THE ALPHA WHO HATED ME - Chapter 43: Chapter 43

**Evangeline's POV**
The video starts playing on someone's phone during lunch. I hear the cruel laughter before I see the screen, but I know immediately what it is. The sound of my humiliation, captured in high definition and shared with the world.
"Oh my God, look at her face!" A girl at the next table squeals with delight. "She actually thought Celeste wanted to be friends with her."
My stomach drops as I watch myself on the tiny screen. There I am, standing on that platform in my mother's black dress, hope dying in my eyes as Celeste reveals her true intentions. The bucket tips, pig's blood cascades over me, and I fall backward into the crowd's laughter.
But the worst part isn't the blood. It's the look of complete devastation on my face when I realize I've been played. Again.
"She looks like a drowned rat," someone else adds.
"More like a pig. Which is fitting, considering."
The laughter spreads through the cafeteria like wildfire. Students pull out their phones, sharing the video, adding their own cruel commentary. Within minutes, it's everywhere. The hashtags are already trending: #PigBloodPrincess #OmegaFail #CelesteQueenCeleste.
I sit frozen in my seat, watching my own destruction play out in real time. My hands shake as I grip my lunch tray, the plastic creaking under the pressure. Around me, the cafeteria fills with whispers and pointing fingers.
"Did you see how she trusted her?"
"So pathetic."
"I heard she actually wrote a thank-you note after the invitation."
I didn't. But the truth doesn't matter now. The narrative has already been written, and I'm the pathetic Omega who fell for the mean girl's trick.
A freshman at the table behind me starts the chant: "Pig, pig, pig!" Others join in, their voices rising until the entire cafeteria is filled with the sound of my humiliation.
I stand up so fast my chair falls over. The crash echoes through the room, and for a moment, everyone goes quiet. They're all looking at me, waiting to see if I'll break down crying like I always do.
But I don't cry. I can't cry. The tears dried up somewhere between the sacred grove and this moment, replaced by something harder. Something that tastes like iron and feels like lightning.
"Enough." The word comes out of my mouth with more force than I intended. The lights above my head flicker, and I feel my wolf stirring beneath my skin.
A few students near me take a step back, their expressions shifting from cruel amusement to something like concern. They can sense it too – the change in me, the power that's no longer sleeping quietly.
But most of them don't notice. They're too busy laughing, too caught up in their own entertainment to see that something fundamental has shifted.
"Aww, is the little piggy upset?" Madison calls out from across the room. "Maybe you should roll around in the mud some more. It suits you."
The laughter gets louder. Phones come out again, recording my reaction. They want to capture this moment too, add it to their collection of Evangeline's greatest humiliations.
I walk out of the cafeteria with my head held high, but inside, I'm falling apart. The whispers follow me down the hallway, bouncing off the walls like bullets. Students lean out of classrooms to watch me pass, their faces lit up with the glow of their phone screens.
By the time I reach my locker, the video has been posted on every social media platform. The comments are already pouring in, each one crueler than the last.
*"Finally someone put her in her place."*
*"She deserved it for thinking she could sit with the popular kids."*
*"This is what happens when you forget you're an Omega."*
I slam my locker shut and lean against it, trying to catch my breath. The hallway spins around me, and for a moment, I think I might throw up. But then I hear footsteps approaching, and I know without looking that it's a teacher.
Mrs. Rodriguez appears at my side, her face full of false concern. "Evangeline, sweetheart, are you okay?"
I want to scream at her. Want to ask where she was when I needed help. Want to demand to know why she's only showing up now, when it's too late to do anything that matters.
Instead, I say, "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because if there's anything I can do to help—"
"You can stop them from sharing the video," I interrupt. "You can make them delete it. You can actually do something instead of just standing there looking sorry for me."
Mrs. Rodriguez's face flushes red. "Evangeline, I understand you're upset, but there's really nothing I can do about what students post on their personal social media accounts."
"Nothing you can do?" My voice rises, and the fluorescent lights above us flicker again. "A student was publicly humiliated at a party, and you can't do anything about it?"
"The party wasn't a school event," she says, backing away slightly. "And technically, sharing the video isn't against any school rules."
"Of course it isn't." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Because actually protecting students would require you to do your job."
Mrs. Rodriguez opens her mouth to respond, but I'm already walking away. I don't have time for empty words and useless sympathy. Not when my entire life is being torn apart and broadcast for the world's entertainment.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of stares and whispers. Teachers avoid making eye contact with me, and students alternate between cruel laughter and uncomfortable silence. By the time the final bell rings, I feel like I've been flayed alive.
I walk home through empty streets, my phone buzzing constantly with notifications. People I don't even know are tagging me in reposts of the video, adding their own commentary to my humiliation. The view count keeps climbing: 10,000. 50,000. 100,000.
I'm famous. For all the wrong reasons.
When I reach my apartment, I find Maeve waiting on my doorstep. She's wearing a long gray coat that makes her look older, more serious. Her eyes are full of compassion and something else. Something that looks like guilt.
"I saw the video," she says softly. "I'm sorry, Evangeline. I should have warned you about Celeste sooner."
"It doesn't matter now." I unlock my door and let her follow me inside. "Everyone's seen it. Everyone knows how pathetic I am."
"You're not pathetic," Maeve says firmly. "You're hurt. There's a difference."
I collapse onto my couch, finally allowing myself to feel the full weight of what happened. "They're right, though. I am pathetic. I actually thought she wanted to be friends with me. I actually believed someone like Celeste could change."
"Hope isn't pathetic," Maeve says, sitting beside me. "It's one of the most powerful forces in the universe. And it's one of the things that makes you special."
"Special?" I laugh bitterly. "I'm a laughingstock. I'm the girl who got covered in pig's blood while half the school watched and cheered."
"You're also the girl who stood up to Celeste afterward. The girl who told Ronan you were done being protected. The girl whose power made every light in the school flicker when she walked away."
I look at her in surprise. "You heard about that?"
"I hear about everything that concerns you," Maeve says. "And what happened today concerns me greatly. Not because of the video, but because of how you reacted to it."
"What do you mean?"
"Your power is growing stronger. More volatile. The awakening is accelerating, and I think it's because you're finally letting yourself feel angry instead of just hurt."
She's right. For months, I've been swallowing my pain, letting it sit in my stomach like a stone. But today, something snapped. Today, I stopped trying to be the good girl who takes her punishment quietly.
"Is that bad?" I ask.
"It's dangerous," Maeve says carefully. "But it's also necessary. You can't access your full power while you're still trying to please the people who hurt you."
"What full power?" I lean forward, suddenly desperate for answers. "What am I, Maeve? What's happening to me?"
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face like she's trying to decide how much to tell me. Finally, she sighs and reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out an old leather journal.
"I've been waiting for the right time to tell you this," she says. "But after today, I think you need to know the truth."
She opens the journal to a page filled with symbols and diagrams. In the center is a drawing of a woman standing in a circle of moonlight, her hands raised toward the sky.
"This is your great-great-grandmother," Maeve says, her voice heavy with emotion. "Her name was Selene, and she was the last High Priestess of the Lunar Temple."
"The Lunar Temple?" I trace the drawing with my finger. The woman looks like me, but older, more powerful. More sure of herself.
"A sacred order of witches who served the moon goddess," Maeve explains, her hands trembling slightly as she turns the page. "They were healers, seers, protectors of the balance between light and dark. For centuries, they guarded ancient secrets and maintained the peace between the supernatural world and the human one."
"What happened to them?"
"They were hunted. Killed. Their temples burned, their knowledge scattered." Tears gather in Maeve's eyes. "Your great-great-grandmother was the last one. She went into hiding, married a werewolf, and tried to live a normal life. But the power in her blood was too strong to disappear completely."
"So it passed down to me?"
"To you and your mother before you. But your mother never fully awakened. She died protecting this secret." Maeve's voice breaks. "She died protecting you."
I feel something cold settle in my chest. "What do you mean?"
"The girl who did this to you tonight... Celeste .... she's not just cruel. She's afraid. And fear makes people reckless." Maeve closes the journal and looks at me with eyes full of ancient sorrow. "You, Evangeline, are the last descendant of the Lunar Temple witches. And there are those who would kill you to prevent your awakening."
The words hit me like a physical blow. The last descendant. The end of a bloodline that stretches back centuries.
"That's why I can heal things," I whisper. "Why I can hear the animals. Why I see visions in the water."
"That's why you're powerful beyond anything the modern world has seen," Maeve confirms. "And that's why you're in danger. There are those who would kill you to prevent your awakening, and others who would use your power for their own ends."
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I gesture helplessly at the journal. "I can barely control what's happening to me now. How am I supposed to carry on the legacy of an entire temple?"
"You don't have to carry it alone," Maeve says, taking my hand. "I'll help you. I'll teach you everything I know about your heritage, your power, your purpose."
"My purpose?"
"To restore the balance," she says simply. "To be the bridge between worlds. To show both supernatural and human communities that there's another way to live ... one based on harmony instead of domination."
I think about Celeste's cruel laughter, about Ronan's rejection, about the teachers who did nothing while I was humiliated. About a world where power means the right to hurt others without consequence.
"What if I don't want to restore the balance?" I ask. "What if I want to tear it all down?"
Maeve's grip on my hand tightens. "Then you'll become exactly what they fear most. And you'll prove that they were right to hunt your kind to extinction."
Her words settle over me like a challenge. I can choose to be the healer, the bridge-builder, the one who makes peace. Or I can choose to be the destroyer, the one who makes them pay for every moment of pain they've caused.
The path of light should be obvious. But I've lived too long in the dark to pretend it doesn't call to me.
"I need time to think," I tell Maeve.
She nods, understanding. "Time is the one thing we don't have much of. The full moon is in five days, and when it rises, your power will reach its peak. Whatever you decide, you need to be ready."
She pauses at the door, her hand on the handle. "Evangeline... your awakening is accelerating. The stronger you become, the more dangerous this world becomes for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Power like yours doesn't go unnoticed forever. Eventually, someone will sense what you're becoming." She looks back at me one last time. "Be careful. Trust no one except me. And whatever you do, don't let anyone see your power until you're ready to use it."
She leaves me alone with the journal and the weight of my heritage. Outside, the moon rises higher, spilling through the window like silver fire. The journal glows faintly on my lap, its ancient script humming beneath my fingertips.
I open my phone and see dozens of new notifications. More reposts of the video. More cruel comments. More people sharing my humiliation for their own entertainment.
In the reflection of the window, I don't see Evangeline .... the broken, blood-soaked girl.
I see her.
Lunara.
And just for a moment, I swear I hear her voice .... not from the past, but from within me.
*Choose wisely,* she whispers. *The time is coming.*
A candle on my nightstand flickers to life without me touching it. Then another. And another. Until my entire room is filled with dancing flames that cast my shadow large and strange against the wall.
I have five days.
Five days to become a savior.
Or a storm.
But looking at the video playing on my phone, at the endless stream of cruelty from people who think they know me, I realize the choice might already be made.
They've pushed me too far.
And I'm not sure I can find my way back to the light.