Revenge After Rebirth: Fated To The Triplets I Hate
Chapter 14: Don’t Feel Like A Trophy That’s To Be Won

Chapter 14: Don’t Feel Like A Trophy That’s To Be Won

Iris’s POV

Before I could regain my senses, his hand gripped my wrist with a force that sent a jolt of pain shooting up my arm as he began to drag me, my legs scrabbling against the ground in a desperate attempt to keep up with his relentless pace as he continued to drag me outside. My legs slipped on the uneven dirt path, kicking up small clouds of dust that stung my eyes. My heart hammered in my chest as I wondered why Lyra was quiet, even the brave voice of Lyra, my inner wolf, who had been a constant presence in my mind until now. I didn’t understand why Lyra went quiet all of a sudden. It was as if she, too, was stunned into submission, or perhaps I felt guilty of my actions, making me not react.

I hadn’t just punished Maris by destroying the sacred generational plates, those ancient relics that held the pack’s history, their pride and their very identity. I had punished everyone as a result of that. The weight of that realization pressed down on me. I couldn’t defend myself as he dragged me along, my body limp, my mind a tangled mess of fear. Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was the paralyzing memory of all the times Zane had humiliated me before but I still feel a soft spot for him.

I could suddenly hear the clang of metal and the grunts of effort from the training fields in front of us. My stomach twisted as I realized where he was taking me, it was the servants’ quarters, specifically the open field where the pack’s lower ranks, male and female, trained under the watchful eyes of their superiors. It was a place of discipline, of order, and I was about to be its spectacle.

Zane’s grip tightened even more as we reached the field, and with a sudden, brutal shove, he sent me sprawling to the ground.

My knees scratched the hard ground first, then my hands, and my face scraped against the ground, a sharp pain, blooming along my cheek. I winced, the pain immediate and searing, and tears welled up unbidden, spilling down my face before I could stop them. My fingers flew to my cheek, brushing against the bruised skin, and I quickly wiped at the tears, hoping no one noticed. But they had. The servants, who had been sparring in neat rows, paused mid-motion, their eyes turning to me. I was in the center of their attention now, a fallen, pathetic person in the middle of their training ground.

I struggled to steady myself, my hands fumbling to cover the sides of my thighs where my dress had ridden up, exposing my skin to their prying eyes. My head hung low, my hair falling in a curtain around my face, shielding me from their stares but that didn’t do anything to ease the disgrace.

Suddenly, Zane’s voice sliced through the silence. Sharp and commanding.

"Everyone!" he bellowed, his tone carrying the authority of an Alpha’s son, undeniable and absolute. The servants snapped to attention as they focused on me. "Iris have something to say."

He gestured toward me, his hand sweeping in a lazy arc, as if presenting a trophy or a prisoner. "Iris here has something to confess," he added.

There was silence everywhere and just then, his lips curled into that familiar, cruel smirk, the one that had haunted my nightmares since college. "Go on, Iris. Tell them."

My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding so loudly. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, my body frozen under the weight of their stares. The servants’ eyes continued to bore into me, some narrowed in contempt, whispering to themselves, others wide with anticipation, waiting for the show Zane was about to orchestrate. I wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground and vanish, but there was no escape.

Before I could muster a response, Zane’s voice rang out again, louder this time, cutting through the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the crowd. "She says she wants to prove her love for me," he announced, his tone mocking, almost gleeful. "By eating from the bin."

The words hit me, stealing the air from my lungs as the crowd erupted into a chorus of aggressive and disappointed gasps, their voices blending into a cacophony of disgust and derision.

"Disgusting!" someone hissed from the back.

"Shameless!" another voice called. "An ex Alpha’s daughter, stooping so low!"

"She’d do anything for the triplets," a woman sneered, her words laced with venom.

"Eating from the bin? That’s nothing for her."

And then, the cruelest cut of all, a low voice muttered, "What do you expect from a murderer who killed her own parents?"

The accusation pierced through my heart, the pain so sharp I could barely breathe. My parents’ deaths had carried like a scar on my soul, but the pack had never let me forget it.

They had twisted it into a story of my guilt, my failure, and now they wielded it like a weapon against me whenever they saw the opportunity to. Tears streamed down my face, hot tears and I swiped at them with trembling hands, trying to hold onto some shred of dignity that I do not have anymore in the presence of these people.

Then Zane’s voice rose above the crowd again, commanding their attention. "Go on, Iris," he urged, his eyes never leaving me where I stayed shamelessly. "Prove your love. Show them how much you want me."

The crowd fell silent, their anticipation intensified. Every eye was on me, waiting, expecting me, to humiliate myself once again for Zane’s amusement. After some minutes, my legs shook as I forced myself to stand, my body aching from the fall, my cheek still stinging. I wiped my tears again as I scanned the sea of stern faces surrounding me. They were like a jury, a judge, an executioner, all rolled into one, and I was their condemned.

Then my gaze drifted to the corner of the field where a rusted metal bin stood, its lid half-open, flies and insects buzzing around the pile of dirts inside. The stench hit me even from a distance, rotting food, damp paper, the sour tang of decay. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to move towards it, my steps slow as if I were walking to my own execution. The crowd parted slightly, their eyes never leaving me, their whispers intensifying.

As I reached the bin, the flies scattered briefly before returning to their feast. My eyes landed on a pile of cooked rice, recently discarded, its grains clumped together and speckled with dirt. It was still recognizable as food, but the sight of it, nestled among the filth, made my throat want to throw up. I crouched down, my fingers hovering over the rice, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst as the crowd’s murmurs grew louder.

"She’s actually going to do it."

"Pathetic."

"An Alpha’s daughter, reduced to this."

I ignored them and scooped up a handful of the rice, the grains cold and slimy against my skin. Then I stood, turning to face the crowd again. Their faces were filled with contempt, their eyes gleaming with a mix of horror and fascination. I felt like an animal in a cage, on display for their entertainment. My gaze found Zane, standing at the front of the crowd, his arms crossed, his smirk wider than ever at his thought that he had me, thought he could break me again, just like he always had.

But something inside me shifted. I was tired, tired of his cruelty, tired of letting him wield my feelings. I had debased myself for him before, but not this time. Not again.

But then again, I couldn’t help it. I was left between choosing to be humiliated again or try to build the remaining piece of my dignity all because of love.

Love... Love is a beautiful type of feeling you know? It’s something amazing every girl should experience. To experience what it means to be loved and if not, then to experience what if feels to love. Either you are at the receiving end of love or at the exhausting side of love. And today, fate has given me another chance.

With a heavy breath, I summoned every ounce of courage I had left. My eyes locked onto Zane’s as I began to march toward him, the rice clutched tightly in my hand. The crowd’s murmurs faded into a tense silence, in anticipation as I stopped just inches from him, close enough to see the faint scar above his eyebrow.

"Don’t feel like a trophy that’s to be won!" I said and with every bit of strength I could muster, I threw the handful of spoiled rice at him. It splattered across his face, clumps of it sticking to his cheeks, his jaw, his pristine tunic. The grains scattered everywhere, some falling to the ground, others clinging to his hair as the crowd gasped in disbelief and shock.

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