isolation settle in her chest.

“This egg tastes bland!” Freya exclaimed, her face contorting in disgust as she spat the food onto the table. Lyra fought to suppress her revulsion at the slimy bits that splattered across the surface, but the moment called for action.

“What do you mean?” she asked carefully, inwardly praying that she wouldn’t provoke another outburst. “It was seasoned properly, just like I was taught.”

“Oh, so you’re talking back now, Lyra?” Freya sneered, slowly rising from her chair. Malice glimmered in her eyes, a stark contrast to the fear that flooded Lyra’s. The room felt charged with tension, a storm brewing in Freya’s expression.

“No! I-I’m not talking back to you!” Lyra stammered, instinctively stepping back, desperate to distance herself from the simmering volcano that was her cousin.

Freya took a step forward, her voice dripping with mockery. “What’s the matter? Afraid I might taste something decent? Or is it just your cooking that’s subpar?”

Lyra’s heart raced as Freya loomed closer, her uncle and aunt’s laughter echoed in the background as they stood back to enjoy the brewing confrontation. Neither of them attempted to come to her aid. Instead, they joined in the taunting, making her feel worse with each snide remark.

“You should be grateful I even bother to eat the food you make,” Freya continued, her tone dripping with disdain. “Maybe if you tried harder, you wouldn’t be such a disappointment.”

Lyra’s cheeks flushed with humiliation, but she held her ground, trying to hide her pain. She knew better than to let Freya see her crumble. Bullies revelled in the pain of their victims. “I do my best,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Freya laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Your best? This is what you call your best?” She gestured dramatically to the table before grabbing her egg-filled plate from the table. In one fluid movement, she slapped the plate on Lyra’s face, spilling the contents on her body. “You should just give up. You’ll never be good enough.”

With that, she leaned in, her face inches from Lyra’s, eyes gleaming triumphantly. “Why don’t you go back to your rat-hole and do what you do best—serving me? That’s the only thing you’ll ever excel at. Meanwhile, make me something different and add more spice than there is in your life.”

Lyra felt the sting of tears in her eyes but blinked them back, unwilling to give Freya the satisfaction of seeing her break. Instead, she turned away, focusing on the task at hand, her heart heavy with the weight of her cousin’s cruel words.

“Sometimes I wish you would just drop dead,” Rosa’s voice cut through the air as she and her husband strolled into the dining room, ready to join the breakfast spectacle. They had enjoyed the performance put on by their daughter and were eager to deliver their own blows. “You’re not useful around here. I’m sure your mate must have been repulsed by your appearance, which is why you’re still alone, you ugly fool.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have taken you in at all,” Austin chimed in, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re nothing but a burden.”

“And bad luck,” Freya added, relishing the sight of her cousin’s slumped shoulders, the weight of their words pressing down on her.

Rosa leaned in, her voice dripping with disdain. “You know, it would be better for you to become a maid in the Alpha’s manor. We’re just tired of keeping you around. Your mateless self would find more usefulness there—more pots and floors for you to clean and scrub.”

“But I do not want to go to the pack house,” Lyra muttered, close to tears. News of the hostile Luna made rounds in the pack, and she was not ready to jump from frypan to fire.

“Well, you do not have a choice. We are simply tired of being responsible for your upkeep. Since no wolf has claimed you yet, it would be better if you just rot in the pack house as a slave to the Alpha.”

Lyra stood frozen, the biting words slicing through her like a cold wind. Each insult felt like a heavy stone, adding to the burden she carried. She fought to keep her composure, but the humiliation burned in her chest. Desperate to escape the venomous atmosphere, she turned away, trying to find solace in another mundane task, even as their laughter echoed cruelly behind her.