Torn Between the Three

　　RHEA'S POV

　　"You missed a spot, Rhea."

　　I froze, my fingers tightening around the wooden brush. Slowly, I lifted my head to meet Mira's glare. She was the head maid of the Alpha's mansion, and my personal tormentor.

　　"I've scrubbed it three times already," I muttered under my breath, my knees aching from the cold marble floor. "It's not coming off—"

　　"Then keep scrubbing until it does," Mira snapped, crossing her arms.

　　I bit the inside of my cheek and lowered my gaze, dragging the stiff bristles over the stubborn stain again and again.

　　I had been on this post for thirty minutes, and the mark was still there, mocking me. I knew exactly which cleaning solution would erase it in seconds... but Mira wouldn't let me fetch it. She'd rather watch me suffer.

　　"You're good for nothing," she hissed. "Born in the dirt, and you'll die in the dirt. This is where you belong."

　　A lump rose in my throat, and I blinked hard to push back the tears. I was supposed to be used to this by now. It's been years of it. But somehow, the words still stung like the first time.

　　Being an Omega meant being nothing in this pack. But me? I was treated worse than nothing.

　　Without warning, Mira stepped forward and pressed her heel down hard on my free hand. Pain jolted up my arm, and I gasped, causing the brush to slip from my fingers.

　　"What are you doing? You're hurting me!" I cried, trying to yank my hand back.

　　"Shut up!" she barked, pressing down harder until my knuckles felt like they might shatter. "Why can't you do a simple task right?"

　　I gritted my teeth against the pain, the humiliation burning hotter than the ache in my fingers.

　　Somewhere down the hall, I heard the echo of laughter and music, preparations for the celebration were in full swing. A celebration I would never be part of.

　　Mira leaned down, her face inches from mine. "You'd better have that stain gone before the Alpha's guests arrive, or I'll make you wish you'd never been rescued."

　　"It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?" Mira said, pressing down harder on my hand.

　　The pressure made fresh pain shoot up my arm. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

　　Mira's fingers suddenly gripped my chin, forcing my face up to hers.

　　"It's also Lady Lyra's birthday. You were born on the same day as her, yet you're not even half of what she is."

　　She let go with a sharp flick of her hand, as though touching me had dirtied her.

　　Why was everyone like this? It wasn't as if I wanted to be Lyra, or anything close to her. I didn't envy her or anything. Lyra was the sun, her light filling every room she walked into.

　　And me? I was the shadow on the floor she walked over, brush in my hand, knees aching. She was adorned in silk and jewels, while I was hidden away in rags.

　　That was just the way my life was. I had accepted it a long time ago. But acceptance didn't make it less pathetic.

　　Some mornings, when I woke, I wished I hadn't.

　　I glanced down at my trapped hand, blood now smeared across my knuckles from where her heel had dug in. I was certain my bones were moments away from snapping.

　　"Mira, please... you're hurting me. I'll scrub the floors. Just let go of my hand," I begged.

　　She looked at me with a smirk that made my stomach churn. "My foot is on one hand. Your other hand is free. Keep scrubbing, and maybe I'll let go."

　　"Mira, please—" My voice broke, and fresh sobs shook me.

　　"Stop that rubbish,"

　　But the voice that cut through the air didn't belong to Mira.

　　I turned my head, my tear-blurred gaze landing on the figure striding toward us.

　　It was Lyra.

　　Her perfect blonde hair shimmered under the afternoon light, her dress flowing around her like water. The moment Mira saw her, she instantly lifted her foot from my hand and stepped back.

　　I cradled my hand against my chest. The pain throbbed all the way to my elbow, and blood was already streaking my skin.

　　Lyra crouched to my level, her gown brushing the floor.

　　"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her warm eyes scanning my injury before she reached out to help me to my feet.

　　"I'm fine," I said quickly, though my voice was hoarse.

　　Her gaze flicked to Mira, and her expression hardened. "What is wrong with you? How many times must I tell you to stop treating her this way?"

　　Mira dropped her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry, Lady Lyra. She was just being sluggish, so I was trying to teach her a lesson."

　　"Teach her a lesson?" Lyra's voice hardened with displeasure. "Get lost. Go do something else before I decide to tell Cassien about this."

　　Mira bowed stiffly, her lips pressed into a thin line. As she turned to leave, she shot me a glare that would have had me dead, if looks could kill.

　　I swallowed and looked at Lyra. "You didn't have to—"

　　"Shh," she cut me off gently. "Why do you let them treat you like this every single time?"

　　I sighed, my shoulders heavy. Lyra was the only light I had in this cold place, the one person who had cared enough to save me when I was a child.

　　She had brought me into this mansion, given me a place to sleep, even if that place was at the bottom of the ladder.

　　Lyra was adored and U was discarded. She shone like gold; I was the dirt beneath everyone's boots.

　　"Come," Lyra's voice drew me back to the present. "Let's clean this up."

　　She guided me toward her room, her hand steady at my elbow. But halfway down the corridor, I froze.

　　A strange heat bloomed in my chest, pulsing stronger, as if an invisible thread had just tied itself around my heart. My breath caught, my pulse quickened.

　　"Rhea?" Lyra frowned, but her voice sounded distant.

　　It felt like my wolf had just snapped awake. My head buzzed, heat blooming under my skin, flooding through me until my knees threatened to give out.

　　"Rhea?" Lyra's concerned voice came again. "Are you okay?"

　　I tried to answer, but no sound came out. My breath caught in my throat as the heat spread deeper, mingling with a strange pull that seemed to tug me forward.