For as long as I could remember, my world was a small kitchen utility room. An adopted orphan, a bed was a luxury I didn't deserve, sleeping under a low table until Melissa, the Alpha's daughter, gifted me her old mattress.

My mother, the Alpha's sister, died giving birth to me. For that, Luna Ellen blamed me, and their hatred became the backdrop of my endless torture. From four, I toiled in the kitchen, then cleaned the house. Small mistakes meant brutal beatings; cold leftovers were often too much to ask for.

I was never allowed at the table, permitted only 'sorry' or 'yes' – anything else invited more pain. "All you had to do was nod your head and pretend to be mute," Luna once said.

My miserable existence shifted when Melissa turned five. She pleaded my case, granting me a seat at the table, a glimmer of hope in this awful life. She saw me as her elder sister, not a slave, introducing me to her friends and giving me comfortable clothes. Thanks to her, a fragile hope flickered.

Pushing away those thoughts, I continued to work, cleaning the house for the rest of the day. Ellen’s wrath, should a single hair strand be found, was a terror I knew too well. I knelt, scrubbing the floor, the muggy summer air clinging to me. Sweat dripped, only for dirty water from the rag to splash my face – a bizarre, momentary relief. I moved slowly, silently, trying not to disturb anyone.

But as I reached the Alpha’s study, Ellen’s shrill screams pierced the wooden door, sending a familiar dread through me. “If you want someone to marry, marry out that mute!”

Mute? Was she talking about me? A shiver ran down my spine. For the first time, I dared to eavesdrop.