The Alpha King's Chosen Slave

Chapter 1:Still i obey

Sera's POV

"Sera! Where is that useless girl?"

Lydia's voice echoed through the packhouse kitchen. Sharp. Angry. Making my stomach twist with dread.

I was scrubbing the floor. My knees hurt from kneeling on the hard stone.

But I moved faster. Stood up. Wiped my hands on my dirty apron.

"Coming!" I called back.

I hurried toward the main kitchen where Lydia's voice had come from. My bare feet slapped against the cold floor.

She was standing by the door. Arms crossed. Face twisted with irritation.

She looked beautiful even when she was angry. Long blonde hair perfectly styled. Expensive dress. Jewelry that sparkled in the morning light.

Everything I wasn't.

"Finally," she snapped.

"Take this pot to the dining room. The pack elders are waiting for their breakfast."

I looked at what she was pointing at. A huge iron pot sitting directly on the stove. Steam rising from it. The porridge inside bubbling.

"It's... it's still on the heat," I said quietly.

"Can I wait until,"

"Did I ask you to wait?" Her voice went higher. Sharper.

"No, but it's hot. I don't have,"

"I don't care! Take it now!"

"Lydia, please. I can't carry it while it's,"

Her hand came out of nowhere. Slapped me hard across the back.

The sting brought tears to my eyes. But I was used to it. Used to the pain.

"Don't talk back to me!" she screamed. "You're a servant! You do what I say! Now pick up that pot and take it to the dining room!"

My hands were shaking. I looked at the pot again. The metal handles were glowing red from the heat.

If I touched them, they would burn me. Badly.

But if I didn't obey, Lydia would make things worse. She always did.

I moved toward the stove. Reached out slowly.

The moment my hands touched the handles, pain exploded through my palms.

It was like touching fire. Like my skin was melting off.

I screamed. Couldn't help it. The pain was too much.

"Stop being dramatic and just carry it!" Lydia yelled.

I tried. I really tried.

I lifted the pot. My hands burning. Screaming. Every nerve on fire.

I took one step. Then another.

But the pain was too much. Too intense.

My hands gave out.

The pot slipped from my grip.

It fell. Hit the floor with a loud crash.

Hot porridge exploded everywhere. Across the floor. Across my legs. Across the bottom of Lydia's expensive dress.

For a second, there was just silence.

Then Lydia started screaming.

"You stupid girl! Look what you did! My dress! The floor! The food!"

She was shrieking now. Her face red with rage.

"I'm sorry!" I gasped. My hands were throbbing from the pain.

"I'm sorry, I tried, but it was too hot and I,"

"You ruined everything!" She grabbed my hair. Yanked my head back.

"You useless piece of trash!"

"I said I couldn't carry it! I told you it was too hot!"

"Don't you dare blame me for your incompetence!"

"What is going on here?"

A cold voice cut through the screaming.

My stepmother, Margaret, stood in the doorway. Her face stern. Her eyes hard.

She looked at the mess. The porridge all over the floor. The overturned pot. My burned hands. Lydia's ruined dress.

"This i***t dropped the breakfast!" Lydia said immediately. Pointing at me.

"She ruined everything! The elders are waiting and now there's no food!"

Margaret's eyes turned to me. Cold.

"Is this true, Sera?"

"I... I tried to tell her it was too hot. I tried to,"

"I don't want excuses!" Margaret's voice was like ice.

"You're a stupid, worthless brat! You can't even perform simple tasks!"

"But I,"

"Shut up!" She moved forward. Fast. Grabbed the back of my neck.

"You've wasted food! Made a mess!"

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Tears streaming down my face.

"Sorry doesn't fix this!" She pushed me. Hard.

I fell to my knees in the hot porridge. The heat burned through my thin dress. Burned my skin.

"Clean this up," Margaret said. Her voice quiet.

"Every drop. I don't care if it takes you all day. And if you miss even one spot, you won't eat for a week."

"Yes, ma'am," I choked out.

"And Lydia, come with me. We'll get you a new dress. The elders can wait."

They left. Both of them. Like I was nothing. Like I didn't matter.

I knelt there on the floor. Surrounded by hot porridge. My hands burning. My knees burning. My heart breaking.

I started cleaning. Using rags. Using my bare hands even though they hurt so much

Tears mixed with the porridge on the floor. But I kept working.

I always kept working. Because that's all I was allowed to do.

It took hours. Hours of scrubbing. Of cleaning. Of making sure every single spot was gone.

My hands were covered in blisters by the time I finished.

But the floor was clean. Spotless.

I threw the rags in the waste bucket and limped toward the back of the packhouse.

Toward the storage closet where I slept.

It wasn't really a room. Just a small space with a thin mattress on the floor. No windows. Just four walls and a door that locked from the outside.

But it was mine. The only space in this entire packhouse that was mine.

I pushed open the door and collapsed onto the mattress.

Everything hurt. My hands. My knees. My back from where Lydia had hit me.

But I was used to pain. Had been living with it for seventeen years.

I closed my eyes. Just wanting to sleep. Just wanting to forget.

Then I heard footsteps.

A knock on my door.

"Sera. Miss Lydia wants you in her room. Now."

It was one of the servant girls. Her voice sympathetic but firm.

I wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to say no.

But I couldn't.

I pulled myself up. Winced as my blistered hands touched the wall.

I walked out of my closet and up the stairs to Lydia's room.

Her room was on the second floor. Large. Beautiful. Everything mine wasn't.

I knocked softly.

"Come in!"

I pushed the door open.

And my heart stopped.

Lydia was on her bed. But she wasn't alone.

A man was with her. His arms around her. His face buried in her neck.

I knew that face. Knew it better than my own.

Derrick.

My mate. Or he was supposed to be my mate.