Chapter 3

The air in the room froze solid.

The girl stood in the doorway, her cheeks flushed red. But she repeated herself, word by word.

"I'm not making this up. "

The instructor pushed his glasses up. Skepticism dripped from his voice.

"You're sure about that? This isn't something to joke about."

The girl lifted her chin. Her eyes were steady.

"Sign language has fixed gestures. I wouldn't get it wrong. And—Seraphina has never spoken. Not once."

The office went silent. My parents' faces shifted.

Mom looked at me. Her lips moved. She seemed about to say something. A flash of guilt—barely visible—crossed her eyes.

But then Victoria let out a few sharp sobs.

She wiped her tears with one hand and spoke softly.

"Sister, even if you're too scared to admit what you did, you can't just hire someone to put on a show and pretend to be mute."

Her crying cut like a blade—sliced right through whatever faint guilt my mother had felt.

Dad's face went hard. He whipped around to face me, rage blazing in his eyes.

"Seraphina, you really are something! To dodge punishment you'd even cook up a lie like this? And drag in an accomplice to act it out? You're rotten to the bone!"

I was trembling. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper—my healer's certificate. The one that documented my condition. I wanted to show them.

But the second my fingers touched the paper, Dad snatched it away.

He didn't look at it. He tore it in half with both hands. The thin sheet became confetti.

I stared at him. The tears fell.

"You little liar!"

Dad's voice was raw with contempt.

"You need to be taught a lesson. Learn not to mess with your Alpha. I'll have you sent to the West border, be close to the Rogues may beat some sense into you. Then we'll see if you keep playing this little trick!"

Mom turned on me too. She held Victoria close, her eyes full of scorn.

"Seraphina, we were so wrong about you. To think you'd stoop this low just to escape what you've done. You're a disgrace."

Victoria leaned against Mom's chest. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. But her face was still a mess of tears—the perfect picture of a wronged angel.

"Dad, Mom, don't be so hard on her. Maybe she's just confused. She didn't mean it…"

"Confused?"

Dad let out a cold laugh.

"She's beyond saving. Someone this twisted will only poison our Pack. I'm summoning Garrett right now to come take her away."

The instructor stood to the side, his expression shifting between light and shadow.

He looked at me. Then at my parents. In the end, he just sighed and waved at the girl in the doorway.

"You can go. We'll handle things here."

The girl opened her mouth. She wanted to say more. But the instructor's look stopped her.

She gave me one long, final glance—full of sympathy and helplessness—then turned and left.

I stood where I was. Looked down at the scraps of paper scattered on the floor. And laughed.

So this was it. Everything I had—every last shred of proof—was just a joke to them.

I never mattered in this family. Not for a single second.

I crouched down slowly. Picked up the pieces one by one.

A paper edge sliced my fingertip. I didn't feel it.

Compared to the pain inside, what was a little cut?