The Lost Alpha Princess

“Daisy, I’m so sorry that I can’t celebrate your birthday with you,” my only friend Amy told me over the phone. “I would definitely be there for you if I wasn't sick…” “Amy. It’s fine. I already got the cake you ordered for me and it looks delicious,” I said, looking at the small yet beautifully decorated birthday cake in my hand. Amy was my best and only friend at school. I wanted to tell her that school days when she couldn’t attend were long and lonely. But I don’t want her to feel worse. “I didn’t have my first shift last night, so today can’t be my actual birthday. You still have your chance to make it up to me,” I said. Orphans like me don’t know when we were born or if we are Alphas or Betas until our first shift. Werewolves never shift until midnight on their eighteenth birthday.  Today was September 5th, the birthdate on my adoption papers. It was assigned to me by officials when I was only a few months old. A shy, geeky werewolf like me couldn’t be an Alpha, but I didn’t care if I was a Beta or an Omega. I believe that everyone deserves a happy, productive life. Still, I couldn’t wait to shift. It would be awesome to know my actual birthday. And after I turned eighteen, my adoptive family would no longer control my life. I was working hard and saving my money for the day when I would be on my own and not need to depend on anyone. Especially people who didn’t want me. I walked in the back door of the house that never felt like my home and placed the cake on the kitchen table. Everything was quiet.  Maybe my adoptive beta parents, Cecilia and Andrew Smith, and their real daughter, Andrea, had forgotten my birthday. Again. After they were told they couldn’t have a biological child, the Smiths adopted me and named me Daisy. I remember feeling happy and safe for a brief time. But when I was six years old, Cecilia gave birth to Andrea, and my life changed.  From the moment Andrea was born, I was unwanted and ignored by the people I thought were my parents. It hurt the first few times I was called the adopted one, but I grew to not want them either. I gazed at my reflection in the hall mirror and hated what I saw. My frizzy hair and big glasses made me look like a bug-eyed freak, but at least the glasses helped hide my bushy eyebrows. And the baggy jeans and sweater I bought at the second-hand store hung on my thin body and made me look like a scarecrow. But the thing I hate the most about myself is the way I stutter when I’m nervous. When people hear me stutter, they assume I’m stupid or strange. And knowing it’s going to happen when I’m nervous, makes my stutter much worse. Everyone always called me the adopted one. They joked about how I would never be pretty or popular like Andrea. I guess they were right. “Daisy, is that you,” Cecilia’s voice called from the dining room. “Hurry into the dining room. We’re about to eat dinner.” I grabbed the birthday cake from the kitchen and followed Cecilia’s voice as she urged me to hurry and join the family. Maybe they didn’t forget my birthday like they did every other year since I was six.  “Look, everyone,” I said as I entered the dining room. The startled look on their faces made me wish I’d left the cake in the kitchen. “Amy o…ordered me a buh … birthday cake.” The room went silent as Andrea rolled her eyes. They had forgotten again. They didn’t care about me at all. “I’m sorry, Daisy,” Cecilia apologized, but her eyes were cold. “I’ve had such a busy day that I forgot it was your birthday. I barely had time to grab a pizza for dinner. But we can go to a restaurant to eat if you like.” “No way,” Andrea said with a shake of her head. “I don’t feel like going anywhere, Mom. And you know I love pizza.” Her eyes dared me to argue. “And why does Daisy’s birthday matter? She doesn’t know when she was born.” “P … Pizza is fine, Cecilia,” I said as I placed the birthday cake in the center of the table. “We can sh … share the c … cake afterward.”  I hated it when I stuttered. Why did I allow people, especially these people, to make me nervous? I help the family whenever I can, and I’ve never forgotten their birthdays. Cecilia gave me a tight smile. “Well then, Daisy, I promise we will take you somewhere to celebrate after your first shift, okay?” I nodded and sat down to eat pizza. The cake was the best part of the meal. I cleaned up the mess and did the dishes after we ate, and joined the family in the living room to watch the evening news. The top story was about the billionaire leader of the United Association of Alphas, Alex Wilson.  Alex Wilson had been searching for his missing daughter for years. Alberta was lost to him after the Wilson family was involved in a horrific car accident.  But Alex never gave up on finding his beloved daughter. The search for his heir intensified after his cancer diagnosis a few months ago. It was sad to think he could die without ever seeing Alberta again. The werewolf community was assisting their leader in finding the missing Alpha Princess. They all wanted her to be found so she could claim her inheritance and marry her chosen fiancé. Alberta’s husband would be the next leader of the United Association of Alphas.  The camera cut away to another reporter interviewing one of the most handsome men I had ever seen.  He was Victor Klein, another Alpha billionaire. After graduating from college, he became CEO of his family’s company and made it an even more successful business empire in just a few years.  Alex Wilson and the alliance had chosen Victor to be Alberta's husband and the next leader of the United Alliance of Alphas. The werewolf population needed the best leader. And he was indeed breathtaking. Victor spoke to the reporter about his recent trip to the hometown of Alex Wilson’s deceased wife. He accidentally found a rare childhood picture of hers. The camera shifted to a photo of Alberta’s mother, the one that everyone has seen in the news before. The Alpha female was beautiful, with long straight hair and delicate eyebrows. But the following image the newscaster showed was of Alberta's mother as a child.  She actually had naturally curly hair and bushy eyebrows as a kid! “If anyone knows the whereabouts of Alberta Wilson, call this number,” the reporter said. By now, Alberta would be almost eighteen and perhaps look similar to this photo.” I gasped as Cecilia, Andrew, and Andrea turned and stared at me. I was almost eighteen, and I did have curly hair and bushy brows. “The lost Alberta Wilson could be anywhere,” the newscaster said. “And she may not know who she is.”