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Chap-11*He Stole From Me*

Cynthia Dion:

"Ah!" With every lift of the belt, my father aimed to strike, and each time, I sobbed. My cries reverberated through the house, mirroring the wounds etched into my fragile flesh. I couldn't bear for Flora to witness this; it could scar her deeply.

As the brutal beating continued, compassion seemed nonexistent in him. I struggled to voice my objections, but inexplicably, I couldn't muster the words.

My wolf hadn't undergone the transition yet, a truth I'd kept hidden from everyone. Revealing it would mean being branded as an outcast, a fact I feared more than anything.

"Dad! Ple---ase stop!" I whimpered, lifting my hand instinctively to shield my face from the blows even though my body throbbed with pain.

He muttered, the belt striking once more, "You dared to challenge my principles, and here you are, arriving home at this hour. Why were you outside?" His voice thundered with anger. I lost my senses briefly as the belt collided with the back of my neck, the impact ringing loudly.

I yearned for a brief respite, but it was impossible with my father consumed by fury. During those fleeting moments, I was spared the belt's sting, as my father had retreated to the bathroom.

He yanked my head up, revealing the object he held--scissors--and then his hand clenched my hair in a tight grip.

He snipped a handful of my hair away, leaving me in tears as the severed strands cascaded onto my face.

"This is your lesson. The next time you even consider sneaking out, you'll recall this and hopefully think twice." He brandished the scissors before my face and stormed out of the house, likely to indulge in drink or drugs. He cared little for the damage he'd inflicted; his own satisfaction was all that mattered.

To fathom that my own father was capable of this shattered my heart.

As I wept on the cold floor, my gaze remained fixed on my phone. I couldn't shake off the bewilderment of why Mara had beckoned me to meet but never appeared.

It felt as though someone was orchestrating deliberate misery in my life, introducing complications at every juncture. After shedding a few frustrated and powerless tears, I sought solace in slumber, only to awaken early the following morning. Luckily, the hat I wore to conceal my head from Flora's view served its purpose.

Dad hadn't returned home, enabling me to leave for school ahead of time. The first period held significant importance, and my anticipation was peaked.

I went to school that day with a cap on my head, fully aware that I would once again become a target for bullying. In the hallway, I caught sight of Rosalie with Enzo, but she deliberately ignored me. Enzo didn't make any effort to acknowledge me either, possibly because he knew Rosalie would ask him to reject me.

But why hadn't he rejected me yet?

"Consider when you're watching a movie or reading a novel--what helps you connect with the character?" Ms. Kylie posed this question to us, using her gestures to emphasize her words. She exuded elegance and was in her early thirties. Rumor had it that many boys had a crush on her. She was our drama teacher.

I habitually sat in the back of the room, alongside other rogues, though Mara was absent that day. Following the chaos caused by Rosalie, I'd become a subject of unfavorable chatter throughout the school. Apart from Atticus, I noticed the elite students frequently turning their heads to glance at me, often followed by stifled laughter. Among those in the front row--Rosalie, Enzo, and Atticus--there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm for the lesson. She appeared to assert control over the two of them.

"This was your assignment for today," Ms. Kylie added, following up on her previous question. I recalled that she had assigned this topic, and luckily, I had completed it the day before.

"Alpha Atticus, would you be so kind as to collect the assignments from everyone?" Ms. Kylie asked Atticus, who then assumed the task before taking his seat.

I retrieved my assignment, awaiting his approach. I half-expected some sort of reaction from him, but there was none. He carelessly took the assignment from my hands and passed them all to Enzo, who was responsible for tracking incomplete assignments.

Once Atticus finished gathering the assignments, he returned to his seat beside Rosalie. Rosalie leaned towards Enzo, whispering something in his ear. Following her prompt, he looked in my direction briefly, then shared a giggle with her.

"Ma’am?" Enzo's voice interrupted the classroom's atmosphere. He straightened in his chair, feigning seriousness. Something was amiss. Their behavior was clearly orchestrated, and it seemed to revolve around me.

"Yes, Enzo, have you taken the attendance?" Ms. Kylie removed her glasses, fixing her beautiful blue eyes on Enzo, her hand extending for the collected assignments.

"Just one student didn't turn in her assignment," he declared. My heart sank at his words, especially when his gaze promptly shifted my way and then back to Ms. Kylie.

"Who is it?" Her voice held a tinge of disappointment as she tilted her head. I wondered who hadn't submitted the assignment?

"Cynthia Dion," hearing my name in this context churned my stomach. I had indeed handed in my assignment. What did he mean by saying I hadn't done it? everyone turned to look at me, some even snickering.

"Cynthia?" Ms. Kylie was different from the others; she championed equality. She had consistently shown her fondness for me and my dedication to the acting class. As I perceived her expression shifting to one of disappointment, I mustered the courage to rise from my seat. I hated getting attention but somehow ended up being the center of attention.

"I completed my assignment," I countered, my voice failing to hide my agitation. It was ridiculous because I knew I did the work and even sumbitted it. But now all the eyes were on me as if I am a liar.

"Then where is it?" Ms. Kylie inquired, her gaze narrowing on my face in disillusionment. I was losing my mind, gulping and showing mixed emotions.

I glared at Atticus, then muttered unhesitatingly, "Ask Atticus."

The way I addressed him, devoid of respect, caused him to snap his head towards me in astonishment. It was as if he hadn't anticipated being confronted. Everybody looked my way while Atticus clenched his jaw. It was going to get dirty. But I knew he was lying as I gave him my file and he decided to hide it and get me in trouble.

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