The night was cold but, Layla barely noticed as she walked behind the warrior that was sent to escort her to the Alpha's office. Her hands trembled with fear of the unknown as they got closer to the Alpha's office—laughters and cheerful clamors from the feast echoed throughout the pack house as the celebration is in full swing.
They finally got to the Alpha's office and the warrior knocked on the door once, waiting for permission to enter.
"Enter," A deep and domineering voice echoed across the room through the door.
The warrior opened the door and stepped in—gestured at me to do the same.
The office oozed of quiet authority.
Reddish brown shelves lined the walls, stacked high with books. At the center of the room stood a heavy woody textured desk—polished to mirror shine. Behind it sat a tall leather chair, and in it, a man whose presence was impossible to ignore. Even seated, he exuded a choking aura of dominance that made the air thick and suffocating.
Layla hands trembled with fear. She gripped her arms to still them, but pain surged through her as she accidentally pressed on the cut Haylee had given earlier. She whimpered—barely audible—then quickly silenced herself.
The warrior who escorted her dipped his head in respect to the Alpha, then silently slipped out of the office, leaving Layla alone with the Alpha—trembling, uncertain, and terrified of what was to come, still uncertain on why she'd been summoned.
The door shut behind the warrior, and the silence that followed felt a punishment.
The alpha remained seated for a moment—watching her with those unreadable eyes—terror gripped her and she quickly dropped her gaze, unable to meet the Alpha's stare.
Then he rose —slowly and deliberately, and walked towards her. Layla's heart thudded painfully against her ribs and she took a step back involuntarily, legs trembling.
"Do you know why you're here?" His voice was slow, but each word hit like a slap.
She shook her head, barely able to breathe, "N-no, Alpha..."
He stopped just a breath away from her. His scent—power and fury— wrapped around her throat like a moose.
"You left the storage lodge open."
His tone was even but the anger beneath it seethed.
"Every damn supply exposed, vulnerable to rain, rodents, or theives even. And why?"
He leaned down "Because you were in rush to scrub floors?"
The words hit her like a slap even before his hand ever could.
I forgot. I actually forgot
Her stomach twisted as the memory slammed into her.
She had forgotten. completely.
But not without reason.
I didn't mean to, I would have gone back if I knew.
Her chest tightened, breaths catching in her throat as the sharp sting in her arm flared up—right where Haylee had used her claws on her. That cursed encounter!
She had rushed straight into the lodge, grabbed what she needed. Her hand had been shaking, her sleeves sticking to her wound. The pain pulsed so hard, she barely remembered closing the door behind her.
"I- I didn't know that I didn't lock..."
The first hit came like thunder, a sharp backhand across her face that sent her crashing to the floor. The cold tiled floor bit into her skin.
"You didn't know that you didn't lock it?" He repeated, his voice dripping with mockery.
Layla whimpered, tasting blood, her hands shaking as she tried to push herself upright.
"That storage holds the pack's resources. Do you understand what you'd just risked with your foolishness?"
She could only nod, tears blurring her vision.
"I expect attention," he growled. "Obedience, and discipline. If you can't manage either, I'll beat it into you until it's carved into your bones."
The second blow struck her ribs, a brutal kick that stole her breath.
She folded inward, gasping, trying not to scream.
"Clean this room now," he ordered, turning away. "Bleed on it, if you must. But it better be spotless by time I return."
Layla lay there for a moment, her cheek pressed against the cold marble floor, every breath shallow and ragged. Her ribs screamed with each movement, but she didn't dare stay down for too long.
He said clean. And she would.
She dragged herself up slowly, her arms trembling beneath her weight. Blood from her split lip dripped onto the polished floor, and she instinctively wiped it with the back of her hand. The sting made her eyes water—but she forced the tears back.
Kneeling hurt. Everything hurt.
But she reached for the bucket and cloth anyway, dipping it into the soapy water she'd left earlier, and began scrubbing. With every swipe, her arms shook. Every breath sent pain lancing through her side. Still, she scrubbed—determined not to leave a single smear.
She wiped the windows next. Her fingers cramped from gripping the cloth too tight, but she didn't loosen her hold. The Alpha's shadow still lingered in the room, even in his absence. It clung to the walls, to the silence, to her skin.
When she finished, she cleaned up everything—neatly, quietly—and took one last shaky glance around the office. The shine on the desk, the spotless windows, the clean floor—it was all perfect.
And yet she felt nothing but hollow.
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway, one arm wrapped around her bruised ribs. The corridor stretched before her like a tunnel of pain. Every step was a fight.
By the time she reached the servant quarters, her legs nearly gave out. She had to hold the wall for balance. The corridor was empty—thank the Moon. She didn't want anyone to see her like this.
She reached her room, pushed the door open with her shoulder, and finally let herself fall onto the thin mattress on the floor. The breath rushed out of her, sharp and painful.
She curled into herself, teeth clenched, blood drying on her face and hands.
This was the price of forgetting. Of disobedience. Of being weak.
And tomorrow, she would get up and do it all over again.