The door to my room burst open so violently it slammed against the wall.
I jerked upright in bed, my heart crashing against my ribs.
"Get up!"
My father's voice cut through the room like a whip.
Before I could even pull the blanket tighter around myself, he stormed in. His eyes were red with fury, his scent sharp with disgust. He didn't look at me like a daughter. He looked at me like something rotten he'd stepped on.
"You shameless thing," he spat. "Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?"
I swung my legs off the bed, panic crawling up my spine. "Dad what are you talking about?"
"Don't call me that." He crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, bruising, merciless. "Running around like a whore. Embarrassing this family."
"I didn't do anything!" My voice shook as he yanked me up. "You're hurting me!"
"Good," he snarled. "Maybe pain will knock some sense into you."
He dragged me toward the door, ignoring my cries as my feet scraped against the floor. My shoulder slammed into the doorframe, but he didn't slow down.
"Let go of me!" I begged. "Please!"
"You think begging changes what you are?" he barked. "Just like your useless mother bringing shame into my house and this pack."
I stopped fighting for a second, stunned. "Don't talk about her "
His hand came out of nowhere.
The slap echoed down the hallway.
My head snapped to the side, ears ringing, mouth tasting like blood.
"i will talk about her how ever I want" he said. He finally sat down on his chair. I slowly got up ready to defend my mother.
"Did you really sell your body for money just because I wouldn't pay for your school?" His voice was very loud. "What kind of daughter are you?!"
"Dad, I didn't " I said, trying to look him in the eye.
He said, "Don't you dare lie again!" "Do you think we took something away from you? You make me sick! "I should never have taken you in after your mom died!"
My stepmother leaned forward from the couch, proud of her diamonds. "Honestly, I'm just hoping you didn't bring anything back with you. Goddess knows what kind of dirt you got on you while you were in that club."
My stomach turned. "It wasn't like that; I was tricked."
"That's enough!" Dad yelled. "You're not my daughter. You don't mean anything to me. Get away of here. Out of my life."
His words didn't just make me leave the house.
They broke something inside me.
I felt it in my chest, sharp and sudden. The quiet presence that had always been there—my wolf—pulled back. It just went silent. I trie reaching out for the connection but there was none. I didn't say anything to my family, what was the point?
I stood up from the couch, my body feeling numb, and turned toward the stairs. The house felt cold now. Empty. Like it had never been my home at all.
This was what it felt like to be thrown away by your own family.
I was almost at the top when I saw her.
Erica.
She stood there with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall. She was smiling. Not a big smile. Just a small one, like she had been waiting for this to happen.
she was clearly enjoying it.
"Are you leaving so soon?" she teased, jumping down the rail and into my path. "Good." No one likes a dirty stray hanging around.
I didn't say anything. I clinched my fists at my sides to keep from falling apart. But when I saw her smirk and the genuine happiness in her eyes, I felt a shiver run through me.
"You've always acted like you belonged here." Like you were better than I was. But look at you now, she snarled. "Thrown away like trash."
I took a big breath, but she leaned in closer and poked at the open wound.
"What's wrong? You want to hit me? Erica tilted her head and offered her cheek. "Go ahead." Hit me. "Show me how crazy you really are."
I moved my hand before I thought about it.
The loud crack resonated through the hall. Her head turned to the side, and for a minute, there was silence.
Then she yelled, "You hit me! Mom! Dad!" and ran down the stairs like a dramatic little actress. "Anastasia just hit me!"
Naomi ran over as if she had been waiting for her turn. She picked Erica up like a hurt puppy and looked up the stairs with fire in her eyes. "How dare you touch my daughter, you little brat!"
Francis burst in behind them and looked down at the crimson mark growing on Erica's cheek. He didn't ask me what had happened. He didn't even glance at me. He merely shook his head like I was the worst thing he'd ever seen.
"Get out, Anastasia!"
That was all. That was all he could say to the girl he used to hold in his arms.
I turned around and packed without saying a word.
Pack ID, Clothes. I was able to keep a handful of my mother's belongings buried for a long time. That was all I had left. My throat hurt, but I didn't cry. I was done with that now. I didn't have somebody to cry to. No pack. No place to live. The cold steel in my chest was the only thing that convinced me I would live. In some way.
When I came down, I saw my father clutching Erica close, her phony sobbing muffled behind his shirt like she was some beautiful thing. I didn't feel anything. Not sad. Not even rage. Just the last, chilling proof: I was never a member of this family.
Not after my mom passed away.
Francis never told her that he was seeing someone else. He never told her that he would bring that woman into her home after she left. He would show off his illegitimate daughter like she was the one who was supposed to carry on the Tillman name. That the real daughter would be the odd one out, the burden, and the disgrace.
I pulled my luggage behind me as I left that house, which was the only place I had ever known. I didn't turn around.
I would never do that.
Erica watched me leave from the window upstairs. Her smile felt like a brand on my back. She felt she had won.
Let her...