Chapter 20
Kara
The house is still quiet when I finally force myself out of the storage room at 4:30 PM. I need to get to the kitchen, start prepping for tonight's party, act like a normal person who didn't spend the last few hours trying—and failing—to erase the scent of three Alphas from her living space.
Act normal. You can do that. You've been acting normal for ten years.
I make it halfway down the second-floor hallway before I hear the click of heels on hardwood.
Luna Victoria rounds the corner in an ice-blue gown that probably costs more than my entire debt. Her scent hits me like a blade: cold lily of the valley and cedar, sharp enough to make my neck glands sting with instinctive submission.
I stop walking. She stops walking.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
Ten years of history. Ten years of "you're here to work off your parents' debt" and "don't bother the boys" and "debt-trash doesn't sit at our table."
Ten years of wondering why she hates me so much when I never did anything to her except exist.
Her green eyes narrow slightly, scanning me from head to toe like I'm a stain on her expensive carpet. Like I'm something distasteful she's forced to acknowledge.
I hate you, I think with sudden, vicious clarity. I hate you so fucking much.
"One of the caterers called in sick," she says, her voice as emotionless as her expression. "You'll need to cover. The party starts at six. Report to the main hall at five-thirty."
It's not a request. It's not even really an order. It's just... fact. The way gravity pulls things down or water flows downhill.
Of course I will, some broken part of me thinks. Of course I'll drop everything to serve at your party. That's what I'm for, right? That's all I've ever been for.
But then my wolf snarls. Actually snarls inside my head, loud enough to make me wince.
NO. We don't serve anymore. We're their MATE. Their future Luna. We don't bow to HER.
And something in me... snaps.
Not violently. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, internal click, like a lock opening after being jammed shut for years.
I don't have to do this anymore.
The thought is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
"I can help," I hear myself say, and my voice sounds strange. Steady. Almost... confident? "But I'm not wearing a uniform."
Luna Victoria's pupils contract. It's the only sign that I've surprised her.
The uniform is black and white, designed to make servers look like proper staff—which is code for "low-class labor." I've worn it a dozen times before, always hating how it made me feel like I was cosplaying as the help in a Victorian manor.
But this time, something in me refuses.
If I put on that uniform, I realize, if I let her command me like she always has, I'm admitting I'm still that eight-year-old girl left on the doorstep. Still the debt-slave who exists to make their lives easier.
Fuck that.
Luna's scent sharpens. The lily of the valley turns from cold to cutting, like frost forming on glass. It's a warning. A biological reminder that she's still Luna, still the highest-ranking female in this house, still someone who can crush me with a look and a whiff of displeasure.
My neck glands throb. My vision blurs at the edges. This is what it feels like when a Luna exerts pressure on a lower-ranking wolf—like invisible hands squeezing your throat, reminding you where you stand in the hierarchy.
Submit, my body screams. Lower your eyes. Bare your neck. SUBMIT.
But I don't.
The pressure increases. My throat closes. Breathing becomes work.
Shit. Shit shit shit, what did I do—
But I keep my eyes up. Keep my chin level.
I'm not backing down. Not this time.
Luna's laugh is sharp and fake, like breaking glass trying to sound like wind chimes.
"Not wearing a uniform? Then what exactly do you plan to wear, Kara? Your collection of secondhand rags?"
The way she says my name—my real name, not "Carrot"—should feel like progress. But it doesn't. It feels like she's testing the word, seeing if it fits, and finding it lacking.
Like even my real name sounds wrong coming from her mouth.
"I have clothes," I say quietly, and I'm proud of how steady my voice is despite the biological warfare happening in my nervous system.
Sophia and Emma's clothes. Clothes that actually fit. Clothes that might make me look like I belong at this party instead of serving it.
Luna's green eyes narrow further. For a second, I think she's going to argue. Going to insist. Going to use that crushing Luna authority to force me into the uniform just because she can.
Just to prove she still owns me.
But then she smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes.
"Five-thirty," she repeats. "Don't be late. If you're even one minute late, you'll wear the uniform. And you'll wear it for the rest of the night. Understood?"
It's a trap. She's banking on me being late, on giving her an excuse to put me back in my place.
Bitch.
But I nod anyway.
"Understood."
She walks past me, her shoulder almost—almost—brushing mine. Her scent wraps around me like barbed wire, pressing into my skin until I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood just to keep from gasping.
Only when she's gone, when her heels have clicked all the way down the stairs and out of earshot, do I let myself slump against the wall and breathe.
What the hell did I just do?
My wolf is smug. Stood your ground. Like a Luna should.
"I'm not a Luna," I whisper to the empty hallway, my voice shaking now that the adrenaline is wearing off. "I'm just a debt-slave who got lucky enough to smell right."
But even as I say it, I know something has shifted.
I didn't submit. I didn't lower my eyes or bare my neck or accept her command without conditions.
For the first time in ten years, I pushed back against Luna Victoria fucking Sterling.
And I'm either going to regret it or it's going to save my life.
Probably both, I think grimly.