The ceremony is over.
Like my parents wanted, I've been claimed.
At least, that's what they believe.
To them, I'm someone's omega now. But to me, it's just a glorified exit. A legal illusion smudged in ink, one ring on a finger, and one more piece of freedom gone.
No bond.
No bite.
No scent.
Just signatures on a page and a suffocating amount of silk.
I was surprised the officiant didn't say, "You may kiss your bride."
A thoughtful omission, probably intentional, I'm sure.
No one questioned it. No one dared.
Maybe he knew it wasn't worth risking the mood. The relief that washed over me in that moment was almost euphoric.
Because if there was one thing I didn't want?
It was that smug, flirty mouth anywhere near mine.
God only knows how many omegas those lips have touched. How many backs those hands have smoothed down with sweet lies and practiced charm.
I wasn't about to be added to the collection.
I descended the steps of the altar, face calm as marble.
My parents were crying—of course.
Tears spilling like this was some tragic farewell, some noble letting go.
They expected me to fall apart. To sob into my mother's shoulder like the helpless little omega she always wanted me to be.
But no matter how hard I tried, the feeling wouldn't come.
I didn't cry.
Didn't shake.
Didn't look back.
I wasn't shaped for that kind of grief—not for people who carved me into silence.
The only thing I'll truly miss is my room.
Not the house. Not the pastel-washed halls soaked in control and compliments.
Just my room.
My four quiet walls. My only rebellion.
And now, even that's been stripped from me.
My mother hugged me, fingers brushing along my cheek like I was made of porcelain.
"I'll miss you, my child," she whispered around her sniffles. "Don't forget to behave, okay?"
Really?
Even now?
Still trying to sand down my edges?
To hell with composure.
I kept my smile just sharp enough to survive the moment, but in my mind, I was already packing fire instead of clothes.
Eyes followed me from every corner of the hall. Guests inspecting the final product like I was a gleaming family heirloom boxed and handed away.
The obedient omega. Pristine. Presented. Ready for use.
Lucky for me, there weren't too many of them—just close allies and well-dressed predators. Tight-knit. Handpicked. Polite.
My parents didn't want a spectacle. They wanted a statement.
Fine by me. Fewer people to pretend and bow for.
The celebration was extravagant—of course—but still small. Exactly the kind of power play they preferred: loud where it mattered, quiet where it counted.
When the bows and blessings were over, I was led to the waiting black Maserati Mc40.
It was sleek. Clean. Power dressed in steel and silk.
God, it was beautiful.
I brushed my fingers across the leather like it might vanish.
And a small voice inside whispered,
"I wish this was mine. Just mine, Not bought through compliance. Not tied to sacrifice."
The tinted window beside me was half-down, giving me one last clean view of my parents and the guests who watched this performance from the fringes.
There would be an afterparty, obviously.
They let me go early.
"You'll want privacy for the wedding night," they said.
Lies.
They just wanted to drink, laugh, praise themselves, and have access to more networking—while pretending they weren't already lining up the next child to feed the machine.
I wanted to be sick.
The idea of that... of him touching me?
No.
I would do everything in my power to avoid mating with him. No matter what was expected. No matter what power came with it. No matter what sweet lies waited between the sheets.
Lucian entered the car smoothly, like smoke folding into an empty room.
His presence alone was a signal. The driver pulled away without being told.
My parents waved.
I waved back.
Obedient to the final frame.
The window rolled up. Their faces disappeared with the light. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until it slipped out softly, quietly escaping into the untouched air between us.
For the first time all day…
I sank into the seat.
Finally, out of their eyes.