The Alpha's Obsession

　　Nyxia's POV:

　　The flames were everywhere—licking up the walls, devouring everything in their path. The heat was suffocating, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake. I could hear the crackling of wood, the groan of the house as it began to give way. But worse than the fire was the screaming.

　　My mother's voice cut through the roar of the flames, desperate and panicked, calling my name. I tried to run to her, but my feet wouldn't move. The floor beneath me was hot, too hot, but I was rooted in place. I reached out, but the smoke was too thick, choking me, blurring my vision.

　　"Mom!" I screamed, the sound was swallowed up by the inferno.

　　The walls around me began to close in, the flames inching closer, burning everything I loved to ash. Shadows danced in the corners of my eyes, twisting into shapes, figures that whispered my name, accusing, condemning.

　　You did this.

　　My breath hitched. My hands trembled, the smoke curling around my fingers like a living thing, pulling me down, down into the darkness. The air burned in my lungs, searing through my chest as I fought to breathe, to move, to do anything. But I couldn't. I couldn't save them.

　　You killed them.

　　"No!" I screamed, but my voice came out as a rasp, barely audible over the crackling fire and the voices in my head. My body was paralyzed, helpless, as the flames closed in. The shadows grew darker, the heat more unbearable. The house began to collapse, and just before the roof caved in, I saw them—my parents, reaching out to me, their faces twisted in agony.

　　The flames engulfed them, and they were gone.

　　I was falling. Falling into the abyss, into the endless dark.

　　I jolted awake, gasping for air, my heart pounding like it was trying to break free from my chest. Sweat soaked my sheets, my hair clinging to my forehead, and my hands shook as I fisted them in the fabric, grounding myself in the present.

　　It was the same nightmare, the one that haunted me for years, a brutal reminder of everything I'd lost. But it had been months since it last plagued me.

　　I thought I was finally getting better, my life was finally improving. Then why? All of a sudden?

　　I forced myself to breathe, deep and slow, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside me. The clock on my nightstand glowed 4:17 AM. The house was quiet, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It was the oppressive silence that only came in the dead of night, right before dawn, when every creak of the floorboards and rustle of the wind felt like a ghost from the past.

　　My room was dark, the shadows stretching long across the floor, but I didn't need light to know every inch of it. I'd lived here, in this lonely corner of the pack house, for as long as I could remember. And every night, this room, these walls, became the prison where my past came back to haunt me.

　　I pushed the damp hair from my face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. But the accusations still echoed in my head, the images of flames and twisted shadows burned into my memory.

　　You did this.

　　I knew they were right. That was the worst part. It wasn't just a nightmare. It was a memory. And the truth was far more terrifying than any dream.

　　I stared at my reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, the morning light filtering through the small, grimy window, casting a pale glow over my face. My gunmetal blue eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles underneath a permanent fixture, and my hair was a tangled mess from tossing and turning all night. I sighed, reaching for the hairbrush on the sink, trying to tame the wild strands of black and white that hung past my hips.

　　Six more days till I turn 19.

　　Six days, and then I'd be free. Free from this pack, from this house, from these people who had done nothing but remind me that I was different—that I was a burden. The thought should have brought some comfort, but all it did was tighten the knot of anxiety in my stomach. I was so close, yet it felt like miles away. I clenched my jaw, tugging the brush through the stubborn knots, willing myself to stay calm. There was no point in getting worked up. Not today. Not when I was so close to getting out.

　　I finished brushing my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders, before quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth. After taking a quick shower, I put on a cherry red blazer dress, one of the couple outfits I owned, and Ethan's favorite. The cold water helped to wake me up, but it did nothing to wash away the exhaustion that clung to my bones. I could hear movement downstairs—footsteps, the clatter of dishes—signaling the start of another day in the Hunter household.

　　Another day of enduring their scorn.

　　As I descended the stairs, the voices from the kitchen grew louder. I could hear Seraphina's sharp tone barking orders at the maids, followed by my uncle Desmond's booming laughter—a sound that always made my skin crawl. I'd planned to slip out unnoticed, to get through the day without crossing paths with anyone, but the moment I reached the bottom step, something caught my attention. A low murmur, different from the usual noises of the household.

　　Curious, I inched closer to the doorway of the dining room, careful to stay out of sight. I could hear my uncle's voice, low and sinister, speaking in a tone I had heard many times before.

　　"...We'll need to finalize the arrangements tonight. I want her gone by the end of the week. No mistakes."

　　My blood ran cold. I pressed myself against the wall, my heart thudding in my chest.

　　"We've kept this quiet long enough," he continued, his voice dripping with malice. "If she finds out the truth now, it'll ruin everything."

　　The truth? What truth? Were they talking about me?

　　"Does she suspect?" Seraphina asked, her voice unnervingly calm.

　　"No," Desmond replied. "She's too focused on leaving. She doesn't know she's walking straight into the trap we set. By the time she realizes, it'll be too late."

　　A trap? My stomach twisted violently, a rush of panic surging through me. What were they talking about?

　　Just as I turned to run back upstairs, a hand grabbed my shoulder, shoving me back against the wall.

　　"Going somewhere, Nyxia?" My cousin's voice slithered into my ear, his breath hot on my skin.

　　My heart went into overdrive as bile rose in my throat.

　　"Ezra…" I whispered, my voice pleading, but before I could say another word, his hand shot out, shoving me so hard that I stumbled backward.

　　Pain shot up my wrist as I hit the floor, the impact jarring and unexpected.

　　Ezra's grin grew darker as he leaned in closer, his eyes glinting with malicious delight. "When will you learn your place Nyxia?"

　　I tried to push myself up, but his foot pressed down on my injured wrist, pinning me to the ground. Another sharp, searing pain shot through me, and I gasped, my heart hammering in my chest.

　　Dread filled my veins as I looked up. This is not going to end well.