Living in the Shadow of My Sister

Nadia'S POV

It had been weeks—maybe months—since I’d arrived at the Lockheart Pack. Days passed like a never-ending cycle of torment and exhaustion. I didn’t have a place among these wolves. I was neither friend nor foe. I was less than the dirt beneath their boots, and they made sure I knew it every single day.

I was given no bed and no room of my own. At night, when the bitter wind howled through the gaps in the stone walls, I curled up on the cold floor in a small, dark corner of the servants' quarters. No one dared to give me even a rag of a blanket; that would mean acknowledging my existence. So I slept on the hard ground, with nothing but a torn shirt and threadbare pants to keep the winter's chill from gnawing at my bones.

The frost crept in through the cracks and settled into my flesh. My hands were the worst. The skin was cracked and raw, the edges swollen and purple from the cold, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain shooting up my arms. At night, I would press my hands against my chest, trying to warm them, but it was no use. The frostbite took more of me every day.

During the day, I worked. Hard. Scrubbing floors until my hands bled, carrying heavy buckets of water that sloshed over my feet and soaked through my thin shoes, washing clothes in the icy river until I could no longer feel my fingers. If I faltered, if I paused for even a moment to catch my breath, I’d feel the sharp sting of a cane across my back or the scornful laughter of the pack members. They thrived on my suffering. To them, I was a broken creature, unworthy of the name I once bore with pride.

“Hey, wolf-less girl!” a servant sneered one morning, throwing a pile of muddy boots in my path. “Clean these. And make it quick, unless you want to be our new chew toy.”

I lowered myself to the ground, my knees hitting the cold stone, and reached for the boots. My hands were trembling, not from fear but from sheer exhaustion. I could feel their eyes on me, the snickering, the whispers. I was a spectacle, a source of cruel entertainment. 'How far the Alpha's daughter has fallen', I imagined them saying. But I gritted my teeth and kept scrubbing. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking.

And then there was Lucas.

He was a different kind of torment, a storm I couldn’t escape. Every time he saw me, his face twisted into something dark, something feral. I looked too much like her—like Gloria, his angel, his lost love. My sister’s memory haunted him, and every time he laid eyes on me, it seemed like he wanted to tear me apart just for existing.

One afternoon, I was in the main hall, mopping the floor near the long, heavy table where the warriors took their meals. I kept my head down, my hair falling around my face, hoping to remain invisible. But I could feel him before I saw him—Alpha Lucas. His presence was like a pressure in the air, thick and heavy.

“Stop,” he commanded, and his voice cut through the room like a blade. My hands stilled, the mop slipping from my grasp.

He was staring at me, his eyes cold and full of loathing. “How dare you stand there with her face?” he growled, his voice low, like a rumble of distant thunder. “How dare you breathe with the face of my Gloria?”

I dared not speak. I dared not move. But he stepped closer, his hand reaching out and grabbing my chin roughly. He tilted my head up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes bored into mine, searching for something he would never find.

“You think you deserve to live with that face?” His grip tightened, nails digging into my skin. “You think you can just walk around, reminding me of what I lost?”

“I didn’t choose this,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I didn’t ask to look like her.”

His eyes flared with rage, and he shoved me backward. I stumbled and fell hard against the floor, the breath knocked out of me. “Then hide it!” he snapped. “Hide it or I’ll rip it off myself!”

I stayed on the ground until he left, the pain radiating through my body, but I made no sound. If there was one thing I had learned here, it was how to keep quiet when every bone in my body wanted to scream.

---

The days turned to nights, and the nights to more days of hell. But one night was different. That night, Lucas had drunk more than usual. His eyes were glassy, his movements unsteady as he slumped in his chair at the head of the long dining table. I could smell the liquor from where I stood at the entrance, holding a fresh jug of wine.

“Nadia!” he barked, his voice slurred. “Bring me more!”

I hurried over, careful not to spill a drop. As I approached, his eyes settled on my face, and something flickered there—something beyond his usual anger. His lips parted, and for a moment, he seemed lost, trapped in a memory.

“Gloria…” he whispered, his voice breaking like fragile glass.

Before I could react, his hand shot out and gripped my arm, pulling me closer. “You came back,” he murmured, his breath hot and sour against my cheek. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me. My angel…”

“No, Alpha—” I tried to pull away, but his strength was overwhelming. He wrapped his arms around me, crushing me against his chest, his lips brushing against my temple. My heart thundered in my chest, panic surging through me. “Please, you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not—”

But he wasn’t listening. He pressed me against the edge of the table, his lips finding mine in a desperate, drunken kiss. His hands roamed my back, pulling me closer, his body heavy and suffocating. I squirmed, trying to free myself, my mind racing with fear.

“Alpha Lucas, stop!” I pleaded, my voice muffled against his lips. “I’m not Gloria!”

Those words seemed to snap him out of his drunken stupor. His eyes sharpened, and his expression twisted into something cruel. He shoved me away so hard that I stumbled back, hitting the stone floor. I barely had a second to catch my breath before his hand cracked across my face, the force of the slap ringing in my ears.

“You disgusting bitch!” he roared, his face twisted with hatred. “How dare you trick me? How dare you show your face to me, looking like her? Get out of here! Now!”

I scrambled to my feet, my cheek burning, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I ran, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath ragged. I sank to the ground, my body shaking with silent sobs. The tears came then, hot and fast, freezing on my cheeks as they fell.

Why was I still here? Why hadn’t the rogues just killed me that night? I should’ve been the one to die. I should’ve…

But I was still alive, clinging to this cruel existence like a threadbare rope. And for what? For what?