Chapter 2

The chime of silverware against fine china, the clinking of glasses, the murmured conversations—it all formed a backdrop to the spectacle my father had orchestrated. I sat at the long mahogany table in our opulent dining room, my spine rigid, my smile plastered on like a mask. Father had outdone himself with the lunch, a feast that would have been more appropriate for a state dinner than a casual gathering of his allies.

He was in his element, holding court at the head of the table, a glass of the finest scotch in hand. He introduced me with the flourish of a maestro presenting his star performer. I was the bait dangled for these predators, my value measured by the connections I could secure for him.

“Gentlemen, may I present my daughter, Darcy,” Father said, his voice dripping with pride that was as false as the affection he feigned for me in public.

The alphas turned their predatory gazes on me, their nostrils flaring subtly as they scented the air—no doubt trying to discern if the rumors of my lack of heat were true. My scent was carefully blended with the scent of a baby powder perfume. Baby powder was the unmistakable scent that indicated an omega’s immaturity, so omegas would often employ this tactic to hide it.

I nodded politely, my eyes downcast in a show of submission that was expected of an omega. They didn’t bother to conceal their appraisal of me, their eyes roaming over my body with the kind of ownership that made my skin crawl.

My father, ever the politician, steered the conversation toward policy and power, his voice smooth and commanding. I listened, my mind cataloging their stances, their hypocrisy, their self-interest masquerading as public service. They spoke of omega rights with the same breath they used to discuss economic strategies as if our lives were nothing more than political capital to be spent and traded.

One of them declared, his voice booming across the table, “We must ensure the stability of our society, and that means supporting the traditional family structure.”

I wanted to scoff. The stability of society or the stability of their fragile male ego?

Another chimed in, his voice slick with insincerity. “Of course, we need to protect our omegas from the dangers of the world. It’s our duty as alphas to provide for them, to guide them.”

My thoughts were a whirlwind of contempt and disdain. Provide for us? Guide us? They didn’t want to protect us; they wanted to control us, to keep us subservient and dependent on their so-called strength.

The conversation droned on, the alphas vying for my father’s approval, which was ironic given my father was a beta, their words laced with veiled threats and empty promises. I watched the spectacle unfold, a silent observer in a world that was not my own. Every so often, Father’s gaze would land on me, a subtle reminder to maintain the facade, to play my part in this grand charade.

I was good at faking it, at pretending that their words didn’t sicken me, that their presence didn’t trigger the memory of pain and humiliation. I remembered the sting of my father’s belt, the searing heat of the welts rising on my skin, the taste of my own blood as I bit my tongue to stifle my cries.

But I was no longer that scared little girl. I had learned to wear my mask with practiced ease, to navigate the treacherous waters of my father’s world with a grace that belied the turmoil within. The memory of that beating served as a stark reminder of what was at stake—my freedom, my future, my very life.

The lunch seemed to stretch on interminably, each minute a small battle in the war for my independence. The alphas finally took their leave, their parting words a series of veiled compliments and not-so-subtle hints about future alliances.

As the door closed behind them, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, the tension in my shoulders easing ever so slightly. My father’s approving nod was a bitter victory, a testament to my ability to survive in a world that was never meant to be mine.

“You did well today, Darcy,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. “I’m confident that our guests left with a favorable impression.”

I smiled, the expression as brittle as glass. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

I watched the last of them file out of the dining room, their voices fading into the cavernous hallways of my father’s mansion. The lunch had been a grueling affair, a marathon of false smiles and empty pleasantries. I was just starting to relax, to let the tension seep out of my muscles, when the door swung open once more.

An older politician stepped back into the room, his presence commanding attention even in the absence of his peers. His eyes met mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us before he turned his gaze to my father. There was a moment, just a fraction of a second, where a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

This alpha was different. He was the leader of an omega-less pack, a fact that both intrigued and terrified me. His scent was unmistakable now that the room was free of the competing aromas of the other alphas—driftwood and a subtle hint of fish, the smell of the sea that clung to him like a second skin. I had to fight back the urge to gag, the scent so potent it was almost tangible.

My father and the alpha exchanged a few words, their voices low and conspiratorial. I strained to hear them, to glean some understanding of what was being said. And then it hit me like a punch to the gut—the alpha and his pack were interested in courting me.

A warmth spread across my face as I smiled at the alpha, the expression feeling foreign and forced. Internally, I was filled with a chaotic mixture of panic and dread, on the verge of falling apart. The thought of being forced into a mating bond, of being claimed by a pack of alphas, was enough to send me spiraling into a full-blown panic.

I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to be handed over like a piece of property, to be bound to a pack that was as cruel and calculating as my father—and he was just a beta. The thought of what a pack of alphas might do to me in a room alone was a horror I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Of course,” I heard myself say, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I would be honored to discuss this with my father. Your pack is indeed a phenomenal catch, and I am truly flattered by your interest.”

My father gave me a subtle nod of approval, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. I felt sick, the weight of my impending fate pressing down on me like a physical force. As we made our way back upstairs, my mind raced with calculations and contingencies. I needed to code faster, to complete more projects, to save enough to make my escape.

The thought of running, of leaving this life behind, was both exhilarating and terrifying. But it was a risk I was willing to take. Anything was better than the alternative—a life spent in servitude to a pack that viewed me as a mere object to be claimed.

After being led into my room and hearing the door lock behind me, I steeled myself for the battle ahead. I was Darcy McCarthy, and I would not go gently into the night that they had planned for me.