My Quadruplet Bullies To Mates

Hope He Didn't Suspect Anything

Mika

I can hardly wrap my mind around the chaos unfolding before me; Malcolm heroically intervened and rescued me from Alexa's torment.

The tension surrounding us was palpable as onlookers froze in shock, their eyes wide as they processed the shocking event. The air was thick with disbelief, and a heavy silence fell over the crowd, holding us all in a moment of suspended reality.

Just when it seemed like the weight of the world would crush us, Alpha Mathew arrived on the scene, his presence striking a chord of authority. He attempted to break the heavy mood, infusing a sense of fun with his usual charisma, trying to redirect our collective focus away from the turmoil that had just transpired.

Once everything was finally settled, Alexa, clearly furious, stormed off with her faithful minions trailing closely behind her, their expressions mirroring her disdain.

Meanwhile, Malcolm, with an almost unreal intensity, kept his gaze firmly locked on me. The crowd of pack members, engrossed in the heated argument moments earlier, shifted their focus, whispering among themselves, eager to discover what would happen next.

Malcolm's piercing stare held me captive until Mathew, effortlessly charismatic, drew his attention away momentarily. The two turned and walked away, leaving a tense silence I couldn't break away from.

As I stood in the long line, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I felt excitement and nervous anticipation. The air was thick with chatter and laughter as fellow graduates exchanged stories and last-minute congratulations. My thoughts, however, wandered back to Malcolm.

This was the second time he had come to my defense, and I couldn't help but wonder what motivated him to step in for me. Was it him being genuinely concerned or something more complicated? The questions swirled in my mind like the colorful decorations around me.

After an eternity, I finally reached the front line and received my cap and gown. The fabric felt heavy in my hands, symbolic of the hard work I had put in and the weight of the moments yet to come.

With my gown draped over my arm, I joined the students walking toward the auditorium, where the graduation ceremony awaited. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation and nostalgia as we all prepared for this significant milestone in our lives.

As the ceremony commenced, an air of fear filled the room, with applause echoing softly as each name was announced. One by one, honorees took the stage, their faces glowing with pride and excitement.

When my name was finally called, a jolt of nerves coursed through me. My heart raced as I stood up, praying that my legs wouldn’t betray me, leading to a clumsy stumble before the audience.

With each step toward the stage, I could feel the eyes of my peers on me and the absence of my father, the nonsupport mingling with my anxiety. I took a deep breath, focusing on the bright lights ahead, hoping to make the moment memorable for all the right reasons.

As I stepped onto the stage to receive my diploma, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. Despite the cacophony of boos echoing from the crowd—some laced with disdain, others perhaps just teasing—I held my head high.

The moment felt surreal as if I were moving through a dream. With each step that brought me closer to the podium, I held tightly to the hope that this chapter of my life would finally end.

Once I had grasped my diploma, the rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The speeches and applause faded into the background, drowned out by my racing thoughts. I was consumed by my determination to break free from the constraints of the pack—both its expectations and its unrelenting judgment.

As my birthday approached in just two weeks, I couldn’t help but think that it would be the perfect opportunity to make my escape after midnight once I shifted for the first time.

Coincidentally, the Alpha quadruplet shares the same birthday as me. Their celebration would provide the ideal cover to leave. With the buzz of excitement surrounding their party, no one would notice one less person at a festivity filled with so many pack members.

It was the opportunity I yearned for, a fleeting moment that promised the freedom to slip away unnoticed and finally carve my path in the world. The thought of connecting with my mother’s old pack filled me with nostalgia and hope. It might hold the key to my future, a sense of belonging that had eluded me for so long.

I know I never knew my mother since she died giving birth to me, but I knew I needed to sift through her belongings to uncover the remnants of her life and perhaps reignite a piece of myself that felt like something was missing.

The question lingered—had my father preserved her things after all this time? I resolved to wait for my father to leave the house, biding my time before I dove into the depths of our home, eager to explore the memories of hidden boxes and pictures.

Every second felt like an eternity, not knowing anything about my mother. Still, I knew that finding her belongings could be the first step toward claiming my identity and discovering where I truly belonged.

After the graduation ceremony was finally over, I rushed back home because I had to work at the pack house soon. There will be a grand celebration for all graduates, excluding me, of course. All students and staff from our school were invited to the celebration at the pack house, which means there will be a lot of work for me to do.

As I stepped through the front door and into the familiar warmth of my home, I kept my footsteps light, my mind filled with the hope of not awakening my father if he happened to be inside. The air held a faint aroma of yesterday's breakfast, and I glanced around to see the remnants of our hurried morning meal scattered across the dining table — mismatched plates, a half-empty coffee cup, and a few stray utensils, all vestiges of an abrupt start to the day.

With a sigh, I made my way over to the table, tackling the stack of dishes individually. Each clatter of porcelain reminded me of the urgency in my heart as I cleaned up the mess. Still, when I finally looked around, I noticed an unsettling detail: my father's car keys were nowhere to be found, nor was his well-worn jacket draped over the back of a chair, its familiar texture and scent absent from the space.

A wave of relief washed over me, realizing he must have already left the house. This was the perfect opportunity, a brief window of solitude that I could use to explore his room in search of my mother's belongings, which had been tucked away far from prying eyes. My thoughts raced as I contemplated what I might uncover, hoping that I would finally find the answers I sought.

I bolted up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest as I reached my father’s bedroom door. Standing in front of it, I hesitated, uncertainty gripping me like a vice. I stood still, taking a deep, calming breath, steadying myself for what lay beyond. With a mix of fear and determination, I grasped the cool brass doorknob and turned it gently, pushing the door open with a soft creak.

As I stepped inside, I was met with the unfamiliar yet unsettling scent of the room—an odd mix of old books, alcohol, and worn leather. My eyes darted around the space, taking in the dark mahogany furniture and the messy bed, the sheets slightly rumpled as if someone had hastily gotten up. The sunlight streamed through half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows that danced across the floor.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, scanning every corner for any sign of my mother’s belongings. Where would my father have hidden them? On the shelves lined with dusty books, or perhaps in the ornate wooden chest at the foot of the bed? My mind raced as I searched for clues, hoping to piece together something I could hold close about my mother.

I find myself grappling with the fact that I know nothing about my mother—none of her physical traits, no insights into her personality.

This void weighs heavily on my heart, leaving me yearning to uncover even the tiniest fragments of her existence. I’ve held on to the hope that understanding her could bring me some semblance of closure, a sense of connection that has long eluded me.

After countless fruitless searches through my father's room, I explored a place I hadn’t thought of before: under his bed. I knelt and pulled out a large, dusty box that seemed forgotten over the years.

Just as I reached for the box’s lid, a sudden noise pierced the stillness from somewhere downstairs, jolting me back to attention. Panic gripped me; I had to act quickly.

I carefully put everything back in place, ensuring it looked like I had never been in the room. With my heart still pounding, I hastily retreated from my father’s room.

I closed the door behind me and went to my room, my mind racing with thoughts and dreams unknowingly dashed, all while maintaining the facade that nothing had happened.

I heard the distinct sound of footsteps echoing against the wooden steps, drawing nearer from the lower levels of the house. A wave of anxiety washed over me, and I instinctively began to pray to the Moon Goddess, hoping she would shield me from my father’s suspicions. My heart raced as the doorknob rattled, and then, with a sudden motion, my room door swung open wide, causing a jolt of fear to shoot through me.

There he stood, my father, swaying slightly and his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol, a tangible reminder of his drunken state. "Shouldn't you be at work already?" he slurred, his voice a mix of confusion and irritation. I caught my breath and responded, “Yes, sir,” my tone carefully measured to conceal the panic bubbling beneath the surface.

He grunted in response and staggered down the hall, the floor creaking beneath his weight as he shuffled toward his room. Seizing the moment, I dashed out of my room and sprinted through the narrow hallway, adrenaline-propelled me forward, each hurried step echoing in my mind.

I needed to reach the pack house before he could piece together the truth of my presence in his bedroom. As I burst through the front door, the cool afternoon air hit my face and I took off, my heart pounding, knowing that every second counted before he could unravel what I had done.