Isabella was almost half-carried by the two female bodyguards, dragged out of the cold office that radiated Alexander Kane's absolute will. Pain shot through her ankle with every inadvertent touch, making her draw in a sharp breath, but the physical pain was nothing compared to even a fraction of the torment in her heart. She felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut—devoid of any strength to resist, left with only numb despair.
They passed through a silent corridor lined with thick velvet carpeting. The walls were matte dark gray, without a single decorative painting. Only hidden light strips emitted a faint, cold glow, illuminating the path ahead. The silence was terrifying; she could hear only the steady footsteps of the bodyguards and her own slightly rapid breaths. The air still carried that faint, chilling scent of Kane's pheromones, omnipresent, a constant reminder that she remained within the absolute domain of that man.
At the end of the corridor appeared a heavy, matte black metal door, looking unusually solid. One of the bodyguards pressed her palm against a scanner embedded in the door, nearly blending with the wall. A soft "beep" sounded, and the door unlocked, silently sliding open.
"Miss Isabella, please." The bodyguard's voice was flat and expressionless, making a gesture.
Isabella was led inside. The door closed behind her without a sound, locking with a dull "click," completely cutting her off from the outside world.
She looked up in confusion, taking in this so-called "Silent" suite.
The first thing she noticed was the extreme quiet. The room's soundproofing was absurdly effective; the pounding rain and city noises outside were completely filtered out, leaving only a vacuum-like stillness pressing on her eardrums. It was a spacious living area, large enough to feel slightly empty. The decor continued Kane's minimalist style from the office, but with softer tones, featuring light grays, off-whites, and natural wood. The furniture looked expensive and design-forward, yet cold and lifeless, like a show apartment in a high-end hotel that no one ever lived in—immaculately clean to the point of suffocation.
A huge floor-to-ceiling window occupied one entire wall, though at this moment it was obscured by automatically adjusted smart frosted glass. The outside world was reduced to blurred, distorted shapes, as if isolated from reality. The room's lighting was soft, yet no clear source could be found—every light cleverly hidden in the ceiling, walls, or along furniture edges.
Everything she could need was there: a spacious living room, a brand-new open kitchen that looked untouched, a door leading to a bedroom, and another likely to a bathroom. On the surface, everything seemed comfortable and luxurious to the extreme, but she understood it was a beautifully crafted golden cage. The air smelled meticulously clean, but if one sniffed carefully, the faint, lingering, cold scent of Alexander Kane could still be detected, like an invisible mark proclaiming ownership.
"Please rest here. The doctor will arrive shortly." The female bodyguard finished speaking and stood on either side of the door like sentinels, eyes forward, no longer looking at her.
Isabella stumbled toward the massive gray sofa in the center of the living room. It looked soft and inviting, but she could no longer support herself and collapsed onto it. The plush material enveloped her, yet brought no comfort. She curled into herself, arms tightly around her knees, burying her face.
Tears had long since dried, leaving only a dry ache and a bone-deep chill. Kane's words, "You belong to me," echoed like a curse in her mind, shattering all her hope. She thought of her mother, a woman similarly controlled by fate and an Alpha, ultimately withering away… Could it be that after fighting with all her strength to escape, she was destined to walk the same path, only to fall into the hands of an even stronger, colder master?
Fear and despair surged like icy tides, crashing over her fraying nerves. The glands at the back of her neck were exposed to the air, slightly cooling, accompanied by a strange, unsettling emptiness, as if longing for something. The feeling made her even more panicked and disgusted. Instinctively, she tugged at the collar of her suit jacket, trying to cover the patch of skin that symbolized her Omega identity—and her current shame.
She lost track of time until the suite door opened again, silently.
A middle-aged Beta woman, dressed meticulously and carrying a medical kit, entered under David's guidance. Her expression was professional and cold, but when she saw Isabella curled up on the sofa, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of pity crossed her eyes before vanishing.
"Miss Isabella, Mr. Kane instructed me to attend to your injuries," the doctor said calmly, her tone distant and businesslike.
Isabella didn't respond, remaining in her protective posture.
The doctor said nothing further, kneeling carefully to examine Isabella's red, swollen ankle. The cool touch made Isabella flinch, instinctively trying to pull her foot back, but the doctor pressed it gently yet firmly.
"A sprain—not too severe, but a bit swollen due to delayed treatment," the doctor said, skillfully applying cold spray and elastic bandages to compress and stabilize it. "You'll need to rest for a few days and avoid putting weight on it."
After tending to her ankle, the doctor's gaze fell on the back of Isabella's neck. The skin was slightly reddened; without the protection of her suppression patch, her Omega glands were timidly releasing that pure, alluring scent of white bloom—faint, yet impossible to ignore.
The doctor retrieved from her kit a finely designed suppression patch, far superior to anything Isabella had ever used, along with a small bottle of oral suppressants.
"These were prepared per Mr. Kane's instructions," the doctor explained, her tone steady and flat. "The latest high-efficiency suppressants, with far fewer side effects than standard products on the market. Please cooperate."
Isabella snapped her head up, the last flames of defiance burning in her cyan eyes. "I don't want it! Take it away! I don't need his things!"
Using his suppressants would mean truly accepting his arrangement, admitting she was his property. This was the final shred of her pitiful resistance.
The doctor seemed unsurprised by her reaction, simply watching calmly. "Miss Isabella, you are an unmarked Omega. Your pheromones are unstable. Without using suppressants, whether or not you personally experience cycle disruption or pain, the mere leakage of your pheromones… could cause unnecessary complications." She paused meaningfully. "Mr. Kane does not wish for you to feel discomfort, but the safety and stability of this area must be the primary consideration."
The implication sent chills down Isabella's spine. Unnecessary complications? Did she mean attracting other Alphas—or… further provoking Alexander Kane himself? Thinking of his ice-blue eyes filled with possessiveness, she shivered.
Resistance was futile. Here, her will was insignificant.
A deep sense of helplessness washed over her. The flame in her eyes extinguished, reverting to a dead, ashen gray. Silently, she turned her back to the doctor, pulled down her collar, and exposed her vulnerable glands.
The cool suppression patch, faintly tinged with a minty freshness, was applied over the area, effectively blocking pheromone leakage and bringing a manufactured, icy calm. But she knew it was just another, stronger layer of prison walls. The doctor handed her water and the oral medication; like a soulless puppet, she obediently swallowed it.
The doctor finished her task and soon left. David entered shortly after, followed by a servant pushing a meal cart. Under the polished silver covers were steaming, nutritionally balanced dishes meticulously suited to an Omega's needs, accompanied by a cup of warm milk.
"Miss Isabella, please have lunch. If you require anything else, you may contact me via the room's intercom," David said, his tone eternally polite yet distant. "Mr. Kane may come by later."
At the mention of the last sentence, Isabella's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
The meal was arranged on the dining table, and the servant and David quietly withdrew, the door clicking shut behind them.
Alone in the room again, facing the spread of delicacies, she had no appetite whatsoever. The aroma of the food even made her feel slightly nauseous. She curled back onto the sofa, motionless like a frozen statue, staring out at the blurred, fogged world beyond the window.
Time crawled by in extreme silence, each second a torment. She tried to consider possible escapes, but inspecting her surroundings revealed vents and seams engineered with extraordinary precision—no gaps at all. Guards stood at the door; this was the top floor… despair coiled around her heart like tightening vines.
Hours, perhaps more, passed. Outside, the daylight dimmed gradually. The smart lighting automatically adjusted, creating a false twilight ambiance inside.
Just as Isabella's mind was on the verge of being crushed by this dead silence and endless waiting, the heavy door clicked open again.
Her heart jumped violently; she shot upright, every nerve taut to its limit.
Alexander Kane walked in.
He had changed into a new outfit—black silk shirt and matching trousers—which accentuated his tall, imposing figure, exuding both elegance and danger. He seemed to have just finished a day's work; a faint weariness lined his brows, yet those gray-blue eyes remained as sharp as an eagle's, instantly spotting her curled in the corner of the sofa.
He gestured with his hand, and the female bodyguards at the door silently retreated, closing the door behind them. Now, in this massive, silent cage, there were only the two of them.
Kane strode toward the living room with long, unhurried steps. His gaze scanned the untouched food on the table, eyebrows minutely furrowing.
"Not to your taste?" He sat down on the single sofa across from her, posture relaxed yet radiating invisible pressure. His long legs crossed casually, eyes resting on her as if appraising a piece of his own property that had thrown a minor tantrum.
Isabella pressed her lips tightly together, lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze or answer his question. She built her final fragile defense out of silence.
Her silence did not seem to anger him. Kane leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on his knees, closing the distance between them. That overwhelming, cold, fiery Alpha pheromone radiated more distinctly over Isabella; even through the high-efficiency suppression patch, she could feel the physiological pressure—and a faint, almost imperceptible pull—originating from him, the sensation filled her with intense shame.
"Still afraid?" His voice deepened, losing some of its daytime coldness, carrying a subtle, indistinguishable undertone, as if observing an interesting reaction. "Or are you angry?"
Isabella remained silent, curling her body even tighter.
Kane studied her pale face, her lowered, trembling eyelashes, her tightly pressed, bloodless lips, and the delicate neck with the suppression patch—his patch—applied… A strange sense of satisfaction and control rose in his heart.
Suddenly, he reached out—not to touch her—but picked up an idle remote on the coffee table and pressed a button.
The pristine wall opposite lit up, turning into a massive screen, quickly scrolling through footage—her small company's entrance, the cheap apartment she rented, even the convenience store she often visited… In the footage appeared several suspicious figures, some clearly sent by the White family searching for her, others unknown but with hostile eyes.
Isabella's breath caught, her eyes widening in disbelief as she stared fixedly at the screen.
"Look at your so-called 'free' life," Kane's voice rang cold, with a trace of mockery. "Without my intervention, how long do you think you could have stayed there in peace? A day? Two days? Those hounds from the White family—or other trash drawn by your scent—would tear you apart in an instant, leaving nothing but bones."
The footage switched to her previous purchases of high-potency suppression drugs from the dark web and the drug composition analysis reports.
"And these garbage," his tone carried undisguised disdain, "do you know that long-term overuse of these inferior suppression drugs can cause irreversible damage? Ovarian failure, nerve damage, even shortening your lifespan. This is the price of your so-called 'freedom'."
Isabella's face paled further, her body trembling slightly. She knew those suppression drugs were harmful, but she had no choice. She hadn't realized… everything was under his control. Her attempts to hide and struggle must have looked like a clumsy, pathetic comedy in his eyes.
"With me," Kane put down the remote, the screen darkening, and looked at her again, his gaze deep and penetrating, "you are safe. No one dares touch what belongs to me. You will get the best care, the best suppression drugs, no need to struggle for survival anymore."
He paused, his voice slowing, carrying an even more deadly temptation and pressure: "Admit it, Isabella. Your attempt to escape was a mistake. For a precious Omega without protection, this world is a jungle, and you…" He slightly curled his lips, "you need a strong Alpha, you need me."
"I'm not your possession!" Isabella finally lifted her head, tears filling her eyes again, yet stubbornly refusing to fall. "I don't need any Alpha! I just want to be myself! How dare you… how dare you decide my life!" Her voice trembled with emotion, choked with sobs.
"Dare?" Kane slowly stood up, walking step by step toward her. His tall figure once again completely towered over her. He leaned down, hands bracing the back of the sofa on either side of her, trapping her in a small space. His gray-blue eyes locked onto hers, swirling with dark desire and absolute confidence.
"Because I can."
"Because I want to."
"Because your pheromones are destined to be mine."
His tone was calm, yet it carried an undeniable, devastating power. He leaned in very close, his gaze tracing the subtle rise and fall of her chest from excitement, lingering finally at the back of her neck where the suppression patch was affixed.
"And," he suddenly let out a very soft laugh, tinged with cruel amusement, "do you really… not crave it at all?"
His fingertips hovered through the thin air, barely brushing the area of her glands. Even without direct contact, Isabella felt a sharp, instinctive shiver rush down her spine, originating from her Omega instincts. Those instincts, forcibly suppressed by the high-potency patch, were showing signs of awakening under his proximity and the lure of his pheromones! A strange, tingling, hollow desire stirred deep within her glands, filling her with overwhelming fear and self-loathing.
"No… I don't…" she weakly protested, her voice trembling beyond recognition.
A flash of knowing triumph appeared in Kane's eyes. His control over pheromones far exceeded normal limits. The deliberate, targeted allure he released for her, perfectly attuned to her, was nearly irresistible.
He didn't move any closer, merely maintaining his oppressive, aggressive posture, letting her fully sense his presence and power, feel the irresistible physiological pull, and the hopeless gap of authority between them.
"You'll get used to it, Isabella," he said softly, as if delivering a final verdict. "Used to my presence, used to my protection, even… used to my scent."
He straightened, giving her one last glance. That look was complex, mixing possession, interest, and a ruthless determination to claim.
"Rest well. Remember, this is your prison, but in a sense, it is also currently the only fortress that can protect you."
With that, he turned and left without a backward glance. The door closed and locked again.
Isabella slumped onto the sofa, drained of all strength. Cold tears finally slid down her cheeks again.
He had shattered her resistance, exposed her embarrassment, revealed her fragility, and cruelly stirred the pitiful, Omega instincts she most wanted to deny.
The golden cage remained a cage. And more frighteningly, the one who built it seemed intent not only on imprisoning her body but also on taming her very soul.
Outside, the lights of Star City gradually came alive. Through the fogged glass, only a blurry, dazzling glow remained, distant and unreal.
Isabella curled up on the luxurious yet cold sofa, feeling as if she were drifting in a boundless, despairing sea of darkness.