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Then it clicked. I grabbed the door frame for support. Her voice. It was so obvious: it was broken because of the goddamn abuse she had suffered. My heart burst in my chest, and I had to stop myself from keeling over and puking. The little alpha had screamed so loud from the beatings that she had lost her voice. She had been tortured.
After all, no matter what anyone else thought or said. No matter what we did. No matter what she thought. She was our little alpha.
“Who needs parents? What are they good for anyway? Emotional support? It’s much healthier to repress emotions and ignore red flags.”
“Hm, maybe because he stares at you twenty-four seven and literally growls like a wild bear whenever I touch you.”
Of course, my dress was so fucking short that I was sure half the room had just seen my vagina lips flapping. I should have known the tailor ladies would do this to me.

