One-Way Ticket Out of the Alpha’s Pack Chapter 03

One-Way Ticket Out of the Alpha’s Pack Chapter 03

During the second week of the semester, Mom suddenly calls me on video.

The camera shakes a few times before turning toward my bedroom at home.

My mattress is already gone. The books from my shelves are piled on the floor, and an unopened electric piano sits against the wall.

Victoria peeks into the frame, looking uneasy.

“Eva, I told them they didn’t have to change anything.”

Mom immediately reassures her.

“You’ve played piano since you were a kid. Now that you’re finally back with your pack, you deserve the chance to keep playing.”

Then she looks at me.

“Eva, you won’t be home much now that you’re in college. And the Packhouse doesn’t have another spare bedroom. So we’re turning your room into Victoria’s music room for now.”

“Whenever you come home, you can sleep in the guest room.”

The so-called guest room in my house is a storage room barely six square meters. There isn’t even a real bed in it, only a fold-out couch.

Dylan stands nearby, directing a Beta as he carries my desk out.

Anthony holds a measuring tape, getting ready to install soundproof panels.

Not one of them thinks this is something they need to ask me about first.

Mom turns the camera toward the boxes on the floor.

“Take a look and tell me if there’s anything you absolutely want to keep. If not, I’ll have the housekeeper clear it all out.”

The boxes are filled with my certificates, photo albums, and high school textbooks. On top sits the stuffed toy Brandon gave me for my eighteenth birthday.

Back then, he told me it would keep me company whenever he couldn’t.

Now it’s been crushed out of shape, looking like nothing more than another piece of trash waiting to be thrown away.

“Throw it all away.”

Mom blinks, “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

Dylan cuts in impatiently, “Don’t make this into something it isn’t. We’re just changing the room. Nobody’s saying you can’t come home.”

Anthony tries to reason with me too.

“Victoria’s been on her own for years. She comes back to the pack and doesn’t even have a room of her own.”

I look at the bedroom I’ve lived in for eighteen years.

The faint marks on the wall are where my pictures used to hang.

The potted plant on the windowsill is the one Dad and I bought together.

Inside the desk drawer are the birthday cards Mom writes for me every year.

And now they stand there discussing how to erase my life from the room.

Not one of them remembers that when Victoria was brought back into the pack, I willingly gave her the biggest bedroom in the Packhouse, the one with the best natural light.

Not one of them thinks she already has a better room than I ever did.

What they want has never been for me to give her half.

They want me to keep stepping back until there is no place left for me in this family.

Victoria approaches the camera, her eyes red.

“Eva, maybe I should just forget about the piano. Don’t be mad at Mom and Dad because of me.”

Her words say one thing, but her hands remain firmly on the box containing the brand-new piano.

I look at her calmly, “This has nothing to do with you. The room is yours.”

Mom finally smiles.

“I knew you’d understand. You’re always the reasonable one. I’ll make your favorite dinner when you come home for Thanksgiving.”

I don’t respond. I simply end the call.

That night, dozens of photos appear in the family group chat.

The walls have been repainted cream, and my desk has been replaced by the piano.

The photo above the bed has also been replaced with a family picture of Victoria standing between our parents.

Dylan sends a thumbs-up emoji. Anthony says the room feels much more spacious now.

Brandon replies underneath.

“Victoria likes it. That’s all that matters.”

From beginning to end, not one of them asks what I want.

I leave the family-shared photo album, turn off family location sharing, and cancel the automatic payment authorization linked to home.

Finally, I open the school’s student information system.

Mom’s name is listed as my emergency contact.

I delete it and replace it with my academic advisor, Professor Parker.

A confirmation message pops up:

[Once you make this change, the school will contact your new emergency contact first if an emergency occurs.]

I click Confirm.

The screen refreshes, and my mother’s name disappears completely.

The next day, I submit a request to the housing office for year-round campus housing.

The housing administrator looks through my paperwork.

“You’re staying on campus for Christmas and summer break too? Is there a problem at home? Is your family unable to accommodate you?”

I think of the bedroom that has been turned into a music room.

“Not exactly.”

I pause before answering calmly, “There just isn’t a room for me anymore.”