Hazel's POV
Without wasting another second, I rushed from the stairs. My bare feet barely touched the polished wood as I flew down the hallway, the image of Beta Caspian's softened eyes and faint smirk seared into my mind.
I burst into my small, neglected room, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud that echoed in the sudden silence. I leaned against it, my chest heaving, listening, waiting.
He had seen me! The disgrace of the pack, the unwanted human.
What if he told my father?
The thought sent a fresh surge of ice through my veins. My father, Marcus Gilbert, would not hesitate. He'd drag me back downstairs, ignore Caspian's presence, and complete the beating right in front of him a public display of my worthlessness.
The humiliation, piled on top of the pain, would be unbearable.
No!
I tightened my hand around the rough fabric of my gown, clenching it until my knuckles ached. It was a small, self-soothing ritual I'd developed over years of endless torture—a way to regulate the frantic beat of my heart, to channel my overwhelming nervousness.
Then, the distinct rumble of an engine starting up reached my ears.
He was leaving.
A desperate need to see him again, to understand that fleeting look, propelled me to the window. I pressed my face against the cool glass, peering out into the fading light.
His sleek, dark car was already idling, the engine a low growl. Sophia, draped in a new, glittering gown, was plastered to his side, planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek.
Ugh! I could practically taste her sickeningly sweet triumph from here.
He shook hands with my father, a brief, formal gesture, and then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his gaze lifted.
His eyes-the same piercing blue that had captivated me moments before met mine again through the windowpane.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to stretch.
His eyes, impossibly, softened as they locked onto mine, a subtle shift that made my breath catch.
Then, a slow, almost imperceptible smirk curved his lips. A flash of something unreadable amusement? Understanding?before he finally broke the connection and slid into his car.
The door clicked shut. The window rolled up. And the Sleek black vehicle zoomed off down the drive, disappearing into the gathering twilight.
What? What just happened?
Did he just smile at me?
The question reverberated in my mind, echoing the wild thrumming of my heart.
He wasn't supposed to look at me with anything but disgust.
I was a human. A stain on his pack's pristine reputation. A disgrace.
Maybe he didn't know it was me. Maybe he thought I was Natasha. She's not downstairs and that makes perfect sense.
My head spun with the conflicting images: the brutal beating, the raw pain, and then his soft eyes and that baffling, enigmatic smirk.
As the car vanished completely, I stumbled back from the window, my legs suddenly weak. I collapsed onto my worn-out bed, pulling the thin, scratchy sheets over my face, hoping their rough texture would somehow erase the blush that I could feel creeping up my neck.
My thoughts were a chaotic jumble, completely out of sync with my terrifying reality.
How could I...a girl who had just been brutally assaulted by her own father be thinking about how handsome the man who'd just made fleeting eye contact with her was?
How could my heart be racing like this, not from fear, but from… something else?
Damn it, Hazel! Get a grip!
The faint creak of my door opening sent a jolt of pure fear through me.
My father.
My entire body tensed, fear immediately running through my veins like ice.
I scrambled to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest, and instinctively bowed low a gentle gesture, as if he hadn't just tried to strangle me moments ago.
It was a default setting, an ingrained response to avoid further punishment.
He ignored my greeting, his eyes cold and distant as he stepped into the room.
"You know the man that just came?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"Beta Caspian?"
He nodded again, confirming.
"He came to inform us about his and his brother's coming-of-age party."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over my bruised face, a hint of something calculating in his eyes.
"There, they will be seeing their mates, which will be my daughters. And that," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, chilling tone, "that will be your last chance of proving you are a true-born of a Gilbert. That will prove if you deserve my love."
His words twisted my stomach.
Fatherly love is not meant to be earned. It is given freely.
But I kept nodding a mindless, default setting as if agreeing would somehow lessen the blow.
"Because tomorrow," he continued, his eyes piercing me, "you'll also be eighteen. And if you don't wolf out, that will mean you're human, and you did not inherit any of my genes."
He came closer, his presence looming, and my breath hitched.
His large hand snaked out, wrapping around my neck—not tightening, but a terrifying promise of what he could do.
"And if that's the situation," he hissed, his voice laced with pure hate and disdain, "I'll kill you myself. And no one will say anything because you're a disgrace."
Tears welled in my eyes—hot and stinging—blurring his hateful face.
I tightened my hands around my gown again, digging my nails into the fabric, desperately trying to calm the tremor that ran through my entire body.
As he finally released my neck and turned to leave, I crashed to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me.
Yes, he had said countless hurtful things to me over the years, twisted my reality with his venomous words.
But this one… this one hit the hardest.
He had essentially issued a death sentence, tied to a biological destiny I had no control over.
"No, don't cry," I whispered to myself, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down my face.
Even if I had no wolf, even if I was human, I wouldn't let him kill me.
I would run away before that happened.
Because even if he didn't carry out his threat, Natasha, Sophia, and Lilian eventually would.
Once they were revealed as the Alpha's sons' mates and matured, once they mated and got married when they also turned eighteen, their power would grow exponentially.
They would have no reason to hold back, and their cruelty would surely intensify, torturing me to death in their new positions.
A surge of desperate resolve coursed through me.
I instantly began packing my torn dresses, the few hand-me-downs they'd given me, into the tiny, threadbare bag they'd provided for my meager belongings.
I tied it shut and kept it aside. I was prepared.
I would run away. I should tonight.
But what if… what if I wasn't human after all?
What if I actually had a wolf buried deep inside me?
But the logical part of my mind—the part that had faced years of bitter reality scoffed at the fleeting hope.
I had no scent.
Werewolves, whether they had wolfed out or not, possessed a distinct scent—a faint musky aroma unique to their pack.
And when they were born, their eyes shone with the color of their wolf, a tell-tale sign of their supernatural heritage.
I had neither.
No scent. No glowing eyes at birth.
All signs pointed to one undeniable truth:
I was human.
I was hopeless.
Yet, a sliver of stubbornness, a desperate need for a miracle, made me hesitate.
I would wait to see the outcome of tomorrow.