CHAPTER 2

TIARA'S POV

The sounds of laughter and music echoed through the pack house. Tonight was a celebration, though I didn’t know what exactly we were celebrating. It didn’t matter. These events were never for me. My role was always the same: invisible, unnoticed, and burdened with the endless tasks of a servant.

In the small servant quarters, I stood behind Phoebe as she examined herself in the mirror. The dress she had chosen for the night was stunning—soft satin in deep emerald that clung to her figure and shone with every movement. Her curls framed her face like a halo, though her cruel smile reminded me she was anything but angelic.

"Tiara," she snapped, her sharp tone pulling me out of my thoughts. 

"Stop standing there like a fool and help me lace this up!"

I stepped forward, my fingers fumbling with the delicate ties of her dress. She smacked my hand away with a huff. 

"Are you completely useless? Honestly, I don’t know why Father hasn’t just thrown you out yet. A dimwit like you isn’t fit to clean our floors, let alone live in this house."

Her words stung, but I kept my head down, tying the laces as tightly and carefully as I could. She twisted to admire herself in the mirror, running her hands over the fabric.

"Perfect," she said with a satisfied smirk. Then, she turned to me, her eyes narrowing. 

"Stay out of sight tonight, Tiara. No one needs to see your ugly little face. Just do your job and don’t embarrass me."

"Yes, Phoebe," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

"What was that?" she snapped, her hand darting out to grab my chin, forcing me to look up at her.

"I said, yes, Phoebe," I repeated, louder this time.

"Good," she said, shoving my face away as if even touching me disgusted her. 

"Now, fetch my shoes. The black heels, not the brown ones. And be quick about it."

I hurried to the small wardrobe where her shoes were kept, retrieving the pair she had asked for. As I placed them at her feet, she sneered at me. 

"Honestly, you look worse than usual tonight. Those rags suit you, though. Maybe you were born to be a maid after all."

Her laughter rang in my ears as I stepped back, biting down the sharp retorts that rose in my throat. Nothing I said would change her mind or her cruelty.

The party was in full swing by the time I finished the last of my tasks. The grand hall was filled with pack members and important guests. The chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow, and the sound of music mingled with the hum of conversation. I stayed near the edges of the room, keeping to the shadows as I carried out my duties.

I could smell the rich wines and the expensive perfumes, but I wasn't allowed any of those. 

Phoebe was the center of attention, as always. She floated through the crowd, her emerald dress trailing behind her like a queen’s robe. She laughed loudly, her voice carrying over the music, and flirted shamelessly with Luke, the son of one of the pack’s wealthiest members.

Luke was tall and handsome, his dark hair neatly combed, and his sharp features highlighted by the tailored suit he wore. Phoebe clung to his arm, her smile as radiant as the jewels around her neck.

I watched from the corner of the room, my heart heavy. I didn’t envy Phoebe’s life, but I did long for the freedom she had. The way people looked at her, listened to her, adored her—it was something I had never known. Yet I was the first born daughter of Alpha Darius.

"Tiara!" Phoebe’s sharp voice cut through the noise, and I flinched. She was standing by the refreshments table, her eyes locked on me. "Come here, now!"

I hurried to her side, my head bowed.

"Fix this," she hissed, pointing to the sash on her dress. It had come loose, and though it was a small detail, to Phoebe, it was a disaster.

"Of course," I said, my voice soft. My hands moved quickly, adjusting the sash until it was perfect again.

"Ugh," she groaned, pushing me aside. 

"Do you have to hover like that? You're like a bad smell—always lingering."

She turned her back on me, her attention already back on Luke. I stepped away, my cheeks burning with shame.

Later in the evening, as the party reached its peak, a gasp rippled through the crowd. I turned just in time to see Phoebe standing in the middle of the room, her dress stained with red wine. She stood frozen for a moment before the rage took over, her face twisting into a mask of fury. Apparently, she had spilled wine on herself and it was solely her fault. Perhaps, she was doing too much tonight and was too eager to create an impression.

Victoria, who had been mingling with the guests, appeared out of nowhere. Her sharp eyes scanned the scene before landing on me.

"You!" she barked, her voice loud enough to silence the room. 

"How could you let this happen?"

"I-I didn’t—" I stammered, my voice trembling.

"Don’t you dare make excuses!" she snapped, striding toward me. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. 

"You’re supposed to take care of Phoebe, and this is how you do it? You’re worthless! You're not deserving of the food you eat or the clothes on your back!"

Her hand came down hard on my cheek, the slap stinging harder than I'd braced up for. 

Tears sprang to my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The room spun as my vision blurred, and I heard the whispers of the crowd around me.

"Out," Victoria hissed. 

"Get out of my sight. You’re an embarrassment to this pack."

I stumbled back, my hands shaking as I turned and fled. The laughter and music of the party faded behind me as I ran

out. No one would stand up for me. 

Well, maybe unless I did for myself.