A sharp, blinding pain tore through Rhea's ribs.
"Get up, you good-for-nothing lazy Omega!"
The voice — female, ice-cold and jagged with cruelty, stabbed through her skull like a needle jammed into her temple.
Before she could even turn toward it, another savage kick slammed into her side, knocking the breath clean out of her lungs.
"AH!" The scream ripped from her throat as her body flew off a thin, lumpy bed and crashed onto the cold floor with a violent crack.
Her hip smacked hard against the wood, her shoulder twisted under her weight. A hot burst of agony shot down her arm, and the back of her head throbbed from the impact.
The world spun. What the actual hell was that? Who dares to...
Wait. Omega? Omega!? Did that... did that motherfucker just call me Omega!?
Her eyes shot open, and for the first time, the world around her didn't feel like the one she knew. The ceiling above was cracked, the old plaster yellowed and water-stained, sagging far too low to belong to the pristine halls of her family's estate or the sterile atmosphere of her father's private hospital. The walls were peeling, their sickly color chipping away like a slow, painful death. The air… the air reeked of mold, stale, and heavy with something metallic. Old blood?
Rhea blinked rapidly, struggling to focus her disoriented mind. What the hell is actually going on? Where exactly am I...?
She tried to move, but her body was too weak to obey. The bed she'd been kicked from wasn't even a bed — just a wooden frame with a cheap, straw-stuffed mattress wrapped in a torn blanket. Splinters jutted from the frame like the whole thing wanted her dead. The blanket, dull and stained, barely covered anything. A narrow window let in a single shaft of sunlight that cut across the grime-coated floor, catching on dust motes and cobwebs.
"Stand up from there, you damn useless piece of shit!"
Another kick, this time to her lower back, landed with sickening force, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her back arched involuntarily as a jagged bolt of pain shot down her spine.
She cried out, arms trembling as she tried to crawl away, but her limbs betrayed her—too weak to respond to her commands.
STOMP.
Two boots. Heavy. Hard. Landed on her back with brutal force, pressing her into the splintered wood of the floor.
Her lungs seized as the weight drove into her spine, flattening her like paper. Her cheek scraped painfully against the floorboards, raw and splintered. A fresh line of pain opened along her jaw.
"Get up before I piss on you like the stray you are!" The voice came again. Dripping venom.
Someone was enjoying this. This had to be a dream. A fever dream. A cursed one, at that.
Okay. Okay. What the fuck is going on?
Why can't I move properly? Why do I feel like I've been run over by a truck made of shame and broken bones?
Why the hell do they keep calling me Omega?
And just like that...It hit her. Like a slap across the face. The book!
The Omega Everyone Hated.
The one she had just dropped. The one she had stupidly, foolishly—wished to enter. She had wanted to step into it, to deal with the bullies herself.
Her heart stopped. Her eyes widened in shock as realization drowned her.
Holy shit!
"Get your worthless ass up," the voice growled again, every word saturated with venom. "Or I'll give the rest of the pack permission to finish what I started."
How will I be able to stand up if your elephant legs are on me, Rhea thought, gritting her teeth as pain rippled through her spine.
As if the witch read her mind, the pressure vanished.
Finally.
She exhaled, shaky and short, air stuttering out of her cracked lips like it had to claw its way out.
Her arms trembled violently as she tried to push herself up. Every muscle screamed. Her elbows buckled on the first try, dropping her back down with a muffled grunt. Again, she pushed — her palms scraped against the rough, splintered floorboards, and she bit back a cry. Her shoulder throbbed. Her ribs felt like they were being crushed under invisible weights. Her skin burned in places that shouldn't even register pain.
This body… it didn't just hurt. It felt ravaged.
Like someone had used it up, wrung it dry, and stuffed her soul inside the leftovers.
"Do you hear me, Omega?" the woman barked again. "Get up before I knock the last bit of breath out of your useless lungs."
"Spare me the dramatics, you sadistic warthog in a wig," Rhea muttered under her breath, dragging one knee forward and bracing with a wince.
"What did you just say?"
Rhea scoffed.
Then forced herself up again. This time, she managed to get her knees under her. The motion sent electric agony through her thighs, but she kept going.
"N-nothing," she said, finally upright, swaying like a drunk tree in a hurricane. "I said nothing."
The woman narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring like a bull preparing to charge.
Now that Rhea could see her clearly, she wished she hadn't.
The motherfucker was tall — nearly six feet, with cropped black hair and a jaw sharp enough to slice stone. She wore a fitted black button-down shirt over dark jeans. She looked like a modernized witch. Her arms folded. Her mouth curled in contempt. Her eyes? Pure hate, staring at Rhea like she was filth stuck under her boots.
Behind her, two younger girls leaned against the wall, hips cocked and shoulders relaxed, radiating bored disinterest. They watched like it was the day's entertainment, their blank expressions betraying a sharp glint in their eyes.
Rhea's lips tightened. Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling.
"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but if you touch me again, I swear to—"
SMACK.
The slap landed hard and fast. Her head whipped sideways, the sound echoing through the room. She stumbled a step but didn't fall.
The two girls gasped, eyes wide with matching shock.
"She talked back," one of them whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"You don't get to talk back, filth," the woman spat. "You're lucky Alpha Aiden even lets you breathe in this pack."
Alpha Aiden, huh?
The rival-obsessed son of a bitch, she thought darkly. Figures.
"The daughter of the traitor has grown some wings," one of the younger girls said, smirking as she pushed off the wall.
"Imagine a traitor's brat trying to act tough," the other one giggled.
Rhea's eyes flicked to them.
So these were the ones. The side characters she used to scream at from her reading nook, hurling curses at the page. The background hyenas who made the Omega's life hell.
Her hands curled tighter, nails biting into her palms.
The woman turned to the girls, letting out a sharp, humorless laugh — and for a second, the three shared a little moment of triumph.
Then the woman's smile dropped as she turned back to Rhea.
"Go clean the Alpha's room. He'll be back from training soon, and if it's not spotless, don't even bother crawling back to this room."
Rhea's jaw dropped. "How am I supposed to work with a body this wrecked?"
"How the hell would I know?" the woman snapped. "Figure it out. Follow orders. Or no food tonight. Again."
One of the girls blinked, her brows pinched.
The Omega never asked questions. She just obeyed. She crawled, limped, and never looked anyone in the eyes.
What the hell had come over her?
"Start moving, you piss-stained waste of space!" the older woman shouted.
Rhea turned her head, face dull but voice firm.
"Will you stop yelling? I heard you the first time, foghorn."