Mated to the Mad Alpha in Jail

(Ella's POV)

I woke up groping in the dark, the cramped windowless attic no longer bothering me, my body sensing the exact moment it needed me to get up - dawn was coming.

I braced my aching body and sat up. My small room was barely furnished—a bed, a rickety dresser, and a cracked mirror that reflected my tired face.

I sat on the wooden stool and carefully opened the case containing my green contacts. My real eyes stared back at me—azure blue, nothing like the emerald green

I was forced to wear. I winced as I pushed the first contact into place, then the second. The burning sensation was immediate.

"Not again," I muttered, reaching for my eye drops and flooding my irritated eyes with relief.

I examined my hair next and sighed in frustration. The black roots were showing again beneath the blonde dye. Mrs. Mia would be furious.

"Hat it is," I decided, pulling a simple cap over my head, I hope she doesn't find out, my scalp's had enough of the bleach burn.

I hurried down the narrow servant staircase to the kitchen. The Graves mansion was truly magnificent—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and artwork worth more than I could imagine. It was fitting for the Beta family of the Goldenmoon pack, second only to the Royal Family they served.

The kitchen was already busy with activity when I arrived. The other maids glanced my way and smirked.

"Good morning," I offered with a small smile.

Clara, the head kitchen maid, pointed to a mountain of potatoes in the sink. "Miss," she said with mock politeness, "please wash and peel all these potatoes, or you won't make it in time for breakfast!"

The others giggled as they continued with their lighter duties. I nodded without complaint and rolled up my sleeves. My omega status made me the lowest in the hierarchy, even among the servants.

My fingers worked quickly, peeling potato after potato. By the time I finished, my hands were raw and my stomach growled with hunger. I glanced at the clock and gasped.

"Seven already?" I abandoned any thought of eating and raced to the music room where my piano teacher, Mrs. Hertz, waited with her usual scowl.

"I can't believe you're late and so dirty!" she snapped, eyeing my stained hands with disgust. "Go and stand for me for half an hour!"

"Please, Mrs. Hertz," I begged, panic rising in my chest. "Mrs. Mia is checking my progress tonight. She wants me to play Chopin's Ballade No. 1. I've only had three days to learn it."

Mrs. Hertz's lips tightened. "Three days for Chopin? Impossible."

"Please," I repeated. "I need the practice time."

She sighed dramatically. "Twenty extra minutes. No more."

I nodded gratefully and sat at the piano. My fingers had barely touched the keys when the thin whip came down on my knuckles.

"Posture!" Mrs. Hertz shouted "How many times have I told you that the noble daughter of Graves does not sit slouching like that, you are like a mangy dog without a bone!"

I was dumbfounded by the sudden whip, and immediately another whip hit me in the back. From experience, I had no right to cry out in pain, only to immediately straighten my back, ignore the sting and start again.

By the time my piano lesson ended, my hands were covered in welts and my stomach felt hollow. But there was no rest—math class followed immediately, then literature, politics, and finally etiquette.

"A lady never extends her pinky while drinking tea," my etiquette instructor scolded, rapping my hand with her ruler.

"Yes, Madame," I replied, correcting my grip on the delicate porcelain.

What I have learned is far beyond what I had learned many years before and what I could not have possibly learned in the past.

But I was grateful for the education, even if it came at such a cost. Without the Graves family, where would I be? On the streets again? Or worse?

When my lessons finally ended, I nearly collapsed with exhaustion. My head spun from hunger as I made my way toward the kitchen, hoping to find some scraps.

I had barely reached the service corridor when Sophie, one of the younger maids, grabbed my arm.

"Mr. Thorne is here!" she hissed, looking me up and down in horror. "Why are you still dressed so dirty? You smell like potatoes!"

My heart skipped a beat. Mr. Thorne—Eamon Thorne—the future Alpha of our pack. Ella's fiancé.

Sophie pulled me into the bedroom, a room I was only allowed to enter if I needed to make preparations. The room was beautiful - soft pink walls, silk curtains and a bed big enough for three.

She pushed me into the bathroom, her rough movements pulling at my hair, and I didn't dare cry out in pain, so I just let her move. She quickly scrubs my face and neck.

And then,she shoved me onto the vanity stool and began applying makeup to my face with frantic movements. Another maid appeared with a pale blue dress, which they wrestled me into with practiced efficiency.

As my hat was removed, "Damn, you nasty omega, your hair!" Sophie groaned, trying to cover the discolored roots with clips of my hair.

At that moment the door was suddenly opened and Mrs. Mia Graves walked in, and I tensed. Her calculating eyes scanned me from head to toe, satisfied at first, but when she swept over my long, cascading hair, her eyes quickly turned somber.

"You'll be recognized like that!" she fumed, yanking my hair painfully. "Damn it, put a hat and gloves on her! The guests are already waiting outside. I'll clean you up when I get back!"

She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she pulled me toward the door. Standing just outside the parlor, she leaned close to my face.

"Mind your manners and attitude, and don't show your cheap looks," she warned in a low, threatening voice." Remember to call me mom!"

"Okay, Mom." I nodded obediently, my heart pounding. Mrs. Mia has a smile on her face, like a different person, as she guides me into the parlor.

And there he was. Eamon Thorne. Even more handsome than I remembered from the few glimpses I'd caught of him. Tall, with broad shoulders and a confident stance that spoke of his royal upbringing. He held a bouquet of pink tulips, his eyes deep and focused.

His gaze made my mouth go dry. No man has ever looked at me so tenderly, omega doesn't deserve such a gaze.

"You know, the boy just loves to dress up and dress up and dress up and there's no end to it." Mrs. Mia said brightly, she nudged me, "Come on Ella, you and your fiancé haven't seen each other in a while, why are you still shy."

Eamon stepped forward, his eyes—a striking blue-green—studying me with interest. He extended the flowers and took my gloved hand in his, brushing his lips against my knuckles in a gesture that sent shivers up my spine.

"It's been a long time," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "And you're still so beautiful."

Mrs. Mia's shoulders relaxed visibly. "I'll leave you two to catch up," she said, backing toward the door. "I have some matters to attend to."

A maid appeared with tea and small pastries, setting them on the elegant table between us. My stomach growled at the sight, and I hoped no one had heard.

"Please, eat," Eamon said, gesturing toward the food.

I thanked him quietly and reached for a small cake, trying to remember how Ella would sit, how she would eat. Small bites. Back straight. No noise.

The moment Mrs. Mia's footsteps faded down the hallway, everything changed. Eamon's polite smile vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating look that pinned me to my seat.

"You're not my fiancée," he stated flatly, his eyes boring into mine. "Who are you?"