Worthless Mate Chosen

Before the Sun Rises Freya's POV "Freya, you lazy slave! Do you know what time it is? Why are you still sleeping?" I fought to pull myself upright on the wooden bed and squinted at the small clock on the wall. It was not even five in the morning yet. I pressed my fingers against my temples where a dull, steady ache had been living for days now. Then I grabbed my thin coat from the floor, shoved my arms through the sleeves, and pulled open the door. A large she-wolf was standing right there, blocking my path. Her face was twisted into the kind of expression that made smaller wolves flinch on sight. She jabbed a thick finger right at my nose. "Today is the Alpha Ceremony. Why are you still in bed? Have you even finished all your work?" I said nothing. I just dropped my head and stared at the cold floor beneath my feet. I had only slept for less than an hour. The entire night had been spent on my hands and knees in the conference room, scrubbing every surface until it gleamed. My body felt like wet stone. My thoughts were scattered and slow. "Why are you just standing there? Go finish everything!" She glared at me one more time before turning and stomping away down the hall. I listened to the heavy fall of her footsteps until they disappeared completely. I exhaled and made my way to the cloakroom. A tall rack of clothes greeted me. Shirts, trousers, and a formal ceremonial coat were piled and wrinkled, all waiting to be pressed smooth. Oliver Hayes was turning eighteen today. He was going to stand before the entire pack and take the throne during the Alpha Ceremony. The clothes he wore had to be perfect. Nothing less would be acceptable. I picked up the iron and got to work. By the time I finished, the first pale light of morning was already bleeding through the small window above the rack. I folded the last piece carefully, set it aside, and allowed myself one slow breath. Outside, the sky over Black Moon Pack territory was the same as always. Dark clouds pressed low over everything, and the air carried its usual chill and dampness. It never truly warmed here. I pulled my old cotton coat tighter around my body, picked up my bucket, and headed for the banquet hall. The hall was already being set when I arrived. Long tables were lined with delicate glasses, polished silverware, and plates that caught the pale light from the high windows. After the ceremony, guests would fill every seat. They would eat and drink and laugh in celebration of the new Alpha. For them, today was a joyful occasion. For me, it was just another day of work. I knelt at the base of the wide staircase leading into the hall and began working the rag across the stone steps. The smell of polish and cold air mixed in the air around me. My hands moved steadily. My mind went quiet the way it sometimes did when the work was simple and repetitive. Then a sharp heel came down hard on the edge of my rag. I looked up slowly. Scarlett stood above me on the step, looking down with the kind of amusement that meant trouble was already decided. She was Gamma's daughter, dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged her figure. Her red curls were pinned and styled with obvious care. She looked like she was already at the celebration instead of still preparing for it. "Step aside," I said evenly. "Excuse me?" Her voice rose just enough to draw attention from anyone nearby. "Do you know what kind of place this is? Someone like you does not belong here at all." She turned and kicked the bucket beside me with one sharp movement. Water spread across the freshly cleaned floor. "Scarlett, you have gone too far." "Oh, have I?" She smiled slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. "A slave is raising her voice at me now? That is actually quite funny. But you know what? I can make this even more interesting." She clapped her hands twice. Another she-wolf stepped forward carrying a second bucket. Without any hesitation, she tilted it and poured the contents across the steps directly in front of me. The smell hit immediately. Sharp, sour, overwhelming. The liquid spread wide across the stone. I did not move. I did not speak. I looked at the mess for a moment. Then I looked at Scarlett. Her smile was wide and waiting. She wanted to see my face fall apart. She wanted tears or anger or some kind of collapse she could carry away and share with others like a souvenir. "Is that everything?" I reached down, picked up my rag, and started cleaning. Scarlett stared at me. The smile on her face flickered. The corners of her mouth pulled tight. "You really are something else," she said, her voice dropping into something colder and quieter. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, turned, and walked away. Her heels clicked a sharp rhythm across the stone until she was completely gone. Only then did I let myself feel it. The tears came quietly. I did not sob. I did not make a sound. I just let them fall while my hands kept moving across the steps. I thought about my mother the way I always did in moments like this. My mother, Olivia Ashford, had been the Beta of this pack. A female Beta was almost unheard of, even in older times. She carried the role with a kind of steady dignity that made people trust her without her having to ask for it. She was firm when she needed to be and gentle when the moment called for it. She was the kind of person that made a room feel safer just by walking into it. I never had a father. There was no one beside her, no second figure in our small home, no name she would offer when I asked. And I did ask, when I was young. I would sit beside her and try to piece together a picture from nothing. "Where is he? Why does he never come?" She would go quiet in that particular way of hers. Her eyes would move to some point past me, and after a moment she would change the subject. I learned eventually to stop asking. Having her was more than enough. She was both of them to me. But the world does not care about what is enough. Someone accused her of killing the Alpha and the Luna. I was never told who made the accusation first or exactly how the evidence was presented. The result was all I ever knew. The pack believed it. She was executed. I was left behind. The pack turned the grief of losing their Alpha and Luna into something they could aim at me. I became the traitor's daughter. A label that followed me into every room before I could even speak a word. They stripped away everything my mother's name had once protected me from and gave me the lowest position in the entire pack. My days filled with tasks that never ended. My nights filled with whatever hours of sleep the work allowed. In between, there were hands raised against me and words designed to cut. I wiped my face and pressed on. Crying would not clean the steps. Crying would not keep me out of trouble. The guests would arrive soon, and every inch of this hall needed to be ready before they did. I had to focus. I had to keep moving. "Oh, my dear Freya, do not be sad. I am always here with you." My wolf Ivy's voice settled over me the way a warm blanket does on a cold night. Something about hearing her always made the weight a little easier to carry. "I know, Ivy. I am fine. I really am. I am just glad I have you. Because of you, I am not completely alone." "You will never be alone. There is also your mate waiting for you somewhere. He is out there." I paused for a moment, the rag still in my hand. "I am already eighteen, Ivy. I have not felt even a pull. Not once." "This pack is small. The world outside it is not. Your mate may not be anywhere near here." I stayed quiet, letting that thought settle. My mother never spoke about love in personal terms. But I watched her sometimes when she did not know I was looking. There was a kind of tiredness in her eyes that had nothing to do with the work she carried. She had managed everything alone, and she had done it beautifully, but something in her always looked like it was missing a partner. Not just someone to share the load, but someone to simply be there at the end of a long day. Because of that, without ever making it something I spoke about openly, I always held a small, quiet hope deep inside that my mate would find me one day. "Maybe we should leave this place," Ivy said softly. "Just go." "Not yet." I squeezed the rag and started on the next step. "I cannot leave while my mother's name is still covered in lies. I will not walk away from this pack until every person in it knows the truth about who she really was." The truth. That word had become the thing I built my days around. Somewhere in this pack, hidden in old records or in someone's memory or locked behind a door I had not yet found, was the answer to what really happened the night my mother was accused. I had to believe that. I had to keep believing it, because the moment I stopped, there would be nothing left to hold me upright. I finished the last step and sat back on my heels. The hall was quiet around me. In a few hours, it would be full of wolves dressed in their finest, raising glasses for a new Alpha who would never know the name of the slave who scrubbed these floors before he arrived. I looked at my raw, reddened hands. Today was Oliver Hayes's day of celebration. But it was also the day I quietly made a promise to myself, one more time, that I would find the truth and clear my mother's name before I ever set foot beyond the borders of this pack. I had to believe my chance was coming. But what I did not know, not yet, was that before the day ended, something would happen that would change every plan I had ever made. Was my so-called mate already inside these walls, watching me from somewhere I had not yet looked?