Guarded by Two Alpha Knights

Chapter 3

Ara’s POV

Do you know what's more unfortunate in the world of werewolves than being an omega?

It's being the daughter of a fallen Alpha.

I once enjoyed glory, showered with love and respect. Even though I lost my mother shortly after I was born, the Betas, Gammas, drivers, and maids in the pack treated me like a princess. People would stop what they were doing to give me a warm smile or ruffle my hair as I passed by.

But the good times didn’t last long. My father’s investment failed, and overnight, my pack went bankrupt. All the warmth and affection evaporated, leaving behind an empty house filled with daunting shadows. Echoes of laughter could no longer be heard.

The pack members I once had were scattered. What was worse, my father became addicted to gambling, stubbornly believing that if he won, he could make a comeback. I sometimes woke up at night to the sound of frantic whispers about "one last bet," . Those promises hang in the air like cobwebs.

But he never recovered. Instead, he owed the casino a huge amount of money. Our home was stripped bare. Each empty space once filled with some token of our former life.

When I aged eight, my father began drinking heavily, and his mood became more and more unpredictable.

Whether he was an angel or a demon when he returned home depended on whether he won or lost that day. If you’ve been to a casino, you’d know the odds of him taking out his anger on me were dangerously high. I learned early on to read the subtle changes in his smile. A gentle curve hinted at a good night while a sharp edge warned of impending storms.

Each day was a gamble, though I never placed a stake.

Gradually, his accusations and verbal abuse caused me to stutter. For a long time, I was terrified of speaking to people. But in a way, this was a blessing. It allowed me to retreat into my world and focus solely on studying. I stuck with my books, practicing my speeches to restore my shattered confidence. I won countless trophies in middle school—but you wouldn’t find a trace of those trophies at home.

Why? Because my father sold them all for chips in the casino.

I still remember the first time I discovered my golden trophy was gone. My prized possession, the one thing I had truly earned, disappeared overnight. My room felt hollow in its absence. Of course, I cried when I realized it was gone.

Instead of comforting me, my father slapped me, ordering me not to cry and ruin his luck, threatening to kill me if I did. I held my breath, swallowing my grief and fury. Fortunately, he won that round. He lifted me high, kissed my still-flushed cheek warmly, and declared I was always his little angel. His voice is like poisoned honey. Sweet but deadly.

In times of pain, it’s hard not to wonder why suffering befalls us, questioning what we did to deserve such punishment.

I believe I behaved myself for all those years, never wronging anyone. Oh, if I had to name one mistake—it's a promise I broke when I was still in kindergarten.

But I didn’t do it on purpose.

When I was five, the school organized a spring outing. I attended in a blue French-style puffy dress. It’s my favorite dress, for the color matches my eyes, and the texture of the cloth made me feel like I was wrapped in a cloud.

Ms. White took us to a wheat field near the kindergarten to play a role-playing game.

“Who wants to be the lycan prince?” she asked.

A group of boys eagerly raised their hands. Ms. White chose the highest-raised hand, “You can be the prince.”

The boy stood at the front excitedly and proudly.

“Who wants to be the lycan princess?” Ms. White asked.

“I do!” a group of girls raised their hands.

Ms. White’s gaze swept over them, finally landing on me. “Don’t you want to, Ara?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“Being a princess is too tiring,” I said. “You have to deal with a lot of things. I’d rather watch from the side.”

“Well, in that case,” Ms. White nodded and chose another girl to be the princess.

The memory is blurry. I can’t remember the names or faces of the young actors, nor what exactly we played. I only remember that there was a coup, and they wanted to kill the lycan prince.

Watching him outnumbered ignited a chivalrous spirit in me. So, I stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and ran.

“Catch them!” someone shouted.

We sped up and dove into the wheat field. Hiding among the tall stalks, I watched in horror as our pursuers got closer. The boy threw a stone to the right to distract them with the noise and then led me running left. We successfully lost them.

I beamed at the boy, and he smiled back, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“That was really clever,” I said, genuinely impressed by his quick thinking.

“Thanks,” he replied with a little swagger. “What’s your name?”

“Ara,” I said.

He must have given me his name, but I just forgot. Names weren't so critical when you felt an instant drama like we had.

Anyway, the boy nodded thoughtfully. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Then let's play again,” he suggested with enthusiastic certainty.

“But there’s no outing tomorrow,” I pointed out.

“There’s recess,” he said, almost as if he were revealing a grand secret. “Why haven’t I noticed you during recess before?”

“Maybe I’m not tall enough,” I said, shrugging, my attempt at humor drawing a small chuckle from him.

He looked me over with mock seriousness. “You’re not short. But you don’t talk much.”

I nodded, suddenly finding the ground very interesting.

“Your dress is beautiful,” he said, surprising me with the unexpected compliment.

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a warmth on my cheeks.

“Would you be my princess, Ara?” he asked, his tone earnest and hopeful.

I stared at him in surprise. “But I’m a maid, not a princess,” I reminded him, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Screw the script,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “I don't want an i***t to be my princess. Didn't you see? During the coup, all she did was cry. Only you showed wisdom, courage, and loyalty at the crucial moment.”

I shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I didn’t want to see you bullied. I wanted to protect you.”

“You? Protect me?” he laughed, the sound like a babbling brook in springtime.

Part of me bristled at the arrogance in his laughter, yet another part warmed to its infectiousness. I didn’t know how to react, so I stayed silent, my expression somewhere between a grin and a frown.

“Then be my princess,” he invited again, with the earnestness only a child could muster. “That way, you can stay with me and protect me.”

I felt there was something odd about that logic, but I was too young then to understand—I didn’t need to be his princess to protect him. Anyway, I nodded and said, “Alright.”

His face lit up with a victorious grin, and I couldn’t help but mirror it back. It felt like sealing a pact of friendship, one forged among the tall wheat stalks.

He was about to say more when Ms. White appeared before us, bringing our idyllic moment to a halt.

“Ara, your father is here to pick you up,” she announced with a slightly apologetic smile.

“But the outing isn’t over yet,” the boy protested, his eyes pleading. “Can’t she stay a bit longer?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ms. White said gently. “Don’t meddle in others’ family issues.”

The boy pressed his lips in disappointment but managed to force a brave smile. “See you tomorrow, Ara.”

“See you tomorrow,” I replied. I turned and followed Ms. White, glancing back at him. I didn’t know it would be the last time I would see him, and part of me, even now, is haunted by that unkept promise of return.

My father nodded at Ms. White, hoisted me into the car, and signaled the driver to leave.

“Did you have fun today, sweetheart?” Dad asked, his voice a mixture of concern and distance.

“Very much,” I said with an earnest nod. “I made a new friend—”

“Good,” Dad interrupted, his mind elsewhere. “I need to tell you something, sweetheart. We’re going to a new place.”

My heart sank. “A new place?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes,” he replied flatly.

“Why do we have to go somewhere new? But I don’t want to leave, I want to stay here,” I implored, clutching at the strings of my known world.

“We need to avoid some dangerous people,” Dad explained, attempting to sound reassuring.

“Dangerous people?” I asked fearfully, images of ferocious rogues filling my young mind. “Are we being chased by rogues?”

“No, no,” Dad laughed, but it was a dry, brittle sound. “Don’t worry. Daddy will take care of everything. We’re just avoiding them temporarily. We’ll be back soon.”

“But who are these people? Why do we need to avoid them? Are they bad guys? Can we call the police?” I pressed, confusion and fear tumbling out of me.

“Oh dear,” Dad patted my head a little too hard, as if to dismiss my concerns. “Don’t ask so many silly questions. If you call the police, it’s me who’ll end up in jail, not them.” He then burst into hysterical laughter that sent a chill down my spine.

I hugged him tightly out of fear. “Please don’t leave me, Dad,” I pleaded.

“I won’t leave you, sweetheart.” He kissed my forehead, and the strong scent of alcohol clung to him, leaving me more unsettled than comforted.

Back then, I didn’t understand that sometimes sticking together doesn’t mean things get safer. It can sometimes bring more suffering. I didn't know then that I wouldn’t return to that school or see my new friend again. For years, regret filled my heart as I slowly came to understand the permanence of that goodbye.

As I lie there recalling these memories, Nicole turns over, stirring in her sleep, which interrupts my recollection. I glance at the clock. It is already 2 AM, and I am still wide awake. Algebra class awaits me first thing in the morning, and I need to rest. I can’t risk falling asleep in class.

I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths to calm my restless mind. I finally drift into sleep, letting memories of the past fade into dreams.