Camille swept in not long after, arms heavy with takeout bags. She dropped them onto the counter with deliberate force, her smile sharp and satisfied.
“I can’t stand Nyx’s food,” she declared loudly. “It’s either tasteless or unbearably salty. Like chewing paper or licking a salt block. No creativity at all. Honestly, it suits her.”
Her words tore into me, sharp and precise. The twins snickered. Corinne leaned closer, eyes glittering with cruelty.
“Seriously, Mum, it’s depressing,” she said. “It’s like you cook just to make a point. Burnt edges everywhere, as if that’s your silent protest. But don’t worry—we get it.”
I shrank into myself, fading into the corners of the room, a presence barely acknowledged in the house I lived in. Their voices stripped me bare, leaving nothing but bone and ache. Still, I stayed silent, biting back the bitterness before it could escape.
Then Alpha Thorne’s voice cracked through the space, sharp as a lash.
“Where’s my wallet?” His stare snapped straight to me, heavy with accusation. “You took it, didn’t you? Always sneaking. Always hiding. You hide from respect. From duty. From everything. Pathetic. Envious. Worthless.”