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.