Torn Between Two Alphas

CHAPTER2

Amelia

The smell of frying onions filled the kitchen as I stood by the stove, stirring the pot. My fingers moved mechanically, chopping vegetables and seasoning the broth, but my mind was elsewhere. It had been five days since the Moon Festival and I had barely been myself since then.

The sharpness of the knife barely registered as I cut through a tomato, my thoughts consumed by memories I wished I could forget.

I had learned to keep my emotions under control, especially around Catherine. So when I heard her footsteps approaching, I braced myself. The way her heels clicked against the wooden floor was like a warning bell—loud, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

She entered the kitchen, her presence suffocating as always. She was dressed in a black outfit, her blonde hair perfectly styled.

Sometimes, I liked to think Catherine was everything I wasn't—confident, beautiful, and in control. I hated her for it.

“Well, well, well,” she began, her voice dripping with mockery. “Look at you, busy little worker bee.”

I didn’t respond. I kept my eyes on the pot, stirring the soup, pretending that her words didn’t affect me. But Catherine wasn’t the type to be ignored.

“I heard Felix was seen with someone new last night.” She leaned against the counter, watching me closely. “Must be hard, seeing him move on so quickly. But then again, were you ever really worthy of him?”

Her words sliced through me and I felt my grip on the spoon tighten. I refused to let her see how much her taunts hurt.

Catherine smirked. “He probably realized what the rest of us already knew—that you’re nothing. A pathetic girl who can’t even keep her mate’s attention.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. Her cruelty had no limits, and every day, she got annoyingly better at it.

She continued, “I’m heading out. Meeting someone who cares about me.” She emphasized the word ‘cares,’ and that was when it clicked. I didn’t need to ask to know who she was talking about.

Connor.

The very name made my stomach churn. Memories I had tried to bury came rushing back, flooding my mind with images I desperately wanted to forget.

I hated the way Catherine constantly taunted me about her involvement with Connor. But could I even blame her?

The night Connor had forced himself on me. I had seen Catherine afterwards, and from the smug look on her face, I had known she would tell the whole pack what had happened. I had dreaded it—waiting for the humiliation, the whispers, the judgment. But the weeks passed, and Catherine said nothing. No one knew, except for her subtle and snide remarks that sounded like she was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Then, one day, she cornered me. “Do you want to know why you haven’t been thrown out of this house yet?” she asked. “It’s because I decided to spare you. You should be grateful.”

Grateful. The word had burned in my throat, but I had thanked her profusely, pretending to feel relief, when all I felt inside was dirtied and broken. Later, I went to Felix, my only comfort in this nightmare. I told him everything, begged him to run away with me, to leave this cursed pack and start fresh somewhere else.

But Felix had hesitated. “Amelia, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he’d said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to Connor.”

I had believed him. I had trusted that Felix would save me from the nightmare I was living in. But then, days later, while I was at the café where I worked part-time, a black car pulled up outside. I knew it was him before I even saw his face.

Connor.

He had come for me.

“Get in,” he had ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. I had gotten into the car, my hands trembling in my lap as he drove us to his mansion. Once inside, he demanded to know why he couldn’t get me out of his head.

His anger and confusion were all directed at me as if it was my fault.

“I don’t know,” I had whimpered, too scared to give him the answer he wanted — if I even knew what it was.

Then he said it—the words that shattered my heart. “Felix confronted me about you,” he sneered. “I put him in his place.”

The horror of it had nearly broken me. I dreaded Connor’s definition of putting someone in their place, and so I fell on my knees.

I had begged him to spare Felix, tears streaming down my face. But Connor had only smirked, ordering me to strip. I obeyed, my body trembling as I stood in front of him, naked and vulnerable.

He had taken me again, and despite the pain, despite everything, I had felt something that terrified me even more—pleasure. I hated myself for it, for the way my body had responded to his touch. Afterwards, I confined myself to my room, refusing to face the world and ignoring Aunt Selina’s demands.

Then Catherine had stormed in, breaking down the door. She had beaten me, leaving me bruised and broken on the floor, all because she had found out about my second encounter with Connor. Days later, Connor had come to the house, sensing something was wrong. He saw the marks on my body, but he did nothing. Catherine had blackmailed him into leaving me alone — and he had done just that.

Catherine’s voice cut through my thoughts and I jolted back to the present. “Well, I’ll be off. Don’t wait up.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she turned to leave, but not before throwing one last remark over her shoulder. “Try not to embarrass yourself while I’m gone.”

The door slammed shut, and I stood there, trembling. The bile rose in my throat, and I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up. My body heaved, and when I finally lifted my head, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror.

I looked pale, my skin almost ghostly under the harsh light. My hand went to my forehead—it was burning. Feverish.

I needed to go to the hospital.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, I nearly bumped into Timothy, my younger cousin. His eyes widened in concern as he took in my appearance.

“Amelia, you don’t look good,” he said, his voice filled with worry. “Are you okay?”

I forced a smile, though it felt weak. “I’ll be fine. Just need to get some air.”

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “Please, take care of yourself. You’ve been through enough.”

His words touched something deep inside me, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of warmth. Timothy had always been kind to me, the only one in this house who didn’t treat me like an outcast.

“Thank you,” I whispered, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder before heading out the door.

The fresh air hit me as I stepped outside, but it did little to ease the nausea swirling in my stomach. I walked slowly toward the hospital, my legs feeling like wood.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but deep down, I had a feeling that this was only the beginning.