An Hour Later…
We arrived at the venue.
The car door opened, and a wave of cold air rushed in—sharp, crisp, and deceptively clean. It carried the faint scent of roses and polished marble, expensive and artificial, like everything else about this day. I stepped out slowly, bouquet still clenched in my hand, the veil brushing against my cheeks as I straightened.
The venue was enormous, towering columns stretching toward the sky, draped in white and gold fabrics that glittered under the afternoon light. Everything looked grand, perfect, and painfully suffocating. Omegas like me weren't meant to walk into places like this with their heads high.
My mother's hand pressed lightly against my back—guiding, directing, controlling.
"Smile," she whispered without looking at me.
I did.
Guests turned their heads as we approached. Their eyes didn't just look—they inspected, evaluated, and judged. I could almost hear their thoughts: What a beautiful omega. So docile. So perfect. Such a good match for an alpha of that status.
If only they knew.
My father stood near the entrance, speaking with people I didn't recognize. When he saw us approaching, his face lit up with pride—not for me, but for what I represented. An investment. A connection. A ticket to more power.
"Mikael," he said with a nod. "Stand straight. Not too rigid. And keep your eyes lowered."
Like always, they didn't wait for me to answer. They didn't have to. My obedience was already assumed.
Inside the hall, music hummed softly, elegant and slow. White petals lined the aisle, arranged so precisely it looked like a crime to step on them. Chandeliers hung overhead, crystals catching the light in a way that made everything sparkle—like a dream, if dreams felt like cages.
I felt people watching me from every side, their whispers brushing against my skin like spiderwebs.
I held the bouquet tighter.
My heartbeat was steady. Too steady.
Resignation masquerading as calm.
This day was supposed to be beautiful.
But all I felt was the quiet kind of anger that sits under the ribs and waits.
I breathed in.
I breathed out.
I kept walking.
Because I had no choice. For now.
Then my eyes landed on him. The Alpha, he was standing there on the altar… staring at me as I walked closer.
His stare was a blade.
Cold. Heavy. Unblinking.
My steps faltered for half a second—not because I feared him, but because I hated the way everyone else seemed to shrink under his gaze… except me.
He towered over everyone near him, broad shoulders framed by a tailored black suit, jaw sharp as if carved from stone. Dominance radiated off him like heat from a wildfire.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't pretending.
He looked at me like I was a challenge wrapped in lace.
When I finally reached the altar, his eyes traveled from my veil down to the bouquet, then back up—slow, assessing, unapologetic. Like he was reading a file stamped property.
I tightened my grip on the bouquet and forced my gaze downward, as expected. My mother practically vibrated with approval behind me.
Then he spoke.
Quiet. Low. Dangerous.
"Look at me." The words slid under my skin like a command, but something inside me snapped back in defiance.
I didn't move.
His breath shifted a little, like I'd surprised him. Like no omega had ever ignored him in public before.
"Intresting," he murmured, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips.
My pulse spiked, not in fear— in irritation.
If he thought I was going to obey just because he had a pretty face and scary shoulders, he was very, very mistaken.
I could feel his hot gaze on me, I expected him to be angry cause I didn't answer him but he wasn't and I don't know if that's good or bad, but what he said next made all the nerves in my body flare up.
"Lower your head if you want. It doesn't change anything. All Omegas break eventually."
He murmured it just for me, smug and low, and something in me snapped clean in half.
My head jerked up before I could stop myself, fury burning hot behind my eyes.
Who the hell does this bastard think he is?
All Omegas break?
You don't know me.
I was supposed to be the quiet, obedient, submissive little doll they dressed me up to be—but right now all I wanted was to rip his damn head off. And the motherfucker smirked. He fucking smirked. Which doubled my anger instantly.
"What?" he added softly, leaning in just a bit. "Did I pop a pimple?"
If looks could kill, he would be a skeleton on the floor.
I could feel my mother's gaze drilling into the side of my skull, a warning, a reminder:
You do not look your Alpha in the eyes.
Yes, I know. It's disrespectful. It's reckless. It's everything I was trained not to do.
But this Alpha right here? What's his name again? Yeah, Lucian Christwealth.
To hell with him.
Words crowded my throat—sharp, loud, dangerous.
I wanted to lash out, curse him, drag him down from his precious pedestal.
But I couldn't. Acting like that woul
d be the same as leaping straight into hellfire.
Still… if this man wants to play rough?
Oh, I'm ready.