The slap rang out, sharp and cruel. I staggered but refused to fall, refusing them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble beneath their contempt.

“You worthless Omega,” Martha Hart hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You should be grateful we kept you this long. Now, you’ll finally serve a purpose.”

Her words, colder than the winter winds outside, cut through me deeper than the sting on my cheek. I clenched my fists tightly, nails digging into my palms as the shame and anger churned within me.

“The auction’s tomorrow,” Gerald Hart said, his tone mockingly cheerful. “You’ll fetch a fine price. Perhaps then you’ll stop being such a burden.”

I fixed my glare on him, my jaw tight. “I’m not some animal to be sold.”

Gerald laughed, the sound hollow and cruel, reverberating off the walls like a haunting melody of despair. “Oh, but you are, Liana. You’ve leeched off us for years—eating our food, occupying our space—and this is how you repay us. Consider this your redemption.”

Martha’s heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as she approached, her cold eyes locking on mine. She grabbed my chin roughly, tilting my face upward. Her nails dug into my skin as she sneered, “You’re an Omega. Born to serve, not to speak. Remember your place.”

I jerked my face away, summoning every ounce of defiance I could muster. “One day, you’ll regret this.”

“Enough!” Gerald’s voice thundered, his expression darkening. He turned to the guards standing by the door, his gesture commanding. “Take her to the preparation chamber. Make sure she looks… acceptable.”

The guards stepped forward, their hands like iron clamps as they grabbed my arms. I struggled, digging my heels into the floor, but their grip was unrelenting. Their laughter followed me down the hall, ringing in my ears like a cruel taunt.

The preparation chamber was cold, the walls stark and sterile. The air felt heavy with despair, thick enough to choke on. Other Omegas stood motionless, their gazes vacant, their spirits crushed under the weight of what awaited them.

A woman approached me, her face expressionless as she began scrubbing my skin with rough hands. Her silence was oppressive, but I broke it anyway. “Who is he?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated, her movements faltering for just a moment. “Damian Cole,” she murmured. “The Alpha of the Northern Territories.”

The name sent a chill down my spine. Damian Cole. His reputation preceded him—a man of immense power, feared and respected in equal measure. His name was whispered in tales of dominance and ruthlessness.

“What does he want?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

The woman didn’t reply. Her silence spoke volumes.

Hours later, they led me into the grand auction hall. The space was opulent, suffocatingly so, with velvet drapes and golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the gathered crowd. The air buzzed with dominance, the low hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter.

Wealthy men and women lounged on plush chairs, their eyes gleaming with hunger as they appraised the line of Omegas on display.

“And now,” the auctioneer’s oily voice rang out, drawing all eyes to him, “the crown jewel of tonight’s collection—Liana Hart.”

A spotlight hit me, blinding and suffocating in its intensity. My heart raced as I stood exposed before the room, every gaze a chain wrapping tighter around my neck.

“Five thousand,” someone called out, breaking the silence.

“Ten thousand,” another countered, the bids climbing with alarming speed.

The air seemed to thrum with their excitement, their voices growing louder as the numbers rose. My chest tightened with every bid, each one solidifying my fate.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos like a blade, commanding and final.

“One million.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the words pressing down on everyone. Gasps rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned toward the speaker.

Damian Cole.

He sat at the back, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of dominance that demanded attention. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, a smirk playing on his lips as if he already owned me.

The auctioneer faltered, his voice trembling as he repeated the bid. “O-One million! Going once… going twice…”

“Sold,” Damian declared, his tone brooking no argument.

The gavel struck, the sharp sound reverberating through the hall like a death knell.

I stared at him, my breath caught in my throat. He didn’t look away, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that promised nothing but danger.

As the guards escorted me from the stage, my heart pounded in my chest. Whatever nightmare I thought I had been living was nothing compared to the one I now faced. My fate was sealed, my life no longer my own.

Damian Cole had claimed me, and my world would never be the same.

The murmurs swelled as the auctioneer finalized the sale, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat. Damian Cole rose from his seat, his tall, commanding frame slicing through the crowd. He moved with the deliberate grace of a predator, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

The cold night air stung my skin as I was led outside, flanked by guards who didn’t spare me a glance. Damian walked ahead, his strides unhurried, exuding an air of absolute control. He never looked back, as if I were no more significant than the shadows stretching behind him.

We stopped by a sleek black car, its glossy surface gleaming under dim streetlights. A guard opened the door and motioned for me to enter. I hesitated, my instincts screaming to run, but I had nowhere to go. The auction hall loomed behind me, a grim reminder of my captivity.

“Get in,” Damian’s voice cut through the silence, calm but edged with steel.

I climbed into the car, the leather seat cold beneath me. Damian followed, sitting across from me. The door shut with a soft thud, sealing us in.

For a moment, silence hung heavy, suffocating. I stared at my hands, refusing to meet his gaze, though I felt its weight pressing down on me.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his tone detached.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I replied, the lie thin and shaky.

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Brave words for someone so vulnerable. Lying doesn’t suit you, Omega.”

The word struck like a blow, the reminder of my status igniting anger in my chest. My jaw tightened. “What do you want from me?”

His gaze locked onto mine, cold and unyielding. “What I want,” he said slowly, “is for you to remember who owns you now.”

The car slowed as we approached a wrought-iron gate, its menacing spires silhouetted against the night. Beyond it, a sprawling mansion loomed, its dark windows reflecting the moonlight like predatory eyes.

The car halted, and the guards pulled the doors open. Damian stepped out first, his presence even more imposing in the dim glow of the estate’s lights.

“Welcome to your new home,” he said, his voice laced with mockery.

Inside, the mansion was as cold as its master—gleaming marble floors, harsh lighting, and an air of rigid control. Damian led me upstairs, his footsteps echoing against the high ceilings. At the end of a long hallway, he opened a door.

“This is where you’ll stay,” he said.

I stepped inside, noting the sterile space: a bed, a wardrobe, and a single window shrouded by heavy curtains.

“And if I refuse?” I asked, my voice defiant.

He stepped closer, the air between us crackling with tension. His eyes shifted to my shoulder, narrowing at something just visible beneath my collar.

“What’s this?”

Panic surged as I raised a hand to cover the scar. “It’s nothing,” I snapped.

His gaze hardened, and he grabbed my wrist. “Who did this to you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

His grip remained firm, but his tone softened, dangerous and low. “It is my business now.”

I yanked free, my voice trembling. “You don’t own my past.”

He held my gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “You’ll tell me eventually,” he said, turning to leave. The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with the weight of his words—and the strange tightness in my chest that refused to fade.

The lock clicked beneath my trembling fingers. It was an old, ornate door—one I hadn’t noticed during Damian’s forced tour earlier. His mansion was a maze of dark hallways and locked rooms, but this one felt different, like it was daring me to open it.

I pushed the door open, the creak slicing through the silence. The scent of old paper and damp earth filled the air. A dim bulb hung from the ceiling, casting flickering shadows over shelves packed with dusty tomes, jars of strange substances, and artifacts that seemed to hum faintly with unseen energy.

In the center of the room sat a cluttered desk. My gaze fell on an open journal, its yellowed pages filled with diagrams and hurried notes. One word stood out, bold and underlined across the top: “Lunar Wolves.”

The phrase gripped me, its weight pressing down on my chest. My pulse quickened as I skimmed the pages, piecing together fragments: “hierarchy,” “alpha bloodlines,” “moon cycles.” The scattered notes hinted at something deeper, something dangerous.

“Curiosity can be fatal, little Omega.”

The voice sent ice through my veins. I spun around, clutching the journal to my chest. Damian stood in the doorway, his towering frame cutting off any escape. His dark eyes pinned me in place, sharp and unforgiving.

“I—” My voice broke, the journal trembling in my hands. “I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click.

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” I stammered, though the words felt meaningless.

“Trouble?” His smile was cold and humorless. “You’ve found more than that.”

He advanced, each step measured and predatory. I instinctively backed away until the desk’s edge dug into my spine.

“What do you know about Lunar Wolves?” His voice was calm, disarmingly so, and it terrified me more than a shout would have.

“Nothing,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“Lying again?” His fingers brushed the journal, still clutched to my chest. “You’re growing bold, aren’t you?”

Before I could react, he snatched the journal from my grasp. He flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable, but the air around him grew heavier.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“To what?” he cut me off, his tone sharp as a blade. “Pry into things beyond your comprehension? Invade my privacy?”

“If it’s so private,” I shot back, my fear warring with defiance, “why leave it somewhere it could be found?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he leaned in, his face inches from mine. “Because no one would dare defy me. No one… except you.”

The tension crackled like a storm. “What are you going to do?” I forced out, my voice steadier than I felt.

His smile returned, cruel and deliberate. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before I could protest, his iron grip closed around my arm. He dragged me from the room, the journal abandoned on the desk, its secrets waiting like a trap left unsprung.

“You wanted answers,” he said, his voice cold as steel. “Now you’ll face the consequences.”

The door slammed shut behind us, and dread sank deep into my chest. I’d opened a door that should’ve stayed locked—and now, there was no going back.