I Ran From My Psycho Step-brother Straight Into The Alpha's Lap novel Chapter 13

**When Night Grows Softer Hope Returns To Lead Us by Asa Rowan Finn**

The afternoon slipped away in a haze, each minute blending into the next like colors on a painter’s palette. Once her workday was over, Sophie made her customary pilgrimage to the library, a sanctuary where the scent of old books mingled with the promise of escape. After losing herself among the shelves, she headed to the shelter, her heart swelling with anticipation as she thought of Olivia. It was only when she found herself teaching the little girl the graceful movements of sign language that the tension in Sophie’s frazzled nerves began to unwind, like a tightly coiled spring finally letting go.

But as always, tranquility was a fleeting visitor.

Later that evening, Sophie retreated to her room, hoping for a moment of solace. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of her roommate—an embodiment of chaos—sprawled across her bed, headphones firmly in place, blissfully unaware of Sophie’s presence. It was a familiar scene, one that had played out far too many times.

Sophie didn’t waste her breath on futile attempts at communication. With a determined stride, she made her way to the dresser, her heart pounding with a mix of dread and expectation.

As she yanked the drawer open, her breath caught in her throat.

Empty.

A wave of disbelief washed over her as she froze in place, fingers stretching into the back of the drawer, searching for any sign of her belongings. All she felt was the rough texture of wood splintering under her fingertips.

Her spare t-shirt. Her only change of underwear. The little toiletry kit Renna had gifted her… All vanished.

Whipping around, she shot a glare at her roommate, who remained blissfully ignorant, eyes closed, foot tapping to a rhythm only she could hear, a smirk dancing at the corners of her lips.

Rage ignited within Sophie’s chest, a fiery explosion that felt like gasoline being doused with a match.

Her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles popped, the urge to drag the girl off the bed by her hair and smash that self-satisfied expression into the wall surged through her veins. Honestly, she had replayed that fantasy in her mind a hundred times, crafting the perfect revenge.

Yet, logic wrapped around her like a rusty chain, suffocating her thoughts.

Fighting back would mean eviction.

Eviction meant sleeping on the streets. And sleeping on the streets meant becoming a target for Brody, who would relish tearing her apart.

Endure. Just endure it.

As the clock ticked, Sophie took a deep breath and slammed the drawer shut with a resounding bang.

Her roommate finally opened her eyes, feigning innocence, even daring to arch an eyebrow as if challenging Sophie to confront her.

With her heart racing, Sophie stormed into the shower block. She yanked the curtain shut with a fierce tug and sank down against the cold concrete wall. No soap. No shampoo. She allowed the hot water to cascade over her skin until it turned crimson, desperately trying to wash away the filth of humiliation that clung to her like a second skin.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally stood up.

With no fresh clothes to change into, she resigned herself to washing the very outfit she wore.

She crept into the laundry room, her movements stealthy, checking for any sign of life. The coast was clear. She quickly stripped down, her heart racing.

The moment the dryer stopped, she snatched her scorching hot clothes, flinging them on her body before bolting from the room.

Back in her room, she buried herself under the thin blanket, setting her alarm for 4 AM, a reminder of the struggles yet to come.

Hunger twisted her stomach into knots. Lying there in her damp t-shirt, she listened to the rhythmic sound of her roommate’s snores, staring into the suffocating darkness.

Happy eighteenth birthday. No cake. No gifts. Just theft, humiliation, and the constant urge to run for her life.

Morning arrived, and Sophie woke before her alarm could blare. She dragged herself to the communal sinks, fighting against the fatigue that clung to her like a shadow.

No toothbrush. With a sigh, she rubbed her teeth with a damp finger. No face wash either. Her gaze fell on the bottle of pink industrial hand soap sitting on the counter.

Stop being a princess.

She pumped a handful of the harsh soap and scrubbed her face vigorously. The chemical lemon scent made her stomach churn, but it was a small price to pay for not looking like a greaseball.

Glancing in the mirror, she took in her reflection: dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, hair tangled into a messy bun—an unfortunate result of not owning a brush—and that ridiculous cat shirt that made her look as if she had raided a toddler’s closet.

With a forced smile that resembled more of a grimace, she tossed her towel into the bin and stepped out into the biting 4 AM wind, head held high.

Whatever slap the world had in store for her today, she was ready to hit back.