My Stepbrothers Forced Me to Call Them Daddies

CHAPTER 2

JESSICA'S POV

The cold metal of my locker felt like the only solid thing in the world. I focused on the combination, my numb fingers spinning the dial. Just get the history book. Don’t look up. Don’t make eye contact.

A shadow fell over me. The air changed, grew heavier, charged with a mean energy I recognized instantly. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was them.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Miranda’s voice purred, too close to my ear. “Or should I say, what the omega dragged in.”

I flinched, my shoulders tensing up to my ears. I kept staring into the dark interior of my locker, pretending to be deeply interested in my textbook.

Liam’s low chuckle vibrated through me. “An omega spending her allowance on love notes instead of new clothes. Priorities, right?”

“My mom says her mom cleans offices over on the west side,” Tiffany chimed in, her voice a cheerful, poisonous melody. “Guess that’s where she gets her fashion sense. All that discount store glitter.”

Heat flooded my face. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the hallway on us, a hungry audience for their spectacle. My hand tightened on the locker door, my knuckles turning white.

“Leave me alone,” I whispered, the words barely audible.

“Aww, is the little omega getting upset?” Miranda cooed. She leaned in, her scent—expensive perfume and something wilder, something uniquely alpha—washing over me. “It must be so hard, being so… sensitive. And fatherless. No strong wolf to protect you. No one to teach you how to be anything but weak.”

The words were a physical blow. My eyes burned. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

Liam stepped forward, crowding me against the lockers. He was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. For a second, a insane part of me remembered the letter, the words I’d written about his eyes. Now they were just cold.

“You know, for an omega,” he said, his voice dropping so only our little group could hear, though everyone was listening anyway, “you don’t seem very focused on your… omega duties. Writing letters to alphas like me? That’s not how this works. You’re supposed to be submissive, useful. Not… pathetic.”

A tear escaped. I swiped at it angrily, but it was too late. They saw.

“Oh, s**t, she’s gonna cry!” Tiffany squealed, not even trying to hide her phone as she pointed it at me. “This is gold.”

The dam broke. A sob ripped out of my throat, ragged and ugly. I couldn’t stop them. The tears were a hot flood of embarrassment and frustration. I hate you. I hate all of you.

Miranda laughed, a rich, throaty sound. “There it is. The famous omega waterworks. Makes you just want to… play with her, doesn’t it, Liam?”

I didn’t see him move, but I felt it. His hand, rough and warm, grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. My breath caught in my throat. His touch was electric, a jolt of something that felt terrifyingly good mixed with the utter humiliation. His thumb stroked my cheek, smearing a tear away. It was the cruelest kind of mockery.

“So fragile,” he murmured, his intense stare locking onto mine. His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second, so fast I thought I imagined it. A confusing, hot thrill shot through me, immediately followed by a wave of shame. “I won’t even f**k a girl like you, that would lower my standards.”

He released me like I was something dirty, and I slumped against the lockers, utterly broken. The hallway buzzed with whispered laughter. I heard the faint click of a phone recording.

I didn’t wait. I shoved away from them, abandoning my books, and ran. Their laughter chased me all the way to the nurse’s office.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I choked out to Mrs. Gable, the nurse. She was a kind-looking woman with warm eyes that saw too much.

She didn’t ask questions. She just led me to a dimly lit room with a cold cot. “Lie down, dear. I’ll call your mother.”

But I didn’t want my mom to know. This was my shame to bear. I shook my head, curling into a ball on the thin mattress. “No. Just… just let me stay here. Please.”

I spent the rest of the day there, listening to the sounds of the school moving on without me. My phone, when I finally looked, was a nightmare. The video was everywhere. Omega Meltdown at Her Own Locker. The comments were a vomit of laughing emojis and calls of “crybaby” and “weakling.”

The next day, Mr. Davies pulled Miranda and Liam out of class. I watched them go, a cold dread pooling in my stomach. No. Don’t.

He tried to help. He really did. I saw them all walk to his desk after class, his expression serious, theirs bored. It lasted five minutes.

When they spilled back into the hallway, Miranda’s eyes found me instantly. They weren’t angry. They were gleaming with a new, more dangerous amusement.

“Wow,” she said loudly, for the benefit of the whole student body. “Some people can’t handle a little joke. They have to go crying to a teacher. How omega of you, Jessica. Running to a human for help against your own kind. Pathetic.”

The attempted help was gasoline on their fire. Now I wasn’t just a joke; I was a snitch. A weakling who couldn’t handle her place.

I spent the weekend locked in my bedroom, the four walls my only friends. My phone was silent. No invites. Not that I expected any.

Monday morning, the avoidance began. It was a subtle shift. People I’d sat next to for years suddenly found something incredibly interesting to look at in the opposite direction. They’d shift their bags onto the seat next to them as I approached. The message was clear: You are poison. association.

Lunchtime found me not in the library, but in an empty art room on the third floor. I sat on the floor behind a large cabinet, my back against the cool wall, eating a dry sandwich alone.

The door creaked open. My heart leaped into my throat, expecting Miranda, a teacher, anyone to chase me out of my last hiding spot.

But it was Liam.

He stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at me huddled on the floor. His expression was unreadable.

He took a step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The room felt suddenly smaller, charged with a tension I didn’t understand.

“Hiding,” he stated, his voice a low rumble.

I hugged my knees tighter, saying nothing.

He walked closer, his steps quiet on the linoleum. He stopped just a few feet away, looking down at me. That same confusing, intense stare. “You look… small down there.”

He crouched down, bringing himself to my level. His proximity was overwhelming. I could smell him again, that alpha scent of leather and autumn air. My pulse started hammering, a traitorous rhythm of fear and something else entirely.

He reached out, not touching me, but tracing a finger in the dust on the floor between us. “All this drama… over a letter.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. They weren’t laughing now. They were… curious. “You really meant all that stuff you wrote?”