Chapter 22

Elara

I shivered against the sudden cold, my body revealed to the chilly morning air in nothing but my thin, silky pajama set. But Grace didn’t seem to care about my discomfort—if anything, she just seemed to revel in it.

In a flash, she was already at my closet, flinging the doors open and rifling through my clothes. Dresses, blouses, and skirts were tossed haphazardly over her shoulder, sailing through the air before falling into a heap on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

She held up a red sundress, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “This is too revealing,” she muttered, throwing it aside. Grabbing a floral blouse, she sneered, “Hideous.” Another skirt was deemed “Inappropriate,” and a pair of jeans was simply “Ugly.”

I watched in stunned silence as Grace nitpicked my entire wardrobe from top to bottom. It seemed she had a problem with every single thing I owned, right down to my earrings. At least she didn’t look through my bras and panties; even she was far too much of a prude for that.

“None of this will suit a Luna,” she sighed dramatically, finally settling on a modest button-up cardigan and a long, brown skirt. Both were in dull, neutral tones that did absolutely nothing for my body or my complexion. Honestly, I didn’t even recall owning those garments. “Here. Put these on.”

I stared at the frumpy outfit she thrust into my hands. “But—”

“No arguments,” she snapped. “An Alpha’s wife must dress appropriately.”

Swallowing my pride, I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom to change. The clothes hung loosely on my body, the fabric scratchy against my skin. When I emerged, Grace eyed me critically.

“That will do for now,” she declared, although her expression suggested that she still thought I looked like trash. “Now, it’s time to do your hair.”

She grabbed a brush from the vanity and gestured for me to sit. Reluctantly, I complied and perched on the small velvet stool. Without so much as a hint of gentleness, she yanked the brush through my hair, pulling it back into a tight bun that made my scalp ache right away.

“Ow,” I winced, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as she tugged on my hair seemingly as hard as she could.

“Beauty is pain,” she retorted coldly. “Hold still.”

When she was finished, I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back at me. Beauty is pain, she had said, but I looked anything but. The severe hairstyle accentuated every line and crease on my face, and the shapeless clothes made me look like I was ten years older.

“Perfect,” Grace said with a satisfied smirk. “Now you look somewhat presentable.”

There was no way she didn’t realize how bad I looked. But maybe she enjoyed seeing me like that.

“Let’s go,” she ordered, already heading out of the bedroom.

I followed her downstairs, dreading having to see anyone looking like these. Even as a cleaner, I always took pride in my appearance—rarely leaving the house without neatly-styled hair and a touch of makeup, and I always enjoyed getting dressed on my days off.

But this… I felt like a bitter old lady.

In the kitchen, she turned to me with a commanding glare. “Prepare breakfast for the children.”

I glanced at the clock. “It’s still early. They might not even be awake yet.”

“Then it will be ready when they are,” she replied curtly. “The day cannot start without a proper breakfast.”

Taking a deep breath, I moved to the pantry to gather ingredients. Remembering how much Zoe always loved my special pancakes, I began mixing the batter, adding a touch of vanilla and cinnamon for flavor.

“What are you making?” Grace inquired sharply.

“Pancakes,” I answered, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible. “The girls love them.”

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

As I worked, I poured the batter onto the griddle, carefully shaping each pancake into different animals—a bunny, a cat, a bear. I then sliced fresh strawberries and blueberries, arranging them artfully on the plates, and even made some homemade whipped cream as a topping rather than syrup. Finally, I squeezed fresh oranges for juice.

By the time I was setting the table, a small smile tugged at my lips. The colorful plates looked inviting, and I knew the girls would be delighted to see this when they woke up.

Like clockwork, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and soon Zoe and Ella appeared in the doorway.

“Mommy!” Zoe exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “You made animal pancakes!”

“They look so yummy!” Ella added, clapping her hands excitedly.

But just as I was about to call them over to eat, Grace stepped forward and blocked their path.

“Not so fast,” she said coldly.

I watched in disbelief as she picked up the plates and, without hesitation, dumped their contents into the trash right in front of the girls.

“Grandmother, why did you do that?” Ella asked, her voice quivering a little.

“That food is unhealthy junk,” Grace declared. “Not fit for the children of an Alpha.”

My heart sank. “You didn’t have to waste all that food,” I protested softly. “And it wasn’t unhealthy. It was chock full of fiber and fruit.”

She shot me a withering glare over her shoulder. “I am simply teaching you how to properly care for an Alpha’s household. Clearly, you have much to learn.”

Turning her back to me, she began preparing something else. The girls sniffled, miserable, their lower lips trembling. I hated seeing them like this. A few minutes later, Grace placed two bowls of bland oatmeal on the table.

“Eat up,” she instructed the girls.

Zoe wrinkled her nose. “But I don’t like oatmeal.”

“Yeah,” Ella agreed timidly. “I wanted to try Mommy’s pancakes.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll eat what’s given to you,” she barked.

The girls exchanged a glance, neither reaching for their spoons.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Grace snapped. “This is nutritious and appropriate.”

Zoe crossed her arms defiantly. “We want pancakes.”

Grace’s expression hardened. “This insolence is unacceptable.” Before I could protest, she moved toward Zoe menacingly. “You are behaving like a spoiled brat,” she hissed. “This is what comes from being raised by a lowly Omega.”

“That’s enough,” I said firmly, stepping between them.

But Grace ignored me, grabbing Zoe’s arm tightly. “You will sit down and eat your oatmeal.”

“Let go of me!” Zoe cried, trying to pull away.

“You’re hurting her!” Ella shouted, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Disrespectful children,” Grace muttered, reaching for a spoonful of oatmeal. “If you won’t eat willingly, then I’ll feed you myself.”

Zoe clamped her mouth shut, turning her head away as Grace tried to force the spoon toward her lips.

“Open your mouth,” Grace demanded.

“Leave her alone!” I exclaimed.

“Stay out of this,” Grace warned, her eyes flashing.

When Zoe whimpered in pain at the force of Grace’s grip, I couldn’t stand by any longer. I lunged forward and smacked the spoon out of Grace’s hand, sending the oatmeal splattering across the floor.

“Don’t you dare touch my daughter like that!” I shouted, my voice shaking with rage.

Grace whirled on me, her face contorted with fury. “How dare you defy me, Omega?”

She raised her hand toward my face. I steeled myself, shoving the girls behind me.

But before she could strike, Ella and Zoe jumped between us, their small bodies shielding me. They bared their little fangs, growling like two pups.

“Leave Mommy alone!” Ella cried. Grace whipped her head toward her, her eyes flashing.

“Why, you little—”

At that precise moment, the front door creaked open.

“I’m home,” a familiar voice called out. Alaric. I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes at Grace, silently willing her to hit me in front of the Alpha.

And just as I suspected, Grace quickly lowered her hand before Alaric stepped into the room.