The Beta’s Ugly Daughter

Chapter 12

"You take your tea with honey, not sugar."

I looked up from the territorial boundaries I was mapping, startled by Wyatt's observation. He stood beside our work table, holding two steaming mugs, his silver-blue eyes focused on me with an intensity that made my chest flutter.

"How did you-"

"You mentioned it last week when you were explaining the trade route disputes. You said the Northern Pack's honey reserves were worth fighting for because good honey was hard to find." He set one of the mugs beside my elbow, the ceramic warm against my fingers. "I remembered."

Heat crept up my neck. In three weeks of working together, I'd grown accustomed to his attention during our discussions about pack history and politics. But this was different, this was personal. This was him paying attention to the small details of who I was, not just what I knew.

"Thank you," I said quietly, wrapping my hands around the mug. The tea was perfect, exactly the right amount of honey, steeped to just the right strength.

"Your parents," he said, settling back into his chair across from me. "They don't... they're not very kind to you, are they?"

The question caught me completely off guard. I nearly choked on my tea. "What makes you say that?"

"The way you flinch when people raise their voices. How you apologize for things that aren't your fault. Yesterday, when you mentioned growing up, you said your room was 'adequate' but then corrected yourself like you weren't allowed to want more than adequate."

I stared at him, shocked by how much he'd noticed, how carefully he'd been listening. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Nothing. I just want you to know that I see it. And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not seeing it sooner. For not seeing you sooner." His voice was quiet, sincere in a way that made something inside me crack open. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately. How many years we went to the same pack meetings, the same celebrations, and I barely registered your existence. That's not fair to you."

My throat tightened. "You don't owe me anything-"

"Don't I? You've been here all along, doing work that most scholars would be proud of, and I looked right through you. We all did. That's not right."

I couldn't meet his eyes. The kindness in his voice was almost too much to bear. "People notice what they're supposed to notice. You were supposed to notice the Alpha's daughter, the Beta's son, the future leaders. Not me."

"But I want to notice you now. If you'll let me."

The words hung between us, heavy with possibility and danger. I wanted to tell him everything, about the curse, about the blood moons, about how desperately I'd wanted him to see me for so many years. But the truth was too complicated, too impossible to explain.

"Gail?" His voice was gentle, concerned.

"I should get back to work," I said, focusing intently on the map in front of me.

He didn't push, but I could feel him watching me as I traced territorial boundaries with fingers that trembled slightly. An hour later, the archive door opened and Mira entered with a tray of sandwiches and fruit. She smiled when she saw us bent over our respective stacks of documents, surrounded by the organized chaos of our research.

"Still at it, I see," she said, setting the tray on the edge of our table. "I was starting to wonder if you two had decided to live here permanently. When's the last time either of you saw actual sunlight?"

"This morning," Wyatt said, accepting the sandwich she offered. "I think."

"You think?" Mira laughed, but her dark eyes moved between us, taking in the easy way we worked together, the quiet intimacy of shared space and purpose. "You know, people are starting to talk about how much time you spend together."

My stomach dropped. "People are talking?"

"Nothing scandalous," Mira said quickly, though something flickered across her expression. "Just... surprised. You've always been so solitary, Gail. And Wyatt's usually training or handling pack business. It's nice to see you both finding common ground."

She stayed for a few more minutes, making light conversation about the upcoming harvest festival and her dress fittings, but I caught the way her gaze lingered on the space between Wyatt and me. The careful attention she paid to how we moved around each other, how naturally we'd fallen into a rhythm of work and conversation.

When she left, the archive felt different, quieter. The awareness of being observed, of whatever was building between us being noticed by others, hung in the air like smoke. I kept my focus on the stack of ceremonial records I was cataloguing, trying to ignore the way the silence felt charged with unspoken things.

"You know," I said eventually, not looking up from my work, "six months ago, you couldn't have picked me out of a crowd if your life depended on it." I meant it as a light observation, maybe even a joke. But Wyatt didn't laugh.

"You're right," he said quietly. "And I'm ashamed of that."

"You don't need to be-"

"Yes, I do. Because the truth is, no one ever mentioned you. Not in conversations about promising young pack members, not in discussions about the next generation. It was easy not to notice things that weren't expected of me. People I wasn't supposed to see." His honesty was like a physical weight in my chest. I nodded once, not trusting my voice, and returned to my cataloguing.

"But I see you now," he added, so quietly I almost missed it.

After that, the silence felt heavier, but not cold, just honest. We continued sorting through scrolls and records, both of us aware that something fundamental had shifted between us, even if neither of us was ready to name it out loud.

But with every kind word, every moment of genuine attention, the guilt inside me grew stronger. He was questioning everything, his engagement, his duty, his future, and I was part of the reason why. The mysterious red-haired girl he couldn't stop thinking about and the archivist he was beginning to care for were both me, pulling him in directions that would only lead to heartbreak.

I was living a lie that was slowly destroying both of us, and I didn't know how to stop.