My Alpha Locked Me Away for His Mistress

Mommy wakes me before dawn.

"Up, sweetheart," she says, her voice syrupy sweet. "We have a lot to do today."

I blink against the darkness, my body heavy with exhaustion. I didn't sleep well. Every time I closed my eyes, my wolf whimpered and reached for something I couldn't name.

"What... what are we doing?" I ask, sitting up slowly. My head spins.

"Rehabilitation," Mommy says, pulling back my covers. "You've been so clumsy lately, darling. We need to work on that."

Clumsy? I don't remember being clumsy. But then again, I don't remember much of anything.

She leads me downstairs to the kitchen, where she's already prepared a cup of tea. The steam rises in lazy curls, and the smell is... odd. Bitter beneath the honey.

"Drink this first," she says, pressing the cup into my hands. "It's a vitamin tonic. It'll help you get stronger."

I take a sip. The taste makes me want to gag, but Mommy watches me with those sharp eyes, so I force it down. All of it.

"Good girl," she murmurs, taking the empty cup. "Now, let's get you to work."

Work turns out to be the laundry room in the basement. Mountains of clothes wait in baskets, and Mommy gestures to a large metal tub filled with water.

"Hand-washing builds character," she says. "And it'll teach you to be more careful with your movements."

I stare at the tub, then at my hands. They're already starting to tremble. "Can't we use the machines?"

"No." Her voice goes cold. "You need to learn discipline, Lyla. Now get to work."

She leaves me there, and I sink to my knees beside the tub. The water is freezing. My hands shake as I scrub at the fabric, and my wolf feels... distant. Like she's fading into fog.

By the time Mommy returns hours later, my fingers are raw and my arms ache. She inspects my work with a critical eye.

"Better," she says. "But you'll need to practice more tomorrow."

The days blur together after that. Every morning, the bitter tea. Every day, more chores that leave me exhausted and trembling. My wolf grows quieter and quieter, until I can barely feel her at all.

I'm so tired. All the time.

The pack dinner happens on a Friday night. Mommy dresses me in a simple gray dress that hangs loose on my frame—when did I get so thin?—and leads me to the dining hall.

The room is full of pack members, all seated at long tables. At the head sits Daddy, looking powerful and distant. My heart lurches at the sight of him. I want to run to him, to feel safe, but Mommy's hand tightens on my arm.

"You'll sit here," she says, guiding me to a table in the back corner. The Omega table. I recognize some of the faces—they're the ones who do the cooking and cleaning, the ones everyone else ignores.

"But... why can't I sit with you and Daddy?" I ask.

Her smile is razor-sharp. "Because you need to learn manners first, darling. You're not ready for the adult table."

Shame burns through me as I sink into the chair. Around me, pack members whisper and stare. I hear fragments of their words.

"...broken..."

"...pathetic..."

"...Alpha must be so embarrassed..."

I try to eat, but my hands shake so badly I can barely hold the fork. Halfway through the meal, I remember the drawing I made this morning—a picture of the moon, something I thought might make Daddy smile.

I stand, clutching the paper, and make my way toward the head table. My legs feel weak, unsteady, but I push forward.

"Daddy," I say softly when I reach him. "I made this for you. I thought—"

"Lyla!" Mommy's voice cracks through the hall like a whip. Everyone goes silent. "What did I tell you about interrupting adult time?"

I freeze. Daddy doesn't even look at me. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on his plate.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just wanted to—"

"Go back to your table," Mommy says, her voice dripping with false patience. "Now."

The walk back feels like miles. Laughter follows me. Whispers. By the time I collapse into my chair, tears are streaming down my face.

I crumple the drawing in my fist.

The next morning, I'm on my knees in the foyer, scrubbing the marble floors. My hands won't stop shaking. The bitter tea from this morning sits heavy in my stomach, making everything feel fuzzy and wrong.

I hear the front door open, but I don't look up. Probably just another pack member coming to stare at the broken Luna.

"Lyla?"

The voice is different. Warm. Familiar in a way that makes my wolf stir—just barely—from her fog.

I glance up and see a man standing in the doorway. He's tall, with kind brown eyes and dark hair. He's staring at me like I've been struck, his face pale with horror.

He rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside me. "Lyla, what—"

I flinch back, my heart racing. "I'm sorry," I gasp. "I'm sorry, I'll work faster, I—"

"No, no, it's okay," he says gently, reaching for my hands. "It's me. It's Nico."

Nico. The name means nothing to me.

"Are you... are you a friend of my father's, Sir?" I ask, my voice small.

He goes completely still. The color drains from his face, and something in his eyes breaks.

"Your father?" he repeats, his voice barely a whisper.

I nod, confused by his reaction. "Alpha Stone. He's... he's my daddy."

Nico stares at me for a long moment, and I see his hands start to shake. He looks at my raw fingers, my gaunt face, the tremors I can't control.

"Oh, Lyla," he breathes. "What have they done to you?"