The Master's Orders

Kaelen’s POV

Valeria navigates the narrow kitchen with a practiced, blank ease. She approaches the table and serves our food, setting the heavy plates down on the scarred wood without making a single sound. When she finishes, she steps back and stands frozen. Waiting.

We make a point to eat every last bite. I drag my knife across my plate, cutting the meat slowly. I scrape the ceramic clean, making sure the metal fork clinks loud enough for her to hear, leaving absolutely nothing for her. I want the sharp pangs of her starvation to gnaw at her insides. I want the hunger to force her to beg. I need her to finally realize her absolute, pathetic dependence on us for basic survival.

"Take the plates to the kitchen and return here," Callum commands coldly. He doesn't even bother looking at her, treating her like a ghost haunting our dining table.

She steps forward and gathers the dirty dishes in silence. Her mouth is set in a hard, unyielding line. She is trying desperately to appear tough, standing tall as she clears the mess. But I am watching her closely. I catch the minute tremors in her hands as she balances the stacked porcelain. Her facade is fragile, and I know it will soon crack.

"You have exactly fifteen minutes," I add sharply as she turns to leave.

She doesn't offer a nod. She just walks away. When she returns to the dining room, she is exactly five minutes late. I immediately notice her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. The flush on her cheeks gives her away. She had found a dark corner in the kitchen to cry. I feel a sudden flicker of smug, dark satisfaction warming my chest. Her spirit is already showing visible cracks. Compared to the atrocities her father committed, we are showing monumental restraint. Letting her cry in a corner is a mercy she doesn't deserve.

I stand up slowly, pushing my chair back. I step into her personal space, towering over her small frame to make her feel cornered. I speak in a measured, commanding tone.

"Here are your duties. You will completely clean our room and the rest of the apartment. You will do our laundry, precisely arrange our wardrobes, and serve all our meals. You are here solely to serve us. You will remain in our immediate presence unless we explicitly permit you otherwise."

I pause, letting the weight of her new reality sink in.

"There will be absolutely no socializing with the pack. You speak to no one. And if you steal anything else, you will be dealt with mercilessly." I step even closer, leaning in to deliver the final, crushing blow. "Know this: we will never claim you because you are already tainted."

She stands as silent as a marble statue. But the word hits its mark. A new, heavy weariness settles over her small frame, visibly dragging her shoulders down. I don't care if she is tired. Her father left a trail of bloody destruction in our lives, ripping our world apart. She owes us her complete, unflinching submission to repay that debt.

"Are we clear?" I demand fiercely, watching her closely for any spark of defiance.

She gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

The lack of verbal submission ignites my temper. "Answer me properly!" I roar, the sound vibrating in the tense air and bouncing off the walls.

For the very first time, genuine fear flashes vividly in her eyes. She flinches, and the fear mingles with a burning anger she cannot entirely mask. She swallows hard, fighting a losing battle against the raw instinct demanding she submit to an Alpha's roar.

"Yes…Alpha," she murmurs. She drags the hateful words out of her throat as if they weigh more than her jaw can bear.

"Go to the living room," I order, pointing down the hall.

As she turns and leaves, I listen carefully. The exact moment she thinks she is out of earshot, I hear her release a small, almost relieved sigh.

Gideon breaks the heavy silence, his tone uncharacteristically thoughtful. "Did you notice how well she made the beds and served the food?"

I give a terse nod, having already analyzed it myself. Her efficiency was undeniable.

Gideon looks at the empty doorway she disappeared through. "I think we should take it easy on her…" he suggests gently.

Callum's expression immediately darkens. A violent anger flashes in his eyes, distorting his features.

"No!" Callum snaps. His voice strikes like iron against an anvil. The sheer force of his rejection cuts through the room.

Sensing he has crossed a dangerous line, Gideon slowly raises his hands in surrender. He drops the subject entirely, leaning back in his chair.

The tense moment lingers heavily in the room. The air is suffocating, thick with unspoken rage. We each know exactly what we came here to do, and the time for softness had long since passed.