{Elira}
~**^**~
"Wake up, filthy rat!"
The ice water struck like glass. I gasped as the second splash soaked through my thin blanket. My body shivered before my mind caught up.
Fingers yanked a fistful of my hair before I could breathe.
"How dare you make me come here to wake you?" The housemaid's breath reeked of bitterness. She dropped the empty bucket onto my lap with a clang. "Miss Regina wants you, lazy slug."
This was my life.
An unwanted Omega orphan. A daughter from a disregarded Beta line. And Regina's personal maid and toy when Uncle Marc wasn't watching.
I was treated worse than a slave—like refuse in my uncle's home.
The maid let go of my hair with a shove that jerked my face to the side and left without another word.
Teeth chattering, I dried off with a worn towel and slipped into my rough cotton dress.
As I passed the cracked mirror, I caught my reflection.
Red hair—cropped unevenly, still stiff with gum from yesterday. My eyes looked hollow. My cheeks drawn. I looked like I had fought a racoon in my sleep and lost.
I touched the patch where gum still clung to my scalp and flinched. Pain pulsed under my fingers.
"You're made of stars, little one," my mother used to whisper as she brushed my hair.
Now I couldn't even touch my scalp without wincing.
Regina had pressed a wad of gum into it after I had arrived five minutes late yesterday. Though I had been scrubbing her bloodied clothes from the hunt, she hadn't cared.
I cut out what I could, but my hair was ruined. Sticky. Sour. Ragged.
When I entered Regina's bathroom, she was already in the tub, naked, draped in rose petals.
"You will shave me," she said flatly. "And don't cut me this time. You know how sensitive I am down there."
I knelt breathlessly. My hand trembled as I reached for the razor.
Without warning, her foot lashed out and hit me hard in the chest. I crashed to the floor, head striking the tiles.
"Keep your hand steady, you bastard!" she snapped. "Are you trying to slice me open before my engagement to the Alpha's heir?"
I blinked through the blur. The pain felt like I had suffered a mild concussion but I didn't cry or scream. Instead I pushed up on shaking arms and crawled forward again.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, "please… forgive me." I simply apologized and reached for the razor again.
If my parents were alive, I would never have seen this day.
I was once Beta Martin Shaw's daughter—his little star, his pride. But death had taken them, and with them, my name, my place, my protection.
Now, I was the girl who shaved my once favourite cousin's pubic hair.
---
I couldn't eat afterward.
The soup was sour. The bread, hard. And Regina's scent still clung to my fingers.
This wasn't the first time she degraded me—but it felt like the worst. A line I didn't know existed had been crossed.
My stomach twisted. I dumped the food into the compost bin outside the kitchen door.
I would have to starve until Uncle Marc returned at night.
"Elira!"
A servant's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Lady Maren wants you for market run. Now!"
I nodded, grabbed my satchel, and tied my ruined hair back with a scarf before dashing out.
I knew better than to keep my uncle's wife waiting.
---
Lady Maren, in a plain green dress and gold bangles, gave me a single look of disgust before shaking her head. She didn't speak to me this morning—a rare mercy.
We walked in silence to the market.
Her heels clicked purposefully over cobblestones as we passed butchers, herb carts, and bread sellers. Everyone greeted her with respect.
No one looked at me.
Not until we reached the fabric shop.
The tailor stepped forward with a smile. "Beta Maren, what can I do for—"
"I need a red," she cut in. "For my daughter's engagement gown."
He began pulling bolts of crimson and burgundy.
She waved them off. "None of those are right."
Then she turned to me.
"Elira," she said sweetly. "Come here."
I stepped forward, unsure how I could help.
Without warning, she seized my hand and nicked my palm with her nail.
A sharp gasp escaped me as blood rose to the surface.
"There," she said, turning my hand to the tailor. "That's the shade I want. Blood on pale flesh."
The shopkeeper swallowed his shock. "Yes, Beta Maren."
Getting nicked was nothing, but as I pressed my palm to my dress and stared at the fabric now dyed with my blood's image, I wondered how much more of myself they'd take before there was nothing left.
After paying, Lady Maren swept into the jewelry store without a glance back. The shopkeeper had told us to return later for the fabric, which gave her time to parade through her errands.
She walked in like she owned the place. The designer straightened quickly, offering a practiced smile. I lingered near the door, clutching my bag and keeping silent.
Diamonds glittered beneath glass like trapped stars, but Lady Maren frowned. "Don't you have anything new?"
"W-we have sketches, my lady. Concept pieces."
"Show me."
She settled into a chair as the designer handed her a folder. Her expression shifted as she flipped through it, finger tapping the pages.
"This one. And this. Adjust the curve. No, elongate it. I want the stones to reach the collarbone. Add matching earrings—slimmer."
"Of course, Lady Maren."
I waited in silence until minutes slipped past. Then I remembered the fabric.
"My lady…" I spoke low. "The tailor must be done cutting."
She didn't glance at me. "Go."
I left quickly, slipping back into the heat and noise of the market. The tailor had the fabric packed neatly. I thanked him and turned back.
The narrow path between carts was crowded. I didn't notice the rising engine noise—just the shouting.
"Move!"
A horn blared.
I turned—and a blur of black leather and tires tore toward me.
I stepped aside, but my foot caught, and I crashed to the ground.
The fabric flew from the bag, unrolling straight into a puddle of muddy water.
"No—"
I scrambled forward, palms scraping gravel. The red silk soaked up the mud instantly. Splotches spread like rot.
They were going to kill me.
My hands trembled as I gathered the ruined fabric. A shadow loomed over me.
I looked up. And froze.
A black helmet. Leather jacket. Wind-swept hair.
The biker pulled off his helmet.
Lennon Ashford.
Even without the famous jawline, his presence was unmistakable. He didn't need an introduction.
He looked down at me. "You okay?"