Chapter 1 - Elena Morgan

  Elena’s Point of View  

With a slow drag of my marker, I drew a straight line across the wall, then stepped back to look at it. Two thousand one hundred and ninety days. Almost six years had passed since my parents vanished—more like abandoned me. I wasn’t even sure why I kept track of the days. Maybe deep down, I hoped they would return someday. When I was twelve, I longed for them like any child would, but now, at nearly eighteen, I no longer wanted them back. Soon, I could leave this place forever.  

I never got an explanation for why they disappeared, though the most obvious reason was me—being born the weakest of the pack. Still, that didn’t justify leaving their own child behind, especially in the hands of people who despised me. Each day brought a fresh form of cruelty, whether humiliation or physical pain. And believe me, pain was always their first choice. It didn’t matter who started it; someone would, and another would finish it.  

The only person in the entire pack who never raised a hand against me was the alpha, but that was only because he didn’t know what was happening. Even if he did, I doubted he would care. His rank was far above mine, and I meant nothing here. When the beatings came, I never fought back—I was too weak. My wolf had been silent for so long now. I missed her. Lena. I missed her more than anything.  

One day, a group of guys from my pack lost their football game at school. In their anger, they took it out on me, using me as their personal punching bag. That was the day I truly thought I was going to die. It was also the last time I ever heard Lena’s voice—she had saved me that day.  

A loud knock on my door jolted me from my thoughts.  

“Elena, get up! One of the guys spilled milk all over the kitchen floor,” a girl yelled impatiently, banging on my door.  

In the pack house, I was nothing more than a servant, forced into labor by the others. There was no arguing against it—not when the entire pack saw me as worthless. These were the moments I dreaded the most because it meant leaving my room, the only place I had to hide. My tiny space barely fit a bed and dresser, with a small bathroom attached. It wasn’t much, but I was still grateful. Despite the miserable life I had been dealt, at least I had somewhere to retreat to when things got unbearable.  

Quickly, I pulled on a black long-sleeved shirt, making sure to cover the scars on my wrists. The pack had left their mark on me in more ways than one, but some of the wounds were my own doing. When you endure constant torture and the weight of knowing your parents abandoned you, it wears you down bit by bit until there’s nothing left. Some people are strong enough to survive it. I wasn’t.  

As I entered the kitchen, I immediately spotted the group of guys sitting at the counter—the ones I hated most. Ignoring them, I walked to the cupboard beneath the sink to grab some paper towels.  

“Look, it’s the runt,” one of them sneered.  

I clenched my rubber bracelet, snapping it hard against my wrist. The sharp sting was a distraction, helping me block out their words. It didn’t erase the pain, but it kept me from reacting. My wounds were fresh, making it hurt even more, but I didn’t care.  

As I knelt down to wipe the spilled milk from the floor, I suddenly heard the sound of a cup tipping over.  

“Oops. Mind cleaning that up for me, Elena?” Connor asked smugly, his friends laughing along with him.  

Connor, Nathan, Harris, and Emerson—the four people who made my life a living nightmare. Since the day my parents left, they had taken every opportunity to torment me. Worse, they held high-ranking positions in the pack. Connor was the Beta, Nathan the Omega, and Harris and Emerson shared the title of Gamma. They were powerful, and they knew it. I despised them, yet I feared them even more.  

“Yes,” I muttered, exhaling a shaky breath as I bent down to clean the new mess.  

Before I could react, a sudden, sharp pain exploded through my nose. Staggering backward, I instinctively cupped my hands over my face, feeling the warm blood trickle down.  

“Oh, my bad. Didn’t see you there,” Nathan said casually, shrugging his shoulders.  

“Damn, look at all that blood,” Harris chuckled, nudging Emerson, who grinned in agreement.  

Frozen in place, I pressed my palms against my nose, trying to stop the bleeding.  

“Ew, she’s getting blood everywhere,” Vivian, Connor’s mate, scoffed as she walked in with her friend, Tessa.  

“That’s disgusting,” Tessa added, her voice dripping with disdain.  

Laughter erupted around me. I stood there, humiliated, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. How could I have been so careless? I should have checked the kitchen before coming in. This was my fault.  

But then, the room fell silent. A sudden, powerful presence loomed behind me, causing the air to shift. Slowly, I turned around and felt my body go rigid.  

Alpha Asher.  

The one person who had no idea just how rotten his pack truly was.  

Our eyes met, and his gaze flickered to my bleeding nose before sweeping over the room. Then, he looked back at me, his expression unreadable.  

“I—I’m s-sorry,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, I hurried past him, rushing toward the bathroom.  

Once inside, I turned on the faucet and washed away the blood. As I glanced up at my reflection, a stranger stared back at me. Black hair, green eyes, and a pale face. I had never considered myself pretty—the pack had made sure I knew otherwise.  

Sighing, I reached for the doorknob, but before I could step out, a forceful shove sent me stumbling back into the bathroom.  

Connor.  

He slammed the door shut behind him, his expression twisted with anger.  

“You’re such a screw-up,” he hissed. “Do you realize you almost got us caught by the Alpha? Spilling your disgusting blood all over the floor like that.”

As he stepped closer, my entire body tensed. I already knew what was coming, and the fear brought tears to my eyes. The hatred on his face was unmistakable—pure disgust, as if I were something less than human. Unlike the others who tormented me with their fists, the Beta had his own method of punishment. His cruelty went far beyond simple beatings.  

A soft whimper escaped my lips just as his hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing with unrelenting force. Instantly, my air was cut off, my lungs burning as they screamed for relief. This was his routine—every time he saw me, he would do this, keeping me on the edge of suffocation until I nearly blacked out. On his worst days, he did it twice, sometimes even three times. Today, I could tell it would be one of those days. Bracing myself, I prepared for the agony that was sure to follow.  

There was no suffering quite like being robbed of breath, no torture more agonizing than the inability to pull in air. Whenever this happened, I forced myself to shut my eyes, counting silently in my head—anything to distract from the fact that I was dying, even for a moment. At times, I would dig my nails into my wrist, pressing against the fresh wounds there, using one pain to mask another.  

After what felt like an eternity, his grip loosened, and I collapsed onto the cold floor, desperately gasping for air. My vision blurred, my body trembling as I struggled to regulate my breathing. Over time, I had learned to use the short breaks he gave as an opportunity to catch my breath, knowing he might decide to do it again.  

The sound of his footsteps barely registered before a sharp yank on my hair sent a jolt of pain through my scalp. A small cry escaped me as he pulled my head back, bringing his mouth close to my ear.  

"Consider yourself lucky," he murmured, his voice dripping with menace. "We both know I could do much worse. Next time, watch yourself." With a final, rough shove, he released me and strode out of the bathroom without a second glance.  

For several moments, I stayed on the floor, trying to gather the strength to move. When I finally managed to stand, I turned to the mirror, my heart sinking at the reflection staring back at me. The faint imprint of his fingers lingered on my neck, a cruel reminder of what had just happened. My face, splotchy and red, was slowly regaining its color.  

Turning on the faucet, I splashed cold water over my skin, trying to wash away the evidence, trying to make myself feel something other than helplessness. Running shaky fingers through my tangled hair, I exhaled a heavy breath.  

This place was going to be the death of me. Elena Morgan.