The Alpha's Teacher.

MIA'S POV:

I pulled up in front of the house I used to call home, the steering wheel digging into my palms. But the house didn’t feel like home anymore—if it ever had. I exhaled slowly, the engine of my worn-out Peugeot sputtering as if it, too, was relieved the journey was over. It had carried me across town one too many times, and I couldn’t help but feel that even it was getting tired of the trip.

The house loomed in front of me, a silent monument to everything I wanted to forget. But I pushed the thoughts aside, forcing myself to open the door and step into the familiar, suffocating air of my past.

As soon as my foot crossed the threshold, my mother's voice sliced through the quiet. "Well, finally, the daughter of my husband is here."

Before I could even process the sting in her words, I heard my father’s voice, already seated at the dining table. "Mia, you know I don't like driving at night. Yet here you are, coming in late in that old Peugeot. Do you even think about the risks?"

"I had to finish some work at the mall," I answered, walking toward the table, my voice flat, drained. As always, I took my place at the far end, a seat tucked away from the spotlight. I preferred it that way—better to blend into the background than invite scrutiny.

But just as I settled in, the star of the evening made her entrance.

“Mum, I’m here!” Prisca Winslow announced, breezing into the room like she owned it. My stepsister. The golden child. The one who could do no wrong.

She looked perfect, as usual. Immaculate makeup, a flawless outfit, and that effortless air of confidence that I could never seem to replicate. And here I was in my plain skirt and top, blending into the shadows, invisible as always. I adjusted my glasses and forced myself to look ahead.

"My baby!" Mum exclaimed, hurrying over to wrap Prisca in a tight, warm embrace. The kind of welcome I could never seem to get.

"You look gorgeous, sweetheart," Mum cooed, the admiration in her voice so thick, it made my skin crawl. It was everything I never heard, and something I desperately wished for.

I should have been used to it by now, but the sting never dulled. The hurt lingered a quiet ache that I’d carried for years.

I expected this from Mum—she’d always favoured Prisca. But Dad... he was supposed to be different, but as Prisca walked over to him, he greeted her with a smile I had spent my entire life yearning for. A smile that made my chest ache. She threw herself into his arms, and he wrapped her up like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. Like she was his only daughter. He didn't even complain about her late coming.

The scene clenched something tightly in my chest. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting. I was his daughter too. So why did he act like I didn’t exist?

"Mia," Prisca's voice broke through my thoughts, sharp as a knife. "What have you been eating? You look like you’ve gained more weight than the last time I saw you."

I met her eyes without flinching. "Food," I replied evenly.

She smirked, then turned her attention to something—or someone—else. “Babe,” she purred, her voice softening as she looked toward the door. My gaze followed hers, landing on the sharply dressed man who had just walked in. He looked... handsome. So why didn’t men like that ever look my way?

The only man in my life was Martin, who had no ambition beyond his delusions of becoming a musician. It was pathetic.

"Hope you didn’t have trouble finding a spot to park, 'cause we’re a bit tight on space here," Prisca said, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"Mum, this is Luca. My boyfriend," she beamed, pulling him into the spotlight.

"Hello, everyone," The guy greeted smoothly, slipping into the empty space beside Prisca. And just like that, the entire conversation shifted, becoming an adoration fest for her—her perfect life, her flawless relationship, her endless accomplishments. I might as well have not even been there. As always, I was invisible.

"If I were you, I’d practice portion control," Mum said, eyeing me as I served myself. "Otherwise, no man will ever want you, and getting married will be impossible."

The air in the room seemed to freeze. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral, even as her words cut through me.

"Look at your sister," she continued, her voice dripping with malice. "She’s already bringing a man into the family. What about you? No one will ever want you if you keep eating like that."

My grip on the fork tightened, my appetite vanishing in an instant. I knew exactly what this was—another attempt to humiliate me, to push me further into the background. And they succeeded.

But do they even know this was my first meal for the day? Of course, they don't!

If I could have escaped this monthly family reunion, I would have. But here I was, once again stuck in the same old routine—playing the role of the unwanted daughter, the invisible one.