The spotlight always felt like a cage dressed up as freedom.
I stood center stage at the Moonlight Arena, my body moving through choreography I'd perfected a thousand times. The crowd roared—fifteen thousand voices blending into white noise. My backup dancers flanked me in perfect synchronization, all of us dressed in flowing silver and midnight blue.
"When the night falls, I'm still standing..."
My voice carried across the arena, amplified and polished. No tremor. No weakness. The Serena Vale they came to see—untouchable, confident, in control.
But beneath the performance, my awareness mapped every exit, every security point, every shadow that moved wrong. Training I'd received from people who knew what it meant to survive, not just perform.
The song built to its crescendo. I hit the final note, arms extended as pyrotechnics exploded behind me. The crowd went wild.
I smiled. Bowed. Waved.
And felt absolutely nothing.
Backstage, I stripped off the performance costume with mechanical efficiency. My manager, Rita, rattled off tomorrow's schedule while I pulled on plain black jeans and a fitted jacket that concealed the knife strapped to my ribs.
"Serena, are you listening?"
"Interview at nine, photo shoot at eleven, rehearsal at three." I met her eyes in the mirror. "I've got it."
Rita's expression softened slightly. "You need security. Real security. These fan letters are getting—"
"I have security." I interrupted, zipping up my jacket. "Four extremely qualified professionals start tomorrow."
"Military contractors?" Rita raised an eyebrow.
"Isn't that overkill?"
I thought of the surveillance photo that had arrived at my private residence three days ago. Me, leaving my home at dawn. The timestamp. The angle. Someone had been watching for weeks.
"No," I said quietly. "It's not."
The apartment was silent when I arrived home at 2 AM. Thirteen hundred square feet of carefully controlled space. No clutter. No sentiment. Nothing that couldn't be abandoned in under five minutes if necessary.
I poured a glass of water and stood at the window, looking out over the city lights. Howl's Edge spread below me like a constellation of secrets.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. - SV
I stared at the message. SV. Silas Vorn, the pack leader of my new security detail. My brother Marcus had recommended them personally—men he'd served with in military operations I wasn't supposed to know about.
The feeling is mutual, I typed back.
Then I deleted it and sent nothing.
Trust wasn't something I gave easily. Not anymore.
I moved through my apartment, checking locks, security feeds, weapon placements.
Everything exactly where it should be. Then I stood in front of the mirror and let my breath slow, let my heartbeat drop to its resting rhythm.
And finally, I let my scent emerge.
Just for a moment. Just to remind myself it was still there.
Ginger and smoke. Not the florals omegas were supposed to have. Not the sweetness that made alphas lose their minds.
Something else entirely.
Something I'd learned to weaponize when I was eight years old and realized no one was coming to save me.
I pulled the scent back in, locked it down so completely that even another omega couldn't detect it. Perfect control. Perfect concealment.
The only freedom I'd ever truly had.
My phone buzzed again. This time, I knew the number.
You up? - Sofie
My cousin. The one person on this planet who could make me smile without trying.
Always. You okay?
Can't sleep. Thinking about visiting next week?
My chest tightened. Sofie was sweet, trusting, everything I wasn't anymore. And that made her vulnerable in ways she didn't fully understand.
I'd love that. Let me clear my schedule.
You mean let Rita clear your schedule lol
Details.
Love you, Sere.
Love you too, Sof.
I set the phone down and returned to the window. Tomorrow, I'd meet the men who were supposed to protect me. Men who thought they understood the threat I was facing.
They had no idea.
But they would learn.
Everyone always did, eventually.
The question was whether they'd stay once they knew the truth—that I wasn't the victim they expected to save.
I was something far more dangerous than that.