Chapter 3

Kaïa also made sure no one dared to talk to me for too long. If anyone was even just polite to me, she found a way to make them pay.

The result? Middle school had been a long, miserable drag, and high school didn't promise to be any better.

I kept my head down, focused on my grades, and trained. If I could just become a warrior, maybe I'd finally escape this suffocating cycle.

I didn't know it yet, but that day's confrontation with Kaïa would mark a real turning point in my life.

After that incident, Kaïa, Jessa, and Marnie always found new, cruel ways to make me pay.

Some days, it was just petty humiliations: They'd snatch a book from my hands and shred it in the hallway in front of everyone, or tear up my ten-page essay right before it was due, feigning shock with a mocking, "Oops."

I had a backup saved on my computer, but the teacher—despite seeing the whole thing happen—still marked it late and gave me half credit.

When my father found out, he refused to hear my side of the story. He punished me for my "laziness," locking me in my room for the entire weekend without food.

In those moments, I missed Myreille the most: she would have snuck me something to eat, even if it was just a granola bar.

My brother, meanwhile, made himself scarce. Ever since Myreille left, he hadn't even pretended to care about what happened to me—especially not in front of our father.

Sometimes, the girls' attacks turned physical. They pulled my hair, shoved me against lockers, or slammed heavy bags into me as they walked by. I learned to slip into class last and leave first just to limit the beatings.

Kaïa was careful, though: she never left visible marks. Even so, my ribs had been cracked several times over; a simple sneeze was enough to risk breaking them all over again.

My wolf refused to waste energy healing such "minor" injuries, but she made sure the pain didn't linger. Her presence was the only thing that helped me endure.

Inwardly, she mocked the "three Barbies," as she called Kaïa and her friends, sometimes even managing to pull a smile out of me.

Kaïa knew I would never take my anger out on the other students, especially the younger ones. She exploited that line I wouldn't cross, targeting me day after day.

My wolf and I had eventually accepted the reality of it: as long as they took it out on me, the others were spared.

My Beta lineage allowed me to take the beatings well; I healed quickly, and that seemed to be enough to satisfy their cruelty. It was a twisted kind of peace—but peace nonetheless.

Ever since I figured out how to sneak out of my room unnoticed, my wolf and I had taken to hunting at night. Whenever my father denied me food, it was our only way to survive.

At some point, I started to believe I could manage on my own. The woods felt far more welcoming than my own home ever did.

Then, in mid-November, a new student arrived. She joined our mandatory pack training, held every morning at five o'clock sharp. All high school students had to participate: learning basic self-defense, even if they weren't destined to be warriors.

Based on age and rank, we were divided into three groups: basic training for everyone, intermediate for the patrols, and elite training for the warriors—Alphas, Betas, Gammas, Deltas, and their mates. The elites were the most experienced, but they also faced the highest risks.

I loved those training sessions. I attended every single one, ignoring the dark glares from my brother, who couldn't stand seeing me there. As a born Beta, he had free rein of the grounds, yet my mere presence seemed to offend him. I brushed it off.

Training was the one place I could exist outside of the pack's toxic hierarchy.

Among the few girls in the program was Carra, a senior and the daughter of an elite warrior. She showed up, trained hard, and left without saying a word.

The other women were either mates of the leadership or fighters themselves; the Luna, in particular, was an exceptional combatant.

She always offered solid advice, teaching me how to use my small stature to my advantage. Opponents tended to underestimate a smaller fighter—a fatal mistake she repeatedly drilled into me to exploit.

Those early mornings were my only real respite. Kaïa and her clique didn't dare provoke me in front of the future Alphas or the training instructors. Out on the field, I could finally breathe.

Sometimes I thought about officially joining the warriors after graduation, making the defense of the pack my life's path. I already ran the borders occasionally, slipping out before or after class just to escape the house. Attacks were rare, but patrolling gave me a sense of purpose, and I liked the quiet camaraderie with the wolves who protected our territory.

As for school, my grades were fine, but it was mostly the lingering fear of my father's wrath that drove me to study. The classes themselves hardly interested me anymore—especially since Kaïa had ensured I was a total outcast.

Being seen with me meant signing a social death warrant.

That morning, our instructor gathered us to announce a new recruit: a girl who had moved in with her aunt and uncle while her parents worked for the Alpha King.

All eyes turned to the newcomer—even Kaïa had made an appearance, standing on the sidelines in high heels and a miniskirt, having mysteriously dodged mandatory training yet again.

The new girl strode in with total confidence, acting as if she owned the place. Tall and athletic, with long dark brown hair and striking honey-colored eyes, she looked barely older than me but radiated an intimidating self-assurance.

The boys couldn't take their eyes off her, which made me smirk: the "Barbies" were going to be furious.

I must have made a sound, because she turned and met my gaze. Delta Kyle motioned for her to join our group, promising to explain the exercises as we went.

She walked straight toward me.

"I'm Solange. Nice to meet you," she said, holding out a hand.

I stared at her for a long moment before my brain registered that she was waiting for a handshake.

"Oh... sorry, Solène," I stammered, awkwardly taking it. "I'm just... not used to people talking to me."

She gave me a curious look, but she didn't have time to respond: the trainer immediately paired us up for the warm-up.

He probably figured I was the best fit to partner with her—given that I never missed a single session.

Delta Kyle knew how hard I was working to join the patrol and had always granted me free access to the gym and the training fields, even trusting me with a spare key to the gate.

Solange held her own surprisingly well in combat—probably just as well as I did. She was significantly taller, standing around five-foot-seven, while I barely scraped five-foot-one. Our heights weren't comparable, but our bodies were built similarly, which made learning new techniques together much easier.

Her black sports bra and leggings accentuated her tanned skin and every well-defined muscle. With those curves, she could have easily worked as a model.

I had muscles too—it was obvious my body was trained—but I preferred to keep my skin covered.

Covering up meant hiding the injuries. Multiple layers of clothing concealed the bruises and cuts, stopping people from looking at me with pity or offering empty gestures of help.

Maybe it was stupid, but my wolf and I had learned a long time ago that sympathy rarely lasted when it actually came time to take action. Most people preferred to look away just to preserve their own comfort. So, I kept my scars to myself.

I tried to remain as invisible as possible, but I lived for those sparring sessions. During training, I usually stayed in the background, only sparring with the older wolves who came to assist Delta Kyle.

He had noticed my tendency to withdraw—and I sensed that he knew exactly why.

That was why he always made sure a training partner was available whenever I practiced alone.

Maybe it was my Beta nature, or maybe it was just me, but nothing set my day right quite like a good fight: the adrenaline, the fire rushing through my veins—it always straightened me out.

To be honest, I was a good fighter, even if Kaïa and her accomplices had knocked me to the ground more times than I could count.

It was better that they took their anger out on me rather than on someone weaker who didn't deserve the abuse.

I had learned a long time ago that it was better to suffer in silence than to give fodder to false saviors and their empty judgments.