ONCE BETRAYED: TWICE RECLAIMED

Nearly a month had gone by since I started working at Ruth's bar, and although the days blurred together, I had created a schedule. I rose before dawn, freshened up, had a quick bite, and dived into my tasks. Cleaning dishes, mopping floors, and polishing tables were nothing like the life I had once envisioned, but it occupied my hours. 

The task was difficult, yet I succeeded. My body, while fatigued, was becoming more resilient. The pain in my back didn't last as long anymore, and the blisters on my hands had become calluses. The fatigue that previously caused me to fall into bed each night had turned into something familiar, nearly comforting. 

It wasn't simple, yet I was enduring. And perhaps, just perhaps, I was beginning to experience life anew. 

I've found myself smiling more often lately, and even laughing at times. Cindy, the server wearing the vibrant scarf, had turned into an unexpected partner. Her talk occupied the silent intervals, and her lighthearted wit broke down my barriers. 

"Another day, another dish to clean," she joked one morning while she wiped down the tables. 

I grinned slyly. "You portray it as highly glamorous." 

"Hey, it's genuine work," she replied, winking. "In addition, you're becoming quite skilled at it." You've really mastered that 'scrub furiously' technique. 

I couldn't help but laugh. Cindy had a talent for making even the most tedious tasks seem a bit easier. 

That afternoon, Ruth invited me into her office. I wiped my hands on my apron and trailed behind her, my stomach turning a bit. She didn't enjoy casual conversations, and when she reached out to you, it typically signified problems—or additional tasks. 

Ruth reclined in her chair, holding a worn envelope in her hand. She moved it across the desk. "Your salary." 

I paused, gazing at the envelope as though it could sting me. When I finally opened it, I caught my breath. It exceeded my expectations. Much more. 

"Ruth, I—this is…" I faltered, uncertain about how to convey my appreciation. 

She gestured with her hand in a dismissive manner. "You deserve it." You've been working hard here, and I compensate individuals according to their value. "Simply don't allow it to get to your mind." 

I held the envelope firmly, a warmth blossoming in my heart. "I appreciate it," I spoke gently. 

As I walked back to the kitchen, my mind wandered. After what felt like forever, I could finally buy something for myself. How about a new dress? Or a good pair of shoes? The idea brought a smile to my face as I opened the kitchen door. 

The sharp odor struck me right away. 

Something was ablaze. 

I inhaled the scent, my werewolf instincts becoming more acute. My eyes darted to the stove, where smoke wafted up from a skillet. Without hesitation, I hurried over, taking a towel to protect my hands as I pulled the pan off the flame. The aroma of burnt food permeated the space, and I coughed, fanning the smoke away. 

"Where is Noah?" I whispered, looking around the deserted kitchen. 

The burner remained warm, and various pots simmered. My instincts took over, and before I realized it, I was mixing one pot, sampling another, and turning the items in a pan. The midday crowd was bustling, and requests continued to accumulate. I couldn't simply let everything go up in flames. 

When Noah awkwardly reentered the kitchen, his face flushed and his demeanor bashful, I was finishing up the last of the plates. 

"I'm really sorry," he exclaimed, his tone a blend of distress and shame. "I—I needed to rush to the bathroom." "I never imagined I would be away for such a long time." 

I cleaned my hands with a cloth, shooting him a meaningful glance. "You left the burner on while we were busy with lunch?" 

He flinched. "I believed I would be fast." I did not—" 

"It's okay," I replied, interrupting him. "I took care of it." "Next time, perhaps inform someone before you vanish." 

Noah nodded swiftly, his shoulders drawn up like a reprimanded child. "I shall." I promise. "Thanks for taking care of it." 

I sighed, feeling the annoyance fade away as I gazed at his red face. He was obviously humiliated, and I lacked the energy to bear a grudge. 

"Just… make sure it doesn't occur again," I said, easing my tone. 

He nodded once more, a slight, appreciative smile pulling at his lips. "It will not." "Vow." 

While I tidied the kitchen, I found it impossible not to experience a peculiar feeling of achievement. I had entered, assumed authority, and managed it. It wasn't the existence I had envisioned for myself, but it was still something. 

And for the time being, it sufficed. 

I went back to my tasks, and when I completed washing the final dish, my arms felt heavy as lead, and I could hardly keep my eyes open. 

The kitchen had at last become silent, and the murmur of chatter from the dining space indicated the shift from restaurant to bar. The day workers, myself among them, assembled in the corner for dinner—a modest assortment of lunch leftovers, yet to us, it felt like a banquet. 

"Cindy," I remarked, settling into a seat next to her. "Could you pass the bread, please?" 

She passed it along, then smiled as she took a bite of chicken. "It's no surprise that the customers kept requesting this at lunch!" "It's incredible." 

"Isn't that so?" someone interjected. "Honestly, Noah, you really surpassed yourself this time." 

Noah, quietly seated at the table's edge, glanced up, his face reddening. "Um… to be honest… that wasn't my doing." 

Everyone halted, their gazes shifting between him and the plate. 

"What are you trying to say?" Cindy inquired, squinting her eyes. 

"It was Amelia," he admitted, massaging the back of his neck. "She... she rescued the dinner earlier while I was, um, absent." 

At that moment, everyone's gaze fell on me, and I sensed warmth rising in my neck. "It's not that significant," I replied hastily, attempting to dismiss it. 

"Is it nothing significant?" Cindy leaned in, her scarf falling a bit to uncover her dark curls. "You've been keeping secrets from us!" "Where did you acquire those cooking skills?" 

"Uh… my mother," I fibbed, putting on a smile. It was, in fact, the chef of our pack who taught me, but I wasn't going to reveal details about my fortunate, sheltered upbringing. They were unaware that the Amelia Crescent before them had once been a pampered daughter of an alpha. 

"Your mom must have been incredible," Cindy remarked, giving my arm a playful nudge. "Are you certain you don't want to swap positions with Noah?" 

The rest laughed, and I participated, even though it seemed empty. The reality was, I was beginning to relish these instances. They were uncomplicated, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I was included in something—regardless of how minor. 

The following day, I found myself immersed in soapy water when Ruth came to me, her typical no-nonsense demeanor more relaxed than normal. 

"Amelia," she stated, folding her arms, "do you have a moment?" 

I cleaned my hands on my apron and faced her, giving a nod. "What is happening?" 

She signaled for me to accompany her to a quieter section of the kitchen. 

 "The clients have been praising that dish you prepared yesterday." It appears that you have a talent for cooking. 

I started to speak in objection, but she raised a hand to halt me. 

"I'm not here to dispute," she said. "I'd like to present you with a new position—co-chef alongside Noah." He has mentioned for some time that he could use assistance back there, and honestly, I believe you're a suitable match. 

I was left speechless. "Co-chef?" However, I am—" 

"You're fine," Ruth cut in. "And I'm ready to offer you more for it." What is your response? 

I paused briefly, feeling the burden of the choice pressing down on me. Cleaning dishes was tiring, labor-intensive toil. Cooking can also be challenging, yet it was an activity I liked—something I excelled in. 

"I would be happy to," I replied at last, a real smile pulling at my mouth. "Thanks, Ruth." 

"Well." "You begin tomorrow," she remarked, turning to walk away before looking back. "And don't let me wish I hadn't." 

The new position brought its difficulties. The kitchen was hectic during busy times, and Noah, while timid, respected me and guided me through the process.

 Finding a rhythm turned out to be simpler than I had anticipated, and by the conclusion of the first week, we were operating like a finely-tuned machine. 

Yet, something felt off. 

We were tidying up following a hectic lunch service when a patron came to the counter and asked for a seafood dish. The aroma of shrimp permeated the atmosphere, and abruptly, my stomach turned sharply. Before I had a chance to halt it, I found myself sprinting to the bathroom, heaving into the sink. 

"Amelia?" Cindy knocked on the door, her voice tinged with worry. "Are you doing alright?" 

"I'm okay," I replied faintly, washing out my mouth. "Merely something I consumed." 

However, it wasn't solely that instance. 

During dinner, the identical situation occurred. A single smell of the food on my plate had me hurrying to the closest trash can, nausea building in my throat. 

"You're not okay," Cindy remarked, scowling as she gave me a glass of water. 

"She has a point," Ruth interjected, her voice crisp yet tinged with worry. "You will be seeing Dr. Hawthorne tomorrow." "None of the disputes." 

I intended to object, but the room whirled as I leaned back in my seat, fatigue weighing on me heavily. Perhaps Ruth was correct. Perhaps it was time to understand what was happening. 

"Alright," I murmured, predominantly to myself rather than to anyone else. "I will leave." 

Ruth agreed, pleased. "Great." "I can't find you useful if you're unwell." 

Cindy gripped my hand, her typical playful grin now substituted with concern. "We'll solve this, Amelia." "Don't worry." 

I nodded feebly, even as my stomach twisted with discomfort. Something was off, and I had an uneasy sensation that the revelations were on the verge of altering everything.