ONCE BETRAYED: TWICE RECLAIMED

As I awoke, the initial thing that drew my focus was the stillness. The room was still, except for the soft buzz of the eatery beneath.

Alexander's absence hit me like a gust of cold wind. 

The other side of the bed was empty, but the sheets were still warm, carrying the scent of him—earthy, musky, and maddeningly intoxicating. Alexander. He hadn't even told me his last name. Just like that, he was gone. 

I wasn't surprised. They always left. Everyone. My father. Liam. The pack. Even strangers couldn't bear to linger long enough to see me crumble. 

I gradually sat up, my mind clouded from the drinks and the chaos of the previous night. My dress sprawled wrinkled on the floor, a sad symbol of my hopelessness. 

I seized it, tugging it over my head with trembling hands, the material sticking to my sweaty skin. 

"A warm shower will feel pleasant." I muttered. 

Just as I got up, attempting to collect what remained of my dignity, the door flew open. 

I recoiled, instinctively grasping the front of my gown. "Who—" 

"Don't bother, sweetheart," a raspy voice cut through my shock. "I've seen better." 

The intruder was a woman—old, weathered, but fierce, like the kind of storm that leaves destruction in its wake. 

Her sharp eyes raked over me with disinterest, and her thin lips curled in a smirk. She leaned against the doorframe, her frame small but solid, a shawl slung carelessly over her shoulders. 

"Who the hell are you?" I snapped, my embarrassment quickly giving way to anger. 

Her scoff was like gravel underfoot. "Name's Ruth. I run this place, and I'm here for one reason—to collect your tab." 

My stomach dropped. The events of last night slammed into me: the drinks, the whispers, Alexander's touch. I never considered money, not even a single time. When my father was alive, I simply wrote his name on a bill, and it vanished as if by enchantment. But magic was dead, just like him. 

"I—" My voice wavered. "I don't have anything to pay with." 

Ruth's gaze hardened, her arms folding across her chest. "Not my problem, princess. You either cough up something valuable, or you can work it off. Your choice." 

I reached for my necklace instinctively. My fingers brushed the cool metal, the one thing I had left of my father. It wasn't significant—a plain silver chain featuring a crescent moon charm—but it meant the world to me. My throat constricted as I unfastened it and extended it. 

"Take this," I whispered, tears burning the corners of my eyes. 

Ruth stepped forward and snatched it from my hand. She turned it over, her expression unreadable as she examined the pendant. For a moment, I thought she might keep it, and my heart clenched. But then she tossed it back, the necklace clinking softly against my palm. 

"Hold onto it," she grumbled, her voice reluctant. "I'm not a beast." However, you will be working this off, no excuses. The kitchen is in that direction. "You have the responsibility for the dishes." 

Washing dishes. I gulped down. I had not worked a single day in my life. My hands were designed for creating fine strokes on a canvas, not for washing dishes covered in grime. But what options were available to me? I nodded, holding the necklace tightly against my chest. 

"Thanks," I whispered, even though the phrase felt strange on my lips. 

Ruth didn't say anything, merely pointed her thumb toward the corridor. "Follow me." 

The kitchen was a madhouse. Vapor swirled from large pots, saturating the atmosphere with the strong aroma of garlic and onions. The noise of pots clanging and shouted commands caused my head to ache. Ruth pushed me toward a sink full of cloudy water and a pile of dishes. 

"Begin here," she commanded. I paused, looking at the basin. The water appeared gray, oily with grease, and bits of food drifted on top. The view made my stomach turn, yet I compelled myself to immerse my hands in. The water felt tepid, slimy on my skin, and I resisted the impulse to retch. 

"There's a missed spot," a shy voice remarked from behind me. 

I twirled around, splashing water onto the ground. A small man was present, his hands fidgeting anxiously in his apron. His hair was dark and somewhat lengthy, cascading into his eyes, which shifted away from me the instant I locked onto his gaze. 

"Thank you," I murmured, redirecting my attention to the basin. 

The man remained silent, stepping back to the stove where he started stirring a pot with swift, exact motions. I observed him from the edge of my vision while I cleaned, his slender figure almost vanishing amidst the disorder of the kitchen. He carried himself with an aura of learned shyness, as if he had mastered the skill of remaining invisible. 

Hours crawled by. My arms throbbed from washing, and my fingers were sore and irritated. My mind spun while I toiled, the repetitiveness of the job yielding to the heaviness of my recollections. Alexander's caress remained on my skin, a harsh reminder of the temporary solace he had provided. 

When Ruth came back, my body seemed as if it had been squeezed out and hung up to dry. 

"Pretty good," she remarked, glancing at the stack of tidy dishes. Her tone wasn't gentle, yet it wasn't malicious either. "You're done for now. Get some rest. You'll need it." 

I nodded quietly, too tired to reply. While I returned to the tiny room assigned to me, my hands shaking from exhaustion, I came to a realization. 

I remained upright. Regardless of it all, I remained present. 

And on the following day, I would continue to battle. Because that was all that remained for me—the desire to live. 

The setup was straightforward—three days of doing dishes to settle the bill. It was embarrassing, yet after all I had faced, embarrassment had turned into a constant companion. 

As I descended the stairs the following morning, a waitress wearing a vibrant scarf in her hair offered me a bundle of fresh clothes. "Here you go," she said, dropping them into my hands. "Go shower before you start. And eat breakfast after—you'll need it." 

I blinked at her, the gesture catching me off guard. "I—uh—thank you." 

"Forget about it," she replied with a shrug, already starting to clean a table. 

As I walked slowly to the washroom, my heart felt burdened. Her kindness, although straightforward, brought Liam to mind. He had previously gazed at me with affection, held my hand conveying assurances that all would turn out fine. However, I was wiser now. Kindness came with a price. 

Nonetheless, the warm water on my skin seemed to soothe injuries I couldn't perceive. I remained beneath the shower for as long as I felt comfortable, allowing the water to wash away the dirt from the day before. As I finally emerged and saw my reflection in the mirror, I failed to recognize the woman looking back at me. 

Her face was slimmer, shadows grasping her eyes like dark marks. Her hair, previously carefully styled and woven, now hung lifeless and wet around her face. This did not appear to be the face of an upcoming alpha. This was the visage of a woman who had lost it all and was grasping at remnants. 

"Move past it, Amelia," I whispered under my breath, holding onto the sink's edge until my knuckles went pale. "Endure initially." "The remainder can hold off." 

The aroma of eggs and toast snapped me back to reality. Upon entering the compact dining space, a plate was already set for me. My stomach rumbled, and I immediately started eating. 

"Good morning," I remarked, looking at the small chef near the stove. 

He halted, his stirring spoon suspended in the air, then mumbled what seemed to be "Morning" before facing away from me. 

I laughed quietly, finding his shyness more entertaining than frustrating. "Thank you for the breakfast," I remarked. 

He remained silent, yet his shoulders appeared to ease slightly. 

When I began washing dishes, the bar had turned into a lively restaurant. Plates and cups accumulated faster than I could clean them, and the clatter of utensils was nonstop. When I finished, my hands ached, and my back pulsed from leaning over the sink for hours. 

"Here you go," said the waitress from earlier, setting down a glass of water and a plate of cold stew in front of me as I finally settled in. "Eat. You will need it for tomorrow."

I stared at the plate, my tiredness making me react slowly. "Why do you treat me with such kindness?" 

She shrugged again, as though it wasn't worth the trouble to clarify. 

"You appear to be unaccustomed to receiving assistance from others." "Honestly, that's unfortunate." 

I had no reply to that, so I concentrated on the stew. The delicious warmth enveloped my belly, and for a brief moment, I almost felt like a person again. 

"Ruth wants to see you," the waitress said as I finished eating. "Her office is down the hall. First door on the left." 

As I rapped on the office door, it opened a bit with a creak. I paused when an elderly man shuffled out, his face red, his shirt fastened incorrectly. He glanced at me momentarily before vanishing down the corridor. 

My belly turned. The world was a tough environment for women, particularly for those lacking defense. I could only hope I wouldn't need to turn to… that. 

"Enter," Ruth's hoarse voice invited from within. 

I entered the room, maintaining a neutral expression. Ruth sat behind a small wooden desk cluttered with papers. She barely glanced at me before saying, "You here to complain about the work?" 

"No," I said quickly, stepping forward. "Actually, I wanted to ask if… if I could stay. Work here in exchange for a room and meals. Just until I figure things out." 

She reclined in her chair, her keen eyes narrowing as she observed me. "Are you thinking of leaving as soon as you feel strong again?" 

"Absolutely not," I responded decisively. "I'll cover my expenses; whatever you believe is reasonable." 

Ruth made a snorting sound. "Do you believe I don't hear that phrase weekly?" "Girls like you believe this place is a sort of charity." 

"I refuse to accept charity," I retorted, my tone more composed than I anticipated. "I will contribute my share." 

She lifted an eyebrow, obviously not impressed. "You are courageous, I'll concede that."

Silence stretched between us until she finally sighed. "Alright." You will do the dishes, wipe down tables, and anything else that needs attention. I will provide you with a tiny room on the upper floor and two meals daily. "We'll discuss additional money after you've shown that you're not lazy." 

A wave of relief washed over me, and I nodded rapidly. "Thanks a lot." "I won't disappoint you." 

"Hold off on the thanks," she mumbled, rearranging her documents. "And don't believe this is a type of friendship." You put in effort, you receive compensation. "That's all." 

I nodded once more, my heart constricted with appreciation and an unfamiliar feeling I couldn't identify. As I started to walk away, she said, "And don't get weak on me, girl." This world will consume you whole if you do. 

Her statements resonated in my thoughts as I ascended the steps to my new room. She was right. I'd been soft before, trusting Liam, trusting people who swore they had my back. Never again. 

This time, I'd take care of myself. No pack. No promises. Just survival.