Bill's POV
I was born into a poor family.
My father was on his deathbed—drowning in the kind of sickness that eats bones from the inside—and my mother… my mother did what she had to do.
He died slowly, the kind of death that drains a house of warmth long before the body gives up. And my mother…
she did what she had to do.
Prostitution wasn't shameful where we lived.
It was currency.
Everyone thought I was born an Alpha.
That was the only reason anyone in the neighborhood treated us with the slightest respect. My mother clung to it like a lifeline—her "Alpha son" would save her someday.
Alphas were supposed to lift families out of the dirt. Alphas attracted patrons, opportunities, protection—at the very least, respect.
My mother thought I was her lottery ticket.
Her way out.
But destiny didn't work that cleanly.
The older I got, the more "wrong" I became.
My scent never stabilized.
My strength fluctuated.
