★Nuel's POV★
I dragged my feet along the long hallway that led to my father's chambers.
"I can't imagine a weakling like him being the Alpha's son." a voice murmured.
"He's so pitiful the Alpha has to keep him hidden."
"If not for his twin's illness, I doubt the Alpha would have let him out of the West Wing."
Their whispers sliced through the air like blades. Servants' voices low and cruel, yet loud enough for me to hear with my heightened senses. Being a werewolf, I caught every syllable and sneer contained in their words, i caught every disdainful glance they exchanged behind my back.
But I didn't flinch. I had grown used to it. Twenty years and months of mockery had long since calloused my heart.
As the Alpha's son, strength was supposed to run in my blood. Children of Alphas were destined to embody power. It was tradition. It was law.
But fate decided otherwise.
I was born an omega—the lowest of our kind. Most of the servants had no knowledge of my true rank, yet they didn't need to. My weakness was enough for them to scorn me. I never found my wolf when I turned sixteen, the sacred age when every wolf awakens their other half.
My twin sister had. On the very same day I failed, she succeeded. Her wolf was an Alpha beast—ferocious and commanding, exactly what my father had hoped for. From that moment, she was named heir to our pack even though it wasn't in our nature for women to.
And me?
I was cast aside. Banished to the West Wing of the pack where shadows kept me out of sight and silence shielded my father from shame. To the world, the Alpha of this pack had one worthy child—a female heir blazing with promise. But hidden away, he also had me: the failure, the disappointment, the son unworthy of his blood.
"What are you doing here? Haven't I told you never to leave the West Wing without my permission?" My mother's voice lashed out the moment her eyes fell on me. She didn't bother to call me by my name. I doubted she even remembered what it was.
"Who let him out? Why isn't he being prepared already?" My father's voice thundered from inside his chambers as I stepped closer.
Prepared. That was why I had come here. He had sent servants to fetch me, to ready me for whatever madness he had planned.
You'd think I would be glad. After all, it was the first time in years anyone besides the little girl who delivered my meals had set foot in the West Wing. But there was no joy in me, only the bitter reminder that I had been forced to live in seclusion, an outcast in my own father's pack. To him, being born an omega was a curse. Being born a male omega—a rarity—was an even darker omen.
"What are the names of the servants who dared leave him to come here? I want them all beheaded in the square at once!" my father snarled at his beta, who stood stiffly at the door.
The same man who had tried to block me from this hallway only moments ago.
I said nothing though. I doubted my father would follow through. The servants hadn't disobeyed him—they had obeyed me, and I had forced their hand by invoking my bloodline as his son.
"I'm not going through with this… madness." My voice came out firm, steady but cold.
I did not call either of them father or mother. I knew better. The last time I had, my mother had ordered two servants to whip me bloody for the insolence.
"I don't care what you want, Nuel," my father said without so much as meeting my eyes. "Did I get what I wanted when the Moon Goddess cursed me with you as a son? The servants have already explained what's to be done. That is the end of it."
Nuel. At least he remembered my name. Unlike my mother, who hadn't used it in years and likely never would again.
"You want me to replace Nuella?" The words stuck in my throat, bitter and heavy.
Why else would they suddenly be preparing me? For what? Some mission so dangerous I might not see another sunrise?
"What's wrong with that?" my mother snapped. "At least you'll finally leave the pack like you've always wanted. Do you expect me to risk my precious daughter instead?"
Her precious daughter. I was her child too. Nuella's twin. Her son. "I'm your child to,.…" The whisper cracked from my lips as tears stung my eyes and slid down my face.
Why doesn't she see me? Why doesn't she acknowledge that I exist?
"You will replace her. That's final," my father declared. "I've arranged for rogues to pull you out afterward. All you need to do is follow the script. No one gets harmed."
I wanted to argue, to shout, but the words withered on my tongue. What use was speaking when no one had ever listened?
"Nuella is sick. She is the heir, the one who secures contracts, the one whose brilliance fills this house with wealth. You? You've never done anything. Making this sacrifice for her is the least you can do. Don't be selfish, Nuel—you've always been selfish since the day you were born," he said with venomous calm.
"And he's always been a disgrace," my mother added sharply. "This is your chance to prove otherwise. Don't ruin our plans. Don't prove once again that you are nothing but a failure."
Their words tore through me like claws and for a moment, I felt the fire rise inside my chest. I was a failure but they never gave me the opportunity to prove otherwise. Being an omega was enough reasons for me to be one in their eyes.
My hands trembled with the urge to clench into fists, to demand they see me—not as a shadow, not as a mistake, and certainly not as Nuella's replacement but as their son.
But the fire died before it ever reached my lips.
What good would it do? They had already named me a disgrace. They had already carved failure into my skin long before today. No amount of shouting would change the truth they had chosen to believe about me.
So I swallowed the fury burning in my throat. I let it sink, heavy and bitter, into the pit of my stomach.
If this was what it took for them to finally see me—even for a fleeting moment—then perhaps it was worth it. If playing the part of Nuella's shadow would earn me the smallest scrap of acknowledgment, then I would take it.
I lowered my eyes in surrender to the reality that I had always been a failure in their eyes. And if this was the price of belonging, then I would pay it.
Even if it burned me alive.