Talia's POV
The slap came out of nowhere.
My cheek stung, my ear rang, and I stumbled back against the wall of the storage room with my hand flying to my face. I did not need a mirror to know a red mark was already blooming across my skin. They always bloomed fast on me, like bruises were the one thing my body did without being asked.
Celeste stood in front of me, her hand still raised, her face twisted with fury. Blonde hair perfect. Pale blue gown flawless. But her eyes were wild, like a wolf that had been cornered by something smaller than itself.
"Look what you did," she spat.
I looked. I saw nothing.
She pointed at her own chin, at a tiny red bump I would never have noticed if she had not shoved her jaw in my direction.
"There's a pimple," she shrieked. "On the day the Alpha of Shadowfang arrives. You did this. It's all because of your ugliness and your bad luck. It has contaminated me."
I did not say anything. I learned years ago that silence was safer than words, and cheaper than pride. Every sentence I swallowed was a coin I banked for later.
That last part, I did not say out loud either.
Celeste stepped closer. Her perfume was thick and sweet, like flowers trying to cover up the smell of something rotten. "If you ruin this for me, I will make your life so much worse than it already is. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
Not because I understood. Because nodding was faster than arguing, and arguing only ever cost me meals.
She stared at me for a long moment, chest heaving, then smoothed her gown, lifted her chin, and walked out of my storage room like nothing had happened.
The door did not close all the way. It never did.
The lock was on the outside.
I waited until her footsteps faded before I let myself breathe. My hands were shaking. They always shook after Celeste's visits—fifteen years of hiding, and my body still ran the same old script. Fast heartbeat. Shallow breath. Cold fingers.
I touched my cheek. Warm. It would bruise. It always did.
I turned to the cracked mirror hanging on the wall and studied my reflection. Plain face. Dull eyes. Brown hair that looked dead and dry. Skin the color of old paper.
I hated that face every day.
But it was not my real face.
My fingers found the necklace under my dress. The silver chain was cold against my skin, and the small charm at the end weighed nothing at all, yet it had felt heavy for fifteen years.
My mother's dying words echoed in my memory.
"Never remove the glamour charm before your twentieth birthday."
I was five years old when she put this necklace around my neck. The house was burning. Smoke filled my lungs. Flames licked the walls. She knelt in front of me, face streaked with ash, eyes red from crying.
Wear this and they will not see you. Always wear this and they will not hurt you.
Then she went back into the fire.
I had not seen her since.
Everyone said she died. Everyone accused me of setting the fire, called me a cursed child who killed her own mother.
They were wrong about both.
My mother was not dead. I felt it in my bones every day that she was out there somewhere, waiting for me, and I would find her.
But first, I had to survive today.
I washed my face in the small basin in the corner of my room. The water was cold. It was always cold, because no one bothered to bring me warm water, not even in winter. I put on the same old dress I always wore, too big, making me look even smaller than I was. I did not brush my hair. I did not try to look presentable.
There was no point. No one looked at me anyway.
I was invisible. I had been invisible for fifteen years, and today was supposed to be just another day of being invisible.
But something told me it would not be.
A soft knock came from the door.
Not the heavy slam of Celeste's fist. Not the impatient bang of a servant. This one was careful, secretive.
I knew that knock.
I opened the door just wide enough to see who was there, and Piper Holloway slipped inside.
She was my best friend, and the only person in this pack who knew my secrets. Her hair was messy, her eyes wide, and she was breathing hard like she had run all the way here.
"You will not believe what I just heard," she whispered.
"What?"
Piper grabbed my hands. Her fingers were cold. "The Alpha of Shadowfang is coming to Cresswood."
I stared at her. "Okay? Why?"
"To choose a mate." Her voice shook. "Vivienne is going to present Celeste to him. The whole pack is talking about it. Talia, this is huge."
I did not care about the Alpha of Shadowfang. I did not care about Celeste. I did not care about any of it.
But Piper was looking at me like I should.
"When?" I asked.
"Today," she said. "He arrives today."
Today.
I echoed the word in my head and looked at the small window near the ceiling. The sky was pale. The sun was rising. And today, everything would change.
I did not know how I knew that. I just knew.
Piper squeezed my hands. "Be careful, Talia. Vivienne is planning something. I can feel it."
"She is always planning something," I said.
Piper left the way she came—quiet, careful, secretive.
I locked the door behind her and sat back down on my thin mattress.
Today, the Alpha of Shadowfang would come to Cresswood. Celeste would try to become a Luna. Vivienne would scheme. And I would stand in the back where I belonged, in my invisible, safe space—if they even allowed me out of the kitchen long enough to stand anywhere at all.
But Piper's words kept echoing in my head.
Vivienne is planning something.
I did not know what she was planning. I did not know what the Alpha of Shadowfang looked like. I did not know if today would change anything at all.
But I knew one thing for certain.
I stayed in this pack for two reasons. To find out what happened to my mother, and to make the Cress family pay for every year they abused me.
I kept a list. Not on paper—paper could be found, and anything found in Cresswood was used against me. I kept it behind my teeth instead. Every slap. Every locked night. Every stolen meal. Every lie told about my mother.
Fifteen years of entries, and I had not forgotten a single one.
Whatever Vivienne was planning today, I would survive it.
I had survived fifteen years of her.
One Alpha could not be worse.
Could he?
