The Scorned Luna-Chapter 32: Hard Work

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, a guttural, primal roar escaping his throat as he spilled deep inside her, his body shuddering with a violent release.

For a few seconds, the only sound was their ragged, synchronized breathing. Then, the haze cleared.

The warmth was replaced by an icy, suffocating shame. Damien’s eyes regained their cold, calculating edge. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t offer a hand. He simply stepped back, letting her legs drop. Without his support, Sofia’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor, her skin flushed and her chest heaving.

He adjusted his clothes and looked down at her—not with the passion of a lover, but with the detached coldness of a man looking at a mess he had made. Without a word, he turned his back on her and walked toward the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sofia felt like a discarded rag. The pleasure had been a trap, and now she was left with the hollow ache of his silence. Shaking and humiliated, she grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor, pulled it over her trembling body, and bolted from the room. She ran down the corridors until she reached her own small, cramped quarters, slamming the door and locking it.

She scrubbed herself in the small bathroom until her skin was raw and red, trying to wash away the scent of him, the feel of his hands, and the memory of how she had begged for more.

When she finally stepped out of the washroom, a maid was already standing in the center of her small room. On the table sat a single glass of water and a small, white pill.

"Take this," the maid said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Alpha Damien demands you take it immediately. It is for pregnancy prevention."

The words were a slap to the face. He didn’t even want the possibility of a life created from that moment. With trembling hands, Sofia swallowed the pill, the bitterness of the medicine matching the bitterness in her heart.

The maid then dropped a stiff, black-and-white uniform onto the bed. "Dress. You’ve wasted enough time. Find me in the kitchen when you’re done. You have work to do."

The kitchen was hot, loud, and smelled of heavy grease. Sofia’s hands shook as she tied the apron of her maid uniform. The fabric was cheap and scratchy against her raw skin, a brutal reminder of her new reality.

The head maid, a sharp woman named Martha, didn’t give her a second to breathe.

"Scrub the floors," Martha barked, pointing to a bucket of soapy water. "Every inch. And when you’re done with that, the plates need polishing. Get moving."

Sofia dropped to her knees. The cold tiled floor felt like ice through her thin stockings. She began to scrub, her muscles aching from the morning. Every time she moved, she felt the soreness in her body—a constant reminder of Damien’s touch, his heat, and then his cold rejection.

As she worked, the other servants whispered.

"She was in his room all night," one whispered.

"Look at her," another sneered. "She thinks she’s special just because he used her. She’s still just a traitor."

Sofia kept her head down, hot tears stinging her eyes. She felt like a ghost in a house that used to feel like home.

Suddenly, the kitchen went silent.

The heavy thud of boots echoed on the floor. Sofia didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The air always felt thicker, more electric, when Damien was near.

He walked into the kitchen, his face a mask of stone. He didn’t say a word to her. He spoke to Martha about the afternoon meal, his voice deep and calm, as if nothing had happened between them only an hour ago.

But as he turned to leave, his eyes flicked down to Sofia. She was on her knees, her hands red from the soapy water, her hair falling into her face. He saw the way the uniform hung off her plus-size frame, making her look small and defeated.

For a second, his mask slipped. His jaw tightened, and his hand twitched at his side. He wanted to reach down and pull her up, to tell her she didn’t belong on the floor.

Then, he remembered the image of her betrayal. He remembered her whispering his Beta’s name in her sleep.

He hardened his heart.

"Martha," Damien said coldly, his eyes still on Sofia. "Make sure she doesn’t stop until the sun goes down. She needs to learn the value of hard work."

He turned and walked out, leaving Sofia staring at him this time with hate.

Without warning, the head maid kicked her hard in the stomach.

Sofia gasped, clutching her stomach as she slumped over the bucket.

"What are you staring at!" Martha yelled, her voice echoing off the pots and pans. "The Alpha gave you an order. Get back to work!"

Sofia bit her lip, stopping herself from responding. She picked up the hard, wooden scrub brush. Her fingers were cramped and red. She looked at the long hallway ahead of her. She didn’t understand why she had to do this by hand. There were modern floor buffers in the storage closet. There were mops that would make the job easy.

But Damien wanted her to suffer. He wanted her on her knees.

Every time she pushed the brush, the bristles scratched the stone with a harsh, grating sound. Her body felt heavy and slow. Sweat dripped down her neck, making the cheap uniform itch even more. She felt the eyes of the other maids on her back, laughing at the girl who had fallen from the Alpha’s bed to the kitchen floor.

"Faster!" Martha shouted, splashing some of the dirty water back toward Sofia’s face.

Sofia closed her eyes for a second, forcing herself not to explode in anger.

She scrubbed harder, her knuckles bleeding as they hit the rough edges of the tiles.

By the time she reached the end of the hall, the sun was starting to set. Her back felt like it was on fire. Just as she went to empty the heavy bucket, a pair of polished boots appeared in front of her.

She didn’t look up. She knew those boots. It was Matthew, the Beta—the man Damien accused her of wanting.

"Sofia," Matthew whispered, his voice full of pity. He reached down to grab the handle of the bucket. "It’s enough. You look like you’re going to faint."

Sofia froze. She knew Damien was probably watching from somewhere. If she let Matthew touch her, it would only make things worse.

"I’m fine..."

"No, you are not," Matthew argued. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up from the floor.

"Martha," he called angrily.

Martha, the head maid, rushed in and bowed respectfully to Matthew.

Matthew eyed her with anger. "Why is Sofia the only one cleaning the floor when we have enough staff? This work is basically for more than three workers."

Matthew gestured angrily toward the storage closet. "Why is she on her knees when we have floor buffers? Why is she using a hand brush for a hallway this long?"

Martha turned pale, her eyes darting toward the shadows of the doorway. "The Alpha... he gave specific orders, Beta Matthew. He said she needed to learn the value of hard work. I was only following his lead."

Matthew’s grip on Sofia’s wrist tightened, but not in a way that hurt. He was steadying her. "There is a difference between hard work and cruelty, Martha. Look at her hands."

Sofia tried to pull her hand away, her heart racing. "Matthew, please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Just let me finish. If he sees you helping me... if he thinks—"

"I don’t care what he thinks right now," Matthew snapped, his protective instincts as a Beta taking over. He looked at Sofia’s bleeding knuckles and the way her body was trembling from exhaustion. "You are human in all the ways that matter, Sofia. You can’t handle the labor of three wolves."

Suddenly, a cold breeze swept through the kitchen. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Is there a problem here?"