Chapter 4

AMANDA'S POV:

The exam room wasn't much better than the hallway. The same people who had once laughed at my jokes now acted as if I carried a plague. They gave me a wide berth, their whispers trailing behind me like a poisoned shadow.

"She has no shame," I heard a girl say to her friend. "She should be in the dungeons, not walking around like a free wolf."

"She should just end it," the second girl replied, her voice dripping with casual cruelty.

"I'm surprised they're still letting her attend this school," another chimed in. "She should be banished. Sent to join her rogue father."

My throat tightened. I blinked rapidly, refusing—refusing—to let them see me cry. Crying would be a victory for them. And I would not give them that satisfaction. I would stand tall until my family was cleared.

I walked to my desk and sat down, staring straight ahead. No eye contact. But I could still feel the weight of their stares—mocking, pitying, loathing. I curled my hands into fists under the desk. Hold on, Amanda. Don't let them break you.

I pulled out my supplies with as much composure as I could muster. That's when two boys, shoving each other in some roughhousing game, slammed into my desk. My bag toppled to the floor. One of them stomped directly onto my pencil case, the plastic cracking audibly beneath his heel.

"I didn't see it," the boy said, shrugging. There wasn't an ounce of remorse on his face. "Maybe you shouldn't leave your stuff where people walk."

He broke my things and now he's blaming me. The heat of real anger began to simmer beneath my skin. "You should apologize."

"Give me a break." The second boy sneered. "A traitor's daughter doesn't get to demand apologies."

"He crushed my pencil case," I said, my voice rising despite myself. "The exam is about to start. What am I supposed to do?"

"Quit making a scene, Omega," someone called out from the back. "Isn't the 'honor student' supposed to be so smart? Can't take a test without supplies? Or were all your grades just cheating?"

Laughter erupted. A few students snickered behind their hands. I tried to ignore them, but my heart was pounding. This exam mattered—for college, for scholarships, for any future I had left.

I turned to the student beside me. "Can I borrow—"

"No." She didn't even look at me. "I'm not getting involved with a traitor."

I tried the next desk. And the next. Each rejection landed like a slap. No one would meet my eyes. No one would help.

I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail and lose everything, all because of a cracked pencil case and a name I never chose.

Then, a hand appeared in my peripheral vision.

"Here. Use mine." Steven extended a spare pencil case toward me. "I always keep an extra set."

I looked up at him, this boy I barely knew. He wasn't looking at me like I was garbage. He wasn't whispering behind his hand. He was just... offering.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"Don't mention it." He gave a small, easy smile, as if lending a pencil to a pariah was the most normal thing in the world.

I didn't know why he was helping me. But right now, I didn't care. For the first time all day, someone had treated me like a person instead of a plague.

I took a shaky breath and turned back to my desk, gripping the borrowed pencil case like a lifeline.

Fortunately, studying always grounded me. As the minutes ticked by, I poured myself into the exam paper. Numbers were easier than people. Equations didn't judge. They didn't sneer. Like always, I finished first. But I took my time double-checking every answer.

When the bell finally rang and I walked to the front to submit my paper, Mr. Donald—my teacher—didn't even look at me. He just snatched the sheet from my hand, as if touching me was a crime.

This was the same man who used to brag about me to other teachers.

"Amanda Porter is one of my brightest students," he used to say. "I have no doubt she'll be our top graduate."

Now, Mr. Donald couldn't even meet my eyes.

I swallowed the pain. I wouldn't let them see me break.

I walked out of the classroom and headed toward the cafeteria. My stomach growled the entire way. I'd skipped breakfast, and the small dinner we'd shared last night hadn't done much to fill me. I knew the cafeteria would be crowded, but I'd hoped to at least sit quietly and eat alone.

The buzz of students hit me as I walked in. The place was packed, but I spotted a small empty spot at a table with some girls. I walked over and stood behind the chair.

"Um… excuse me. Can I sit—"

One of the girls didn't even let me finish. She pulled her tray away from the empty space.

"No. We don't want a traitor sitting with us."

Another girl added, loud enough for everyone around to hear, "Yeah, go sit with the rogues. That's where your family belongs."

My heart burned, but I kept my face blank. I moved to another table. A group of boys was eating there. The moment I pulled out a chair to sit, they shot up.

"I'm not sitting with her," one of them announced.

"Yeah, let's bounce," another muttered.

They left so fast you'd think I was holding a knife.

The humiliation struck me square in the chest. My hands trembled as I pushed the chair back into place. I didn't know where else to go.

I got in line for food. At least food couldn't talk back.

When it was finally my turn, the cook stopped cold, as if she'd just seen something disgusting crawl toward her.

She crossed her arms. "No. Move along."

I stared at her. "Ma'am… I just want my portion. Please."

She jutted her chin toward the back door. "Leftovers are in there. Eat that. It's what your kind deserves."

My breath caught. The entire line went silent. Some watched. Others whispered. Laughter hid behind their hands.

I wished the ground would crack open and swallow me whole. The heat spread across my face—shame, anger, hurt, all of it tangled together. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. In that moment, I felt like my father had died all over again. And this time, my life went with him.

My father had given everything to protect this Pack. He'd made the ultimate sacrifice—his life for the Alpha's. And now the very people he died to protect wanted me to feel ashamed of my own blood.

My hands shook.

I took a small step back.

And then I noticed a familiar presence.

Steven.

I turned slowly to find him walking toward me, a tray in his hands. I stood there, barely breathing, unsure of what was coming.

"Come join me, Amanda. Let's eat together," Steven said, stopping right in front of me.

I opened my mouth to accept—to thank him for being the only decent person in this entire building—

A shadow swept past my eyes. A crash exploded in my ears.

My heart leaped as I registered the sound of something shattering against the floor.

"Oh my Goddess," I whispered, staring down.

Steven's tray… the one he'd brought for both of us… was overturned on the tiles. Food splattered everywhere.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The food wasn't just on the floor.

It was on me.

Warm soup soaked through my clothes. I must have looked like someone had dumped an entire pot over my head.

A few gasps rippled through the crowd. Then came the laughter. It spread fast—loud, sharp, cruel. The entire room erupted. I felt the ground should crack open and swallow me whole.

"Look at her! Now she actually looks like trash!" someone called out.

My chest tightened so hard I thought I might pass out.

Slowly, as if waking from a nightmare, I lifted my eyes.

Donovan stood there.

His gaze was ice. No guilt. No hesitation. He wasn't even breathing hard. He didn't pretend it was an accident. He just glared at me as if everything he'd just done was perfectly justified.

As if humiliating me was normal.

My lips trembled. "D-Donovan… why…?"

The corner of his mouth curled. "A traitor's daughter doesn't deserve cafeteria food. You should be eating out of the garbage."

His voice carried across the room. Every single person was watching me now. Some sneered. Others kept laughing.

But that wasn't what hurt the most. What hurt most was the cold emptiness on Donovan's face.

As if being shunned by the entire school wasn't enough. The boy I once loved had become the one leading the charge against me.

I refused to accept this cruel reality. I gathered what courage I had left and stepped closer to him, trying to reach whatever humanity was still buried inside him.

"Why can't I eat here? Isn't the cafeteria for everyone?"

"No," Donovan shook his head, his voice flat and final. "It's a new rule. Traitors don't eat here. And anyone who breaks the rules pays the price."

He let the words hang in the air, his eyes boring into mine—daring me to argue, daring me to cry, daring me to break.

Around us, the laughter swelled again.

But I didn't cry. Not yet.

I just stood there, soaked in soup, and stared at the boy who had once promised to protect me from the world.

Now he was the world I needed protecting myself from.