Claimed By The Four Alphas

LENA

Sweat burned my eyes, dripping down my face as I scrubbed another filthy plate.

My arms screamed in pain, my fingers were shriveled like old fruit, but I didn't stop. The pile of dishes in front of me was a mountain that never seemed to shrink.

"This is torture," I muttered, my voice so low it barely existed.

Who was I even talking to? Nobody cared. Nobody ever did. Whining was pointless-it'd only earn me a smack or something worse.

I sucked in a shaky breath and grabbed another plate, its greasy surface slipping in my sore hands.

I didn't even know I'd be slaving away today. My uncle didn't bother telling me last night. He just stormed into my room at dawn, ripped the threadbare blanket off me, and barked, "Get up, Lena. You're working the Beta's sixtieth birthday bash."

Like it was some grand favor.

A party. Yeah, right.

Not as a guest. Not even as a server. I was just the scum in the back, drowning in dishes while everyone else laughed, stuffed their faces, and danced to music I'd never hear.

I didn't argue. Never do. What's the point? Talking back only makes things uglier, and my life's already a rotting pile of garbage.

If I dared open my mouth, my uncle would make sure I regretted it. So I kept quiet, like always.

I was barely halfway through the dishes when a loud crash made me jump.

Another towering stack of plates and cups slammed onto the counter beside me. I flinched, my heart racing.

"Wash these too, Lena," snapped a woman in her fifties, her voice sharp and filled with pure disgust.

This evil woman called Martha. She always acted like she was queen of the world.

She didn't wait for a reply. Just waved over two younger women who dumped more grimy, food-crusted dishes into the sink with smirks on their faces.

"Move faster, you lazy slug!" Marta hissed, her hands planted on her hips. "What's wrong with you? You're slower than a dead snail. The real work's waiting, and you're dragging like you've got all day!"

I nodded, too exhausted to speak. My throat felt tight.

She glared at me like I was less than dirt-just a broken tool she could kick around. Honestly, that's probably all I am to these people.

"Hmph," she grunted, turning to leave.

I stared at the soapy water, counting the endless dishes in my head, wondering how I'd ever get home before my uncle and his wife.

If I was late... God, I didn't want to think about it.

Home wasn't a safe place. It was just another cage.

The dishes weren't even my biggest worry. I could handle the work-I'd done it a million times. What terrified me was time.

If I didn't finish before my uncle got home, if I wasn't there waiting like a good little servant, I'd pay for it. Badly.

Marta was almost at the door when she spun around, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Oh, and hurry up with those dishes," she spat. "You've got fifteen minutes. Then you're serving the guests. Don't mess this up, you little wretch."