{ It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do ~ Jane Austen // Sense and Sensibility }
Chiara almost darted out of the patio doors, her heart pounded in her ears, matching the click clacking of her heels resounding from the ground. The only thing keeping her from running away and shifting out of her awful dress and heels was the wolves watching and waiting for a moment of weakness from her. Chiara kept her chin high, and her gaze focused ahead as she felt their gazes pierce through her, judging her again for her sister's crimes.
Their hushed whispers still reached her ears, but the Gamma played ignorant. She now had to prove herself again after the mark Lydia left on the Gattoni name. It didn't matter if she killed her; Chiara was not going to brag about something, so she had their respect.
Her fists balled by her sides. If she was a male werewolf, there would be no issues. She was sure of it.
