Marie’s POV
The sound of footsteps came from downstairs, sounding so clear in the silent house. I trembled with fear. Without even thinking, I knew it was my adoptive mother, Aurora. She ascended the creaking stairs that led to the secluded loft where I had been relegated.
Years of abuse and torment made me instantly understand that she must be planning something again. Was she going to torture me in a differently coerce me into acting with her again?
I nervously gripped the bed sheets tightly; fear consumed me, and it was the only thing I could do. Years of torture had robbed me of the confidence and courage to resist. But I could only endure. Perhaps there would be a suitable opportunity, like when I got my wolf did I find the chance to escape. Then I could do everything in my power to leave this place.
By now, what all I could do is wait, waiting a chance to find a place where no one knew me and could let me lived alone. There would be no one to abuse or force me to do anything, even if loneliness would be my only companion.
Aurora’s footsteps, accompanied by an oppressive silence, reverberated through the dimly lit space, sending shivers down my spine. With a dress in her hands, she opened my door, approaching me, her expression twisted with a mixture of disdain and loathing.
As she gazed upon me, her eyes held a contempt that cut to the core of my being. It was as if I were a repugnant parasite, an unwelcome burden staining the fabric of her carefully constructed existence.
The weight of her disgust hung heavy in the air, suffocating any remnants of self-worth that lingered within me.
"Marie," she uttered my name with a cold detachment, the syllables dripping with disdain, "change into this dress. Tomorrow is your birthday party." Her words were laden with a venomous command, a reminder of the performative charade that awaited me.
The expectation was clear: I was to play the role of a grateful and compliant daughter, again, obediently adhering to the script of a life that was never truly mine.
Aurora's reminder of what I should and should not say echoed through the stifling silence of the loft. It was a stark reminder of the constraints that bound me, a constant reminder that my voice was to be silenced, my true thoughts and emotions buried beneath a carefully crafted facade.
To speak out, to reveal the truth, would risk further alienation and retribution.
At that moment, I felt the weight of my existence bear down upon me, the suffocating pressure of expectations and the erasure of my identity. I was but a marionette, manipulated by the hands of those who deemed themselves the arbiters of my destiny.
As I reached out to take the dress from Aurora's outstretched hand, I felt a surge of rebellion welling up within me. It was a flickering ember of defiance, a spark that dared to challenge the darkness that had enveloped my spirit. But with trembling fingers, I held back, fearful of the consequences that would follow such an act of defiance.
I could only obey her because the time was not right yet. To escape from all this, I must find the best opportunity.
Silently, I nodded in acquiescence, my gaze averted, the weight of her disappointment hanging over me like a shroud. At that moment, I made a silent vow to myself – a vow to endure, to preserve the flickering flame of my true self amidst the suffocating expectations and disdainful gazes.
As I began to change into the dress, my reflection in the dusty mirror revealed a young woman caught between the desires of others and the yearning for her voice. With each article of clothing that adorned my body, I became a living embodiment of the mask I was expected to wear.
In the shadows, I clung to the fragments of my true self, nurturing the resilience that burned within me. And as I prepared myself to descend into the realm of celebration and pretense, I vowed to hold onto that flicker of defiance, to reclaim my identity, and to find solace in the depths of my own truth, even in the face of adversity.
**
In the majestic expanse of the grand reception hall, I found myself stationed, as a mere observer amidst the swirling sea of guests. An overwhelming sense of anticipation gripped my every fiber, rendering me incapable of uttering a single word.
"Ah, dear Marie, you're just as radiant as you were last year. Honestly, you ought to express your gratitude to your adoptive parents. Were it not for their benevolence, you might not even be a part of this world anymore."
A middle-aged gentleman, who bore a somewhat familiar resemblance, beamed at me and lifted the glass in his hand, presumably a friend of Damon, my adoptive father.
"Thank you for the kind words. Marie has brought us immeasurable happiness as well, and we have always regarded her as our own daughter," responded Aurora, her countenance displaying a gentle smile, concealing any trace of deceit despite her slightly plump face.
I felt like throwing up, but I held it back.
My adoptive father stood by my side and took me by the shoulders to add, "We love Marie even more than Kendall. Marie is our first child. As you know, first child always catches the parent's attention."
I rolled my eyes in my mind: If I really was your biological child.
Standing in the presence of my adoptive family, Kendall, their biological daughter, joined the chorus of admiration and gratitude, her smile radiating warmth and acceptance.
She chimed in, "Yes, I love Marie as well and I'm incredibly thankful that she was part of my parents' lives for two years before I was even born."
The room brimmed with whispered conversations, as guests marveled at the extraordinary compassion that coursed through the veins of this remarkable couple. They were lauded for their boundless capacity to shower their adopted daughter, me, with a love that surpassed even the depths of thewn flesh and blood.
As I stood there, a mere pawn in this intricately woven tapestry of familial affection, my gaze met the eyes of the assembled guests. Their eyes shone with admiration, their voices hushed as they exchanged whispered remarks, awestruck by the selflessness and devotion that emanated from this family.
With lifeless eyes, I was guided by my adoptive parents to greet the assembled guests, each one admiring the attire I wore and emphasizing the need to repay the kindness of this benevolent couple.
But behind the facade of admiration and gratitude, a chilling truth loomed. My once-vibrant spirit had been extinguished, replaced by lifeless eyes that concealed the weight of my suffering. The truth of my existence was veiled by the grandeur of the reception hall, where appearances masked the stark realities that lay beneath.
I forced the corners of my mouth to curl upwards, mustering a decent smile.
Before Kendall's arrival, my adoptive parents and I did share moments of genuine happiness. However, everything changed with Kendall's birth.
From that moment on, Aurora and Damon began to resent the idea that my laughter might disturb Kendall or that I could potentially transmit germs to her, simply by being in cnearby that is when my once bright and spacious room transformed into a dark, damp attic, where I found myself lying on a blanket among mice, deprived of a proper bed. My room became Kendall's domain, used exclusively for her dolls.
"Seriously, you can't treat poor Kendall like that. Marie is a child you took in. Kendall is just a sixteen-year-old girl; she'll be devastated," admonished a bearded man, his gaze filled with disdain and reproach directed at me.
He was Kendall's mentor, who had warned me multiple times not to dare bully Kendall or believe that being showered with love by my adoptive parents made me superior to her.
Yes, in the eyes of outsiders, I became the despised intruder, taking advantage of my adoptive parents' affection and tormenting their own daughter.
Although the wounds inflicted on my body by Kendall's hands or various tools continued to ache, I could not confide in anyone. Even if I did, no one would believe me.
Suddenly, I heard a gasp from the crowd, and immediately, most unmated she-wolves stared in the direction of the hall’s entrance. I saw a handsome, tall figure came into the hall, followed by several werewolves. Even Kendall, who had just been acting sweet moments ago, immediately turned her head towards the that man, just like the other girls, as if she had become a different person.
I also took a deep breath inwardly. It was Michel，Grey Stone pack’s future alpha. The once young boy with blue eyes had grown into a tall and powerful man. His arms were muscular, and the veins coursing through them added a touch of allure.
Michel, with his strength, striking handsomeness, and noble status, was a beacon of admiration within the Grey Stone Pack. It was no secret that he held the attention and affection of numerous teenage girls, myself included. His magnetic presence seemed to draw hearts towards him effortlessly.
I watched as girls giggled and blushed in his presence, vying for his attention at every opportunity. His captivating charm and genuine kindness had won over the hearts of many, leaving me in awe of his popularity. Yet, despite the sea of admirers surrounding him, it was the connection we shared that set my heart ablaze.
Suddenly, Michel's cold gaze swept through the crowd, momentarily fixating on me. It felt like time had frozen for a moment. But it was too quick, like an illusion. Soon enough, his eyes scanned the crowd, and his alpha aura excited the girls.
I lowed my head, the relationship between him and me was complicated.
Michel is special to me. We were once closed during our childhood.
He used to be my only companion. During the first few years after Kendall was born, my foster parents' torment wasn't as intense, but they had already begun neglecting me. Amidst those difficult times, there was one person who stood out and became an important figure in my life. He is Michel. Who would have believed that the son of the alpha would become friends with an ordinary girl like me.
Every moment spent with him felt like a gift. His presence had the power to lift my spirits and make even the most mundane activities seem extraordinary. His laughter was infectious, bringing joy to my heart, and his gentle touch filled me with warmth and comfort.
When he discovered the scars on my arms once, the ones left by Aurora’s bullying, I had to reveal my true living conditions to hime for the first and only time. Michel expressed the deepest sympathy for me. At the same time, he was furious, even promising me that he would find a way to make my foster parents get punished. Michel's unwavering support had given me the strength to face my darkest moments, and his affectionate gestures had filled my days with warmth and happiness one day.
However, before he could take actions, my foster mother, Aurora, found it out.
She imprisoned me, viciously beat me, and withheld food from me. She threatened to kill me if I didn't tell Michel that I had lied to him.
I had no choice but to tell Michel three days later, that I had lied to him. From that moment on, my relationship with Michel changed completely. He no longer wanted anything to do with me because he believed I was a liar.
I observed as Michel's eyes wandered to other girls, his laughter now mingling with theirs. It felt as though I had lost a part of myself, as if the bond we had forged had been broken without warning.
I was left to grapple with a lingering sadness, my heart bearing the weight of unrequited feelings. It pained me to witness Michel's popularity among other girls, knowing that I had once held a special place in his heart. The contrast between the past and the present was a constant reminder of the love that slipped through my fingers.
Lost in my thoughts, I failed to realize that we had been standing in front of an elderly man with gray hair for quite some time until my adoptive father, Damon, pinched my waist.
"Marie, what are you thinking about? It's not appropriate for a young lady to wander off in front of guests," Damon cautioned, his eyes filled with a warning, yet his smile appeared so kind.
Whenever there were outsiders present, this couple in my family would adopt such contrasting expressions and eyes, reflecting emotions far different from their inner thoughts.
"Yes, I apologize, Father," I replied, folding my hands in front of me and shielding my waist with my arms, determined to prevent Damon from laying his hands on me again. The pain from his pinch was intense, and I could already envision the red marks it would leave.
"Come, say hello to Uncle Nicholas," Damon extended his hand, pointing towards the old man with white hair, his tone filled with respect.
I gazed at his outstretched hand, while "Uncle Nicholas" smiled at me, yet his gaze held a multitude of emotions I could not comprehend. My intuition told me that it was not the affection an elder should display towards a junior. Furthermore, his age hardly warranted the title of "uncle." It would be more appropriate to refer to him as "grandpa."
"Damon, you're frightening Marie. There's no need to be so stern with such a lovely young girl," Nicholas addressed Damon, but his eyes remained fixated on me.
"You're right, Nicholas," Damon turned his attention to me, "Marie, why don't you go find Aurora? She seems to have something to discuss with you."
I followed Damon's finger to where Aurora stood in the doorway of the ballroom, offering me a kind smile. When our eyes met, she waved at me.
A sense of unease washed over me, but I had no choice but to heed Damon's instructions.
"Marie, I believe you've met Nicholas. He's a delightful gentleman, wouldn't you agree?" Aurora guided me into the room filled with dolls that, in the eyes of others, still belonged to me.
For me, it was the first time in years that I had stepped foot into this room since I was two years old.
I observed the dolls that populated the space, their faces frozen in stiff and insincere smiles, mirroring the facade my family maintained in front of outsiders.
"Yes," I responded, nervously clutching the hem of my skirt, feeling the delicate texture of the silk against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the rough garments I typically wore.
"After the party concludes, Nicholas will be staying, and I want you to take Damon's and my place and treat him well, understood?" Aurora's voice carried an air of authority.
"Treat him?" I was puzzled, unsure of what she meant. Since that incident when I was seven, Aurora and Damon never left me alone with guests, fearing that I might say something that would prove too much for them to handle.
"Yes, treat, with your body." Aurora's tone was relaxed, as if she is talking about what is for dinner tonight.