[Three hours Earlier]
Angela trudged up the narrow path, the wicker basket slung over her arm nearly empty. Only the faint scent of dried tea leaves clung to its woven fibers. Her feet were sore, her shoulders aching from the long walk back from the plantation.
When she stepped into the small compound, she slowed. Two strangers stood at the doorway with her mother; tall, severe women in fitted coats, their presence heavy like a storm cloud. They spoke in low voices, their eyes occasionally darting toward the gate.
Angela froze inside, clutching the basket. The women's gazes lifted toward her in unison, studying her in a way that made the hairs on her arms rise. One of them tilted her chin ever so slightly...then smiled slow, deliberate, as though she'd found exactly what she was looking for.
Her mother noticed her and moved quickly, taking Angela gently but firmly by the arm. She pulled her a few steps away, lowering her voice.
"I want you to go with them because you're the only one who can save us now."
"Save you? How?" Angela asked, still dazed.
Her mother's eyes hardened. "Look at us. Your father's hospital bills are eating what little we have left. Your college fees are unpaid. Why should we suffer when you have what men are willing to pay for?"
Angela stared at her. "You...you mean"
"Yes," her mother said flatly. "Use your body. Other girls do it and they live better than us. You can, too. It's time you start thinking about survival. Our survival ."
Angela's stomach twisted. "No. I'm not doing that. I'll work harder at the plantation, I'll..."
Her mother cut her off with a sharp look. "Harder work will still pay nothing. And time is not on our side."
"I'm not..." Angela began, but the words faltered when she saw her mother glance past her toward the strangers.
The taller of the two stepped forward, her boots whispering against the dusty ground. "We'll take it from here," she said softly, almost kindly, though the gleam in her eyes made Angela's skin crawl.
Angela backed away instinctively, but the shorter woman was already behind her, her grip firm on Angela's shoulder.
"Let go of me!" Angela snapped, panic rising.
Her mother didn't move to stop them. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked away, as if the sight of her daughter being pulled toward the waiting black car was something she didn't want or couldn't bear to watch.
The taller stranger leaned close as they reached the gate. "Don't fight," she murmured.
"You'll make it worse for yourself."
Suddenly, a folded cloth, damp and sweet smelling, was pressed hard over Angela's nose and mouth. The scent hit her instantly; sharp, cloying, inescapable.
Her hands shot up to pull it away, but her strength faltered as the world blurred and swayed around her.
Her knees buckled.
And just like that... Angela's world tilted into darkness.
...
Angela's eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of a vanity mirror. The scent of heavy perfume and stale cigarette smoke clung to the air. Her head throbbed. Her blouse hung loosely, the top buttons undone as though someone had rifled through her clothes.
A faint rustle drew her gaze to the side.
There, perched on a velvet stool, sat a woman in her fifties. Her hair was piled high in a nest of curls, streaked with fading blonde dye. Thick eyeliner traced eyes that watched her from the reflection in the mirror, while a scarlet lipstick tube hovered just shy of her mouth. Her dress glittered faintly under the yellow bulb overhead sequins that had seen too many nights.
The woman caught Angela's gaze in the mirror and smiled without warmth.
"Well, well...Sleeping Beauty wakes up," she drawled, her tone laced with something between amusement and mockery, "About time, sweetheart."
Angela blinked, her mouth dry. "Where...where am I?"
The woman in the sequined dress capped her lipstick with a snap. "Where you need to be," she said flatly, turning on the stool to face her.
"And you're going to do exactly what you're told. Sell what you've got, and you'll be fine. Don't, and...well, let's just say you won't like the alternative."
Her words landed cold, without a trace of sympathy.
"Tessa!" she called suddenly, her voice cutting through the haze of music and muffled chatter beyond the door.
A moment later, a girl stepped in tall, slim, wearing a plain black dress that hung just above her knees. No sparkle, no attempt at glamour, just functional clothing that spoke of errands and obedience. Her hair was pinned back tightly, and she kept her eyes lowered.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"You know what to do," the older woman said, waving one lacquered hand toward Angela.
"Take her."
"Yes, ma'am."
The girl turned to Angela, her voice quiet but firm. "Follow me."
Angela hesitated, heart thudding. She didn't know where this would lead, but the look in the girl's eyes a mix of boredom and warning told her she had no real choice.
She rose slowly from the bed, clutching the edge of her blouse, and stepped after the girl, every movement edged with fear.
...
The girl led Angela through a narrow hallway lined with closed doors. Faint perfume and muffled laughter seeped from behind them. As they passed, a few girls lounging against the wall glanced over.
"The new bae," one of them murmured, smirking.
Angela kept her eyes down.
They stopped at a door near the end. The girl opened it and stepped aside. Inside, another young woman sat at a vanity table, brushing out her. She turned, sizing Angela up in one slow sweep.
"Jennifer," the girl who'd brought her said simply. "She's here."
Jennifer stood, lips curving faintly. "It's time to get rid of those rags of yours," she said, her tone half mocking.
Angela hesitated.
"Come on," Jennifer added. "You need to look like a snack. Sit down."
Angela did as she was told. Powder, gloss, and a heavy necklace followed in quick succession. The mirror reflected a stranger's face back at her.
Jennifer tilted her head. "You look like someone attending a funeral. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in this place?"
The other girl in the room snorted. "She doesn't even realize. Some of us would give anything to be the fated mate of an Alpha."
Angela frowned. "Alpha?"
Jennifer gave a sly smile. "Not just any Alpha. The queen-to-be Alpha herself is searching for her mate. And guess what? She's handsome, dangerous...a master in every sense of the word. Girls here would tear each other apart for that kind of luck."
Angela stayed silent, the words twisting in her mind.
Just then, a group of stunning girls drifted past the open doorway. Their gowns shimmered under the hallway lights, every step dripping with confidence. One of them waved at Jennifer in passing.
"They're lucky," the other girl murmured.
"They've already earned the privilege first class Omegas to stand close to the highest ranking Alphas, the Queens-to-be, within the inner circle."
What kind of nonsense...Angela thought, her brows knitting. They spoke about Alphas and Omegas like it was the most natural thing in the world. To her, it all sounded like those over-dramatic fan novels Maria used to gush over, full of impossible pairings, destined mates, and world shaking love stories. The kind you enjoy reading...but never actually believe.
Angela decided to play along, masking her disbelief with a light smile.
"And me?" she asked. "What do you think I am?"
Tessa gave a small shrug. "We're in the in-between class. Not confirmed Omegas, not Betas either. Our blood hasn't been certified. So...we work here. Entertain the civilians-the non-VIPs." she smirked. "We're good enough to look at, not good enough for the high tables."
Jennifer had already drifted over to the wardrobe, pulling out a slinky, deep red dress that caught the light. "This will do," she murmured, tossing it to Angela.
Angela hesitated, but under Jennifer's watchful gaze, she slipped into it. The fabric clung in ways she wasn't used to. Jennifer moved behind her, adjusting the straps, smoothing the sides.
"There," Jennifer said, eyeing her critically. "Not bad."
A knock came at the door. A young girl leaned in, eyes darting over them.
"You're needed," she said. "Selection is about to start. Civilians are choosing their picks."
Angela stood there stiffly, her hands brushing against the smooth fabric of the red dress. Tessa's gaze lingered on her for a moment before she asked, "Are you...innocent?"
Angela glanced at her, then quickly away. She didn't answer.
Jennifer stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Don't worry," she said in a low voice. "You'll get over it soon. We all did."
Angela pressed her lips together. Get over it. As if it were something you could just shrug off like a jacket.
"Come on," Tessa said, straightening.
"Selection's starting."
Angela wobbled a little as she stepped forward. The heels made her feel like she was walking on stilts, every move an effort to keep steady.
They entered a wide, softly lit room. A row of high stools curved in a semi-circle along the edge of a low stage. Girls in glittering outfits were already perched there, their hair shining under the lights. Some leaned forward with practiced charm, others sat back with deliberate elegance.
Tessa guided Angela toward an empty stool.
"Like this," she murmured, taking her place and crossing one long leg over the other, chin tilted just so.
Angela tried to copy her, adjusting her position. The stool was higher than she expected, and she gripped the edge for balance, forcing herself not to look as uneasy as she felt.
The line of civilians drifted closer, but one woman's gaze fixed on Angela and never left. She slowed, assessing her from head to toe with an intensity that made Angela's skin prickle.
The head of the selection a sharp-voiced older woman in black, stepped forward quickly.
"She's...a special case," she said, her tone deliberate. "Fresh. Untouched."
A murmur rippled through the civilians.
"That comes with a heavy price," the head added, her eyes darting toward Angela as if warning them off...or driving the price higher.
Two men near the back-tall, dark haired, and so alike they could have been twins, exchanged the glance. One arched a brow; the other's lips curled faintly, as if they'd just agreed to something without speaking.
The tension sharpened. The head's gaze flicked between them and the woman who had first noticed Angela.
"You'll have to outbid," she said flatly.
Angela's breath caught. She wasn't sure if she wanted the binding to stop...or to win.
The air was thick quiet tension as the woman in red locked eyes with the twin brothers.
"She's mine," she said, her voice cool but edged with challenge.
The older twin leaned forward, fingers drumming lazily against the polished table.
"Everything," he said, "has a price." The younger added with a low chuckle, "And we don't lose."
The bids began low at first, then climbing fast.
Angela stood frozen in the center of the floor, her pulse loud in her ears. She could feel the attention, the weight of every stare in the room.
The woman in red raised her bid with confident ease.
The twins countered without hesitation.
Back and forth.
Higher and higher.
The air felt charged, like a storm about to break.
Then the older twin named a number that stopped the murmurs cold.
It was obscene.
Enough to make even the head of the selection raise a brow.
The woman in red hesitated and that was all it took.
"Sold," the head announced, her voice cutting through the silence. The crowd exhaled, whispers breaking loose.
The twins stood in unison.
The younger one's smile was sharp as a blade.
"Come along," he said, extending a hand toward Angela.
She hesitated, every instinct screaming to run but the head gave her a subtle nod, a warning in her eyes.
Her legs moved stiffy, the heels clicking against the floor as she followed the twins.
With each step, she felt the invisible chains tighten.
[Twenty Minutes to Present]
The lounge pulsed with low music and murmured laughter.
The twins patted the empty seat between them, coaxing her over with grins that didn't quite reach their eyes.
Angela slid into the space.
Instantly, both men leaned in, elbows on the table, hands bracketing her on either side. Too close.
The heat of their arms pressed in; the air between them felt tight, suffocating.
Her pulse stumbled.
She shifted in her seat, glancing around as if searching for something.
A waiter passed nearby, balancing a tray.
"Excuse me," she said softly, "where's the washroom?"
The man nodded toward the far corner, pointing just past the dance floor.
"Over there, miss."
Angela murmured a thank you, pushing back her chair.
The legs scraped against the floor, loud in her ears.
She crossed the room quickly, keeping her head down until the door shut behind her.
In the stillness, the music became a muffled throb beyond the walls.
She leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain hard enough for her knuckles to ache.
Her vision tilted, the room lurching sideways for a heartbeat.
She caught a breath, but the heat in her chest only climbed.
Her knees buckled-she was going to fall.
Hands caught her waist, firm and sure.
That warm, intoxicating scent filled her lungs, and her body reacted before she could think.
"Easy..."
The voice was low. Feminine. Too close.