The Alpha’s Cursed Mate

Chapter1

TIARA'S POV

It was my eighteenth birthday and I was supposed to transform into my wolf form for the first time.

But the cell was hardly the place for it. It was so dark I could not see myself.

I curled into myself on the damp floor of the cell, the stone beneath me unforgiving. It had been hours—maybe a few days—since they locked me here. Time meant nothing in this darkness. The only sound was my shallow breathing, echoing off the cold walls. The walls were so thick and cold I could hardly bring myself to lean on it.

They hated me. All of them.

The pack, my family, everyone. To them, I was the cursed one, the girl with the star-shaped birthmark on her neck. My fingers brushed against the mark, the raised skin a permanent reminder of what they said I was—a bringer of misfortune. They whispered that my mother, the former Luna, had died because of me. That the moment I came into this world, she left it. And so, they punished me for simply existing. My father, alpha Darius of the MoonCrown pack took sides with my step sister and step mother and I was constantly helpless.

“Throw her in the cell. Who cares about the transformation ceremony of a cursed girl?” Victoria, my step mother had asked.

“But it's my eighteenth birthday! Please don't put me in the cell. I'll do whatever you want, please!”

Those were the last words I spoke before I was thrown into the dark cell.

“There's no better place to spend your birthday and your first transformation than in a cell!” I hard my step sister, Phoebe call from outside the door as I was thrown into the darkness.

I closed my eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they came anyway, hot and heavy down my cheeks. I drew my knees to my chin and let it all out, the sobs racking my body.

Crying was something I did often. It didn't embarrass me anymore and I never ran out of tears.

The faint creak of the cell door startled me.

Light spilled into the room, and I blinked against the sudden brightness. A figure stepped inside, her steps hesitant.

It was Nina. The slave girl who managed to not hate me.

Her brown eyes darted nervously, scanning the shadows before settling on me.

“Tiara,” she whispered, her voice soft as a breeze.

I sat up, my body aching from the cold and lack of movement.

“Nina,” I croaked. My throat was dry, my voice barely above a whisper.

She knelt beside me, pulling a small bundle from beneath her apron.

“I brought you something,” she said, unwrapping a piece of bread and a small flask of water.

My hands trembled as I reached for it.

“Thank you,” I murmured, the words barely audible. She watched as I devoured the bread, each bite fueling me for the next.

“I don’t think you’re cursed, Tiara,” she said after a moment. Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her fear.

“They’re wrong about you. I know it.”

Her words filled me with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, glancing at the door. “If they find you—”

“I’ll be fine,” she cut me off.

“I couldn’t let you stay here like this. It’s cruel.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of her kindness pressing against the darkness of my reality.

“You’re the only one who sees me,” I said finally, my voice breaking.

Nina placed a hand on my shoulder, her grip firm but comforting.

“Don’t let them break you,” she said.

“I'm sure all of these will eventually come to an end and you'll be free.”

She stood then, her movements quick and deliberate.

“I have to go now before I get myself in trouble,” she said, her voice laced with regret.

“But I’ll come back when I can.”

I watched as she slipped out of the cell, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. The darkness swallowed me again.

The next morning, they dragged me out of the cell. My legs were weak, my body sore, but I didn’t resist. Two guards were by my side, Their grips firm on my arms. They brought me to the main hall of the pack house, where Phoebe waited.

She stood at the center of the room, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders in perfect waves. She wore a dress of deep crimson, the fabric shimmering under the sunlight that streamed through the windows. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile as she looked at me.

“Tiara,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

“You’re finally out of your little hole.”

I kept my eyes on the floor, the rags I wore a stark contrast to her elegant gown. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

She was my younger sister, born to my father after I'd been born. But she was the legitimate daughter to everyone.

“Well, I thought of giving you new duties. From now on,” she continued, “you’ll serve as my maid.”

Her words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

“You’ll scrub the floors, clean the walls, and do whatever else I ask of you. Understand?”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Phoebe stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

“Look at you,” she said, her voice laced with contempt.

“Covered in filth, dressed like a beggar. It suits you.”

Her friends giggled behind her, their laughter echoing through the hall. They stood in a small group, their dresses just as beautiful as Phoebe’s, their faces painted with disdain as they looked at me.

“Get to work,” Phoebe said, turning away from me. She waved a hand dismissively, as if I were nothing more than an insect.

I moved to the corner of the room, where a bucket of water and a rag waited for me. The stone floor was cold beneath my knees as I began to scrub. My hands moved mechanically, the repetitive motion dulling the ache in my heart.

Phoebe and her friends laughed and chatted as they walked through the hall, their voices fading as they moved

to another part of the house. For a moment, I was alone, the silence pressing down on me.