Three Weeks Later
****
Standing in front of my mirror, which had a sticky note that said, "Sparkle like you mean it"—Mom's favorite thing to say—I sighed, eyeing the reflection in front of me.
I wasn't sparkling, Mom. I barely felt like I was glowing. My outfit was the same one I had worn just two days ago.
After the Luna Hunt gala, Dad decided to take
"control," like there ever was a time when he wasn't.
Know what that meant? Locking up my closet and replacing my clothes with what he thought was appropriate for an Omega. No more bright colors. No more fun. Just a bunch of beige and gray button-ups and pants that looked more or less like a napkin.
The stuff he picked out screamed, "You're no longer the pampered daughter, you're just... well, this."
"Well, María Jośe, you finally got your wish." I sighed, texting Juana;
I'm heading out in a few. I don't think you should sneak out just to go with me. Let's avoid trouble, okay? Xoxo.
The only way Juana and I could communicate now was through texts. Dad put her with the other staff in the garden because according to him; an omega doesn't need a personal maid!
No more internet for me. My iPhone 16 has been replaced and changed to a fucking damn flip phone that only supports Facebook and a few emergency contacts.
I stood there, glaring at the reflection of myself drowning in one of Dad's new shirts—a sad, oversized thing that made me look like I was wearing a tent.
The pants? Pfft. They were so stiff I was pretty sure they were a fire hazard. I couldn't even remember the last time I felt like me. The sticky note on the mirror felt like a slap right on my tired face. Sparkle? Yeah, right. More like
'survive until you can claw your way out of this mess'.
"Oh, mom." I sniffed, wiping a stray tear with the back of my hand. "I miss you so much."
Well, I couldn't afford to be weak, not in this house, not in front of my father. The man who, after years of molding me into his ideal version of a perfect daughter, had now stripped me of everything that made me who I was.
I glanced down at my phone when the ping sound of Juana's reply came.
"Fat chance, María Jośe. I'm coming! We'll get through this together."
I smiled bitterly at her words. She was the only one who had stayed by my side, even when everyone else had distanced themselves.
I was about to pick up my tote bag when the door burst open. For a second, my heart leaped into my throat, wondering who it was. These days, everyone in this house seemed like they'd turned into strangers with horns and thorns—at best, distant; at worst, downright unbearable.
And then in she waltzed, Camilla, looking like the pictures you'd find on an Instagram influencer's feed
"Ugh, you're still here?" she cooed, chewing on a cuticle and making me want to gag.
I stood up slowly, my fingers tightening around my tote. "Yeah, I live here."
Camilla crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Father sent you to the butchery, did he? Such a grand task for our esteemed Omega." She let out a humorless chuckle. "Imagine, the De la Vega daughter, reduced to fetching meat."
I could feel my neck heating up. I hated this. Hated the pitying glances, the insults, and the constant reminders of my "failure."
"It's not a big deal," I mumbled, fiddling with the strap of my tote bag.
"Oh, but it is," Camilla retorted. "It's a disgrace to our family. Everyone is talking about it. 'Poor María Jośe,' they say. 'Such a shame, such a beautiful girl, and no wolf.' " She mimicked a sympathetic tone, fondling a strand of her golden blonde hair.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I freaking wanted to lash out, to tell the arse to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. But the words never made it past my throat. I felt weak—pathetic.
Instead, I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way her gaze swept over me, dawdling on my slightly rumpled dress.
"Very funny, Camilla."
"Oh, I'm simply stating the facts, querida. Imagine, the De la Vega daughter, reduced to running errands like some commoner. It's a spectacle, really."
"Spare me the theatrics," I snapped, finally looking up. "It's not like you're exactly winning any awards for 'Most Popular Sister' yourself."
Camilla's smile vanished. "Oh, but I am! At least I have my wolf. I'm useful. You... you're just a pretty face with nothing inside."
The sting of her words hit me harder than I expected. "And you," I retorted, tilting my head, "are a vapid, spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around her coiffed hair and that ridiculous wolf of yours."
Her eyes narrowed. "You dare—"
Before she could finish her threat, she pounced forward, slapping me hard across the face. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a horrified silence.
What on earth did Camilla just do? The sting of her slap made me remember back when she was fourteen, and I was twelve. Mom had seized our arms in the middle of another one of Camilla's meltdowns, pulling us apart like we were two unruly animals, caught in some petty squabble. It was always like this with her—drama over nothing, and I was always the target.
I could still hear her voice, sharp as a dagger, accusing me of everything from stealing her clothes to breathing too loudly. That was the last time I ever really tried to stand up to her—not because I was afraid, but because I realized it didn't matter.
Maybe the enmity hadn't really started with Álvaro. Maybe his case just emboldened what was already there.
But this? This was different.
I blinked, still in shock as my hand flew up to my cheek, feeling the heat of her slap burn through my skin. The room was frozen, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if I was even breathing.
Camilla stood there, chest rising and falling, taking sharp breaths, her hand still half-extended in the air as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd just done either.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I managed to choke out.
Her eyes darted around, guilt flashing behind them for a split second before she quickly masked it by fastening her lips together. "You had it coming," she spat, though the words were less certain this time, as if she was trying to convince herself more than me.
I didn't know what was worse—the slap itself or the fact that she thought it was justified.
"And this is because Álvaro rejected you because he wanted to wait for me? Or because Dad liked me more than he did you? Or because my beauty is unrivaled where yours is concerned?"
I thought she was going to slap me again, but she merely chuckled.
"You know, it's funny," she scoffed. "Rosa was rejected by Álvaro, and I was too. But at least we have our wolves. We're still valuable. You... What do you have? Beauty? When the vampires come biting, or the human hunters come with their silver blades, fight them off with your beauty, querida."
The words cut deep. I felt the nausea coming over me. Nothing. That's what I was. Nothing.
"You should just disappear! Disappear and never come back. You're an embarrassment to this family."
Every breath I took was dangerous now. I was no longer protected. The hunters... They'll come. Vampires could be found anywhere.
They'd come too and it wouldn't be pretty. I could already imagine the gossip;
Poor pretty María Jośe died of the hunter's blade.
Was I going to die?