Chapter 1- The Anniversary
NAOMI~~
Sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes as I scrubbed yet another dirty plate. My arms ached, my fingers were pruned and sore, but I kept going.
The mountain of dishes in front of me looked never-ending.
This wasn't fair, I whispered under my breath, but who was I even talking to? There was no one to listen. No one to care. Complaining would get me nowhere—except maybe a slap or another cruel punishment.
I sighed and took a deep breath as I picked up the next plate.
I didn't even get a minute of sleep last night. I was part of the cooks, and after cooking throughout the night and then cleaning with them, all I wanted was a little rest.
But my sister, Lyra, had barged into the small room when I was finally dozing off and yanked the thin blanket off my body, and snapped, "Get up! You think you can sleep while everyone else works?"
They didn't even allow me to take a bath or brush my teeth before forcing me back to work.
It was my adopted parents' anniversary celebration. Not as a guest, of course. Not even as a server, not yet anyway.
I was just the help. The cleaner. The one who hides in the back, scrubbing dishes while everyone else laughs, eats, and enjoys the music.
I didn't argue. I never do. Why would I? Arguing only makes things worse. And trust me, my life is already bad enough. But if I ever dared to talk back, they would make it so much worse—worse than this hell I already live in.
So I kept my mouth shut like I always do.
I wasn't even halfway done with the plates and cups when another huge stack landed in front of me with a loud clatter. I flinched at the sound.
"Take this, Naomi. You need to wash these too," said a woman in her late fifties, one of the caterers. Her voice was sharp, like she was always annoyed, even when she wasn't. She didn't even wait for me to answer. She just waved over two younger women, who dumped another load of greasy, food-covered dishes into the sink beside me.
"Be quick with whatever you're doing," the older woman snapped, hands on her hips like she owned the world.
"Why are you moving so slow, like a tortoise? You haven't even started the real work yet. Get that lazy bottom of yours moving!"
I nodded. I was too tired to speak. She looked at me like I wasn't even human—just a tool to be used and tossed aside. And honestly, maybe that's all I've ever been to these people.
I couldn't really blame them because who would want to respect an omega? Besides, my adopted parents caused it by abusing me in front of everybody.
They always forced me to work. I always washed mountains of dirty dishes and cleaned everywhere. I was wondering if I was adopted to become a house help, because that was all I had been doing.
"Good," she said with a huff before turning around to leave. I didn't reply. I just stared at the soapy water in the sink, thinking about how many more plates I had to clean, how much time I had left before I could get a moment to myself. Not that anywhere was any better.
I wasn't even worried about the number of dishes. I was used to this kind of work. What scared me more was not finishing in time.
The woman had almost reached the door when she suddenly stopped and turned back around.
"Oh, and be fast with the plate washing," she added, her voice cold. "You need to be done in the next fifteen minutes. After that, you'll be serving the guests."
I froze. My hands stopped moving. The plate slipped slightly from my grip and clinked against the side of the sink. I was at the verge of breaking down.
"What?"
"I'm sorry… are you talking to me?" she snapped, her voice like ice. Her eyes cut through me, sharp and full of hate.
I swallowed hard and looked down, trying to stay calm. My hands were still soaked. "No, ma'am," I said softly, keeping my voice respectful.
"It's just… I don't think I can finish washing all these plates and make another round of dessert in fifteen minutes. There's a lot—maybe three hundred or more. It'll take at least two hours." I tried to explain as politely as I could.
I wasn't trying to cause trouble. I just… needed her to understand. I wasn't a machine.
She stared at me like I'd just cursed at her.
"And am I supposed to care?" she asked, voice full of venom.
I quickly shook my head. "No, ma'am. I know you don't have to care. I was just… trying to explain. If it's possible, maybe someone else could help with serving the guests while I finish the dishes and dessert. That way nothing gets delayed," I said, carefully choosing my words. "Please."
But I could already see it in her eyes—she wasn't interested in anything I had to say. She took a step closer, arms crossed tightly.
"I don't care, Naomi… or whatever your name is."
"You think you can just stand there and tell me how long it will take? You're here to work for free, as always. Now do the damn job."
I bowed my head quickly. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll do my best to finish everything in fifteen minutes and still serve the guests." My voice shook as I said it.
"You better not try your best," she sneered, walking to the door. "You better finish it." Then she slammed the door so hard I jumped back, almost dropping a plate.
I stood there for a second, frozen. Then I got back to work. I scrubbed harder, faster. The water stung my cracked fingers. My shoulders were burning. I could feel my whole body begging for rest, but I ignored it. Resting wasn't an option.
If I stopped—even for a second—and someone walked in? I didn't even want to imagine what would happen. I'd be reported straight to my adopted mother. And that… would be the beginning of another nightmare. My life was already miserable. I couldn't afford to make it worse.
I swear I've washed over two hundred dishes. My back was aching. My hands felt like they didn't even belong to me anymore. I was dizzy, my eyes struggling to focus. I wanted to rest so badly.
Just a second. Just lean on something, anything… I looked around for a clock—something to tell me how many minutes I had left. But there was nothing. Just walls.
I didn't even get to finish that thought when the door suddenly burst open. My heart skipped a beat. And there she was, my adopted mother, my worst nightmare.
"Why aren't you done yet?" she barked, eyes blazing.
I quickly dropped the plate I was rinsing and turned to her, panic rising in my throat.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I really tried my best, I swear. But the dishes… and the dessert… they were too many. I couldn't finish—"
Before I could even finish speaking, she walked up to me, grabbed my head, and banged it against the wall.
I couldn't breathe. The pain was sharp and hot, bursting in my skull like someone had swung a hammer straight into it, I thought for a moment that I might pass out.
My ears rang and my eyes went dark around the edges. The world spun around me in dizzy circles. My vision turned white then blurry.
I felt my knees start to give out. I almost fell, but I managed to grab onto the edge of the table to stop myself from hitting the floor completely. My whole body was shaking, my fingers gripping the table like it was the only thing keeping me from collapsing.
The blood came fast, warm and sticky as it slid down the side of my face and dripped onto my clothes. I reached up to touch the spot on my head where it hurt the most, and when I pulled my hand away, it was covered in red.
Through the haze of pain, I looked up and saw her—my adopted mother. She was standing there, breathing hard, her face twisted in anger. The way she looked at me, it was like she wasn't even seeing a person.
Why? I thought as I stared at her through the tears and blood. Was it because I didn't finish the dishes and make the dessert fast enough?
Was that really enough reason to slam my head into the wall so hard I thought I'd die? Or was it something else?
"Stupid girl!" she screamed at me, her voice cold and filled with disgust.
"This is why your real parents died! They knew you were going to be a disappointment, so they chose to die instead of living with the shame of having you. That's why they're dead. Because of you. And honestly, you should have died with them!"
My eyes filled with tears at her words.
"Please… don't say that," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Please don't talk about them like that."
She stepped closer, her mouth twisted with pure hatred. "Oh? And what will you do if I keep talking about them, huh? Will you go join your miserable parents in the grave if I keep saying these things? Is that what you want? To die just like them?"