Chapter 1 Storm In The Meadow

• The rain hadn’t stopped since dawn.
• Thick sheets poured from the sky, turning the dirt paths into slick rivers and the Star Pack meadow into a sea of sludge. Everything smelt of rot and wet earth. The storm showed no signs of relenting, like the world itself was angry, and the omegas were the only ones left to endure its fury.
• “What are you doing?! Hurry up and work! No food for you if you don’t finish!”
• The guards’ voices sliced through the downpour, crueller than the wind.
• The meadow was a sprawling stretch of farmland, lined with vegetables and roots that barely survived the weather. It wasn’t a meadow in any romantic sense, just fields full of bent backs and hollow eyes. Rows of omegas moved slowly, hands buried in the wet soil, backs aching from endless labour.
• Young and old, male and female; everyone worked. The rare few omegas were selected to work inside the palace as maids. They had shoes, warm beds, maybe even soap. But for the rest, the meadow was both their cradle and grave. Some vanished without explanation. Sold off. Dead. Forgotten.
• Adella’s spine felt like it would snap in half. Her fingers were stiff, nails caked with dirt, wrists numb from the cold. But she kept working, breath shallow and shoulders trembling.
• Her mother hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning. Her cough worse than ever, eyes glassy with fever. If Adella didn’t do double the work today, they’d both go hungry. The guards didn’t tolerate weakness and didn’t believe in sickness. She was supposed to work until she dropped, then get up and do it again.
• Beside her, Tamara crouched low in the mud, barely able to hold herself up.
• “I’m so tired,” Tamara whispered. Her lips were blue and her eyes unfocused.
• Adella glanced sideways, swallowing the quiver in her throat. “I know,” she said softly. “Just a bit more. We’ll make it through.”
• Tamara nodded, though her arms kept shaking. A child’s frame in a woman’s body.
• It felt like time stopped. Like the storm went on for hours or days or centuries. But finally, mercifully, a guard shouted:
• “Enough!”
• A collective breath swept across the field. Some omegas dropped where they stood; others staggered toward the worn buildings by the meadow’s edge. They were ramshackle wooden structures that served as shelters. Not homes, just places to sleep between shifts.
• They’d be up by four a.m. tomorrow. The ones who didn’t wake would be quietly buried behind the fields. No names or ceremony.
• Adella helped Tamara to her feet, both of them limping toward the line forming outside the shelter. A guard sneered as they approached.
• “Get in line!”
• They obeyed, of course. No one talked back unless they wanted bruises or worse.
• The air around them stank of wet bodies, mud, and despair. The line shuffled forward slowly. When they finally reached the front, the guard looked them over with disgust.
• “You look half-dead. Did you even do anything today?”
• Adella straightened her back despite the pain. “We did our best.”
• He scoffed. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
• As they were about to pass, a sudden jerk yanked Adella backward by her hair. She screamed, but it was swallowed by the storm.
• A hand clamped over her mouth. Her body was dragged off the path and into the shadows behind a nearby bush. Her feet slipped in the mud in futil, heart thrashing in her chest.
• She turned and saw his face.
• It was the guard who’d cornered her before, whose gaze always lingered too long.
• “You think ignoring me makes you safe?” he growled. “You think you’re too good to spread your legs for me?”
• Terror clawed up her throat.
• “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, voice low, “and no one will hear a thing.”
• “No... please,” she begged, her voice barely a rasp. Her limbs were already weak from exhaustion. Her vision blurred.
• He shoved her down, and she hit the ground hard, breath punched out of her lungs. His cold hands tore at her dress.
• Her fingers clawed at the mud, desperate, but her cries were drowned in the storm.
• And then something inside her snapped.
• “No!”
• A raw scream ripped from her throat. She twisted her head and bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth.
• He yelped, jerking back.
• She kicked. Hard. Right where it hurt.
• The guard staggered and cursed. She scrambled to her feet, almost slipping but catching herself. Then she ran.
• Her legs felt like lead, and her lungs burnt, but she didn’t stop running.
• When she reached the shelter door, she practically collapsed against it.
• Inside, dim candlelight flickered. Her mother, Selena, sat huddled in a corner, wrapped in a blanket.
• “Adella!” Selena’s voice was hoarse. Her eyes widened at the sight of her daughter—soaked, shaking, dress torn.
• “I’m fine,” Adella lied, her voice a whisper.
• Selena stood, pain etched in every movement. “What happened?”
• “I... fell. A nail tore my dress.”
• “Don’t lie to me.”
• Adella’s lips trembled. “He tried to rape me.”
• Selena didn’t speak but just pulled her daughter into her arms and held her like she was still a child.
• “I’m sorry,” Adella sobbed.
• “No, my sweet girl. No. It’s not your fault.”
• “You always say I’m strong,” Adella whispered. “But I didn’t feel strong.”
• “You are. You fought, and you survived.”
• They stayed that way until the candles burnt low.
• Later, once Selena was asleep again, Adella sat under the dim glow of the single oil lamp, sewing the tear in her dress with numb fingers. It was her only one.
• She sighed, staring at the uneven stitches.
• In her mind, she reached inward.
• Marietta?
• Her wolf’s voice was drowsy. What?
• “You didn’t help me,” Adella said.
• I was too tired, Marietta sighed. We used all our energy healing yesterday.
• “I thought I was alone.”
• You’re never alone, her wolf murmured. Besides, your face is still flawless. We still have the prettiest body in this hellhole.
• Adella let out a quiet laugh. “Still dreaming of a hot mate?”
• He better be a beast. Muscles, status, and everything else.
• “You’re a pervert.”
• And you’re too pure. We balance each other out.
• Adella smiled. “Thanks for cheering me up, Mari.”
• Always. We’re the same soul, remember? Now get some sleep. Healing isn’t done.
• “Good night, Marietta.”
• Good night, Ella.
• The dress was passable now. Ugly stitches, but it held strong.
• Adella curled beside her mother on the cold, hard floor. She could still feel the guard’s touch, her fear and helplessness.
• But she had lived.
• Her mother’s words echoed in her mind like a mantra: We are omegas. We have our own strength.
• And tonight—just tonight—Adella chose to believe her.