Chapter 48
My choices were stark. I could either surrender, enduring endless torment until death claimed me, or I could run. Oberon often warned me that one day, I would have to leave—yet, deep down, I clung to the naive hope that my father might simply forget about me, that somehow, he'd release me from his oppressive grasp. How foolish I had been. At eighteen, I was about to learn the harsh truth of life on the run.
I couldn’t meet Oberon as often anymore. The wolves were everywhere. I'd seen them lurking near the bakery where I worked, and always near the building where I lived. Oberon assured me he'd come up with a plan for my escape.
For two weeks, he meticulously charted the safest path for me to slip away from the pack’s reach. All I needed was a false identity.
"I don’t care about the last name, but please, let me stay Thalassa," I pleaded, my eyes brimming with earnestness. "I know it sounds childish, but at school, I was Teresa. The only thing that ever gave me any comfort was the thought that I shared my mother’s last name. From now on, that name will be gone... so please."
Oberon sighed, his expression softening. "Fine. I'll tell the forger."
"Thank you," I whispered, a small, grateful smile tugging at my lips. He returned it, but even in the calm of our exchange, we both felt the tension—heavy, suffocating. From the moment I’d discovered my father's plans, it felt as if I were walking on shattered glass, each step a gamble. I could only hope I’d be able to flee before he acted.
The date for my escape was set: my birthday. A massive cargo ship would leave the harbor that night. Oberon had bribed the captain to take me aboard. He also set up a bank account for me, using the false ID, transferring enough money to help me start anew. I was terrified. Alone. I’d grown so accustomed to Oberon’s presence—his constant support—and now, I was to be left on my own.
The night before my escape, sleep eluded me. I lay awake, my heart thundering in my chest, my mind racing with dread. Fear gripped me, my body trembling under the weight of what was to come. I told myself to stay focused. The ship would depart at 11 PM, and by then, I had to be aboard, no matter what.
Finally, exhaustion claimed me, and I began to drift toward sleep. But just as I felt my heartbeat slow, a violent knock on my door jolted me awake.
My heart nearly stopped. The pounding became deafening, as if a battering ram was being used to break through. I scrambled backward, pressing myself against the farthest corner of my bed. With a resounding crash, the door burst open, its lock shattered in an instant.
Four men stormed into my apartment. Two of them were twins—red-haired, tall, and built like towers—eyes gleaming with malice. The other two were even more imposing, black-haired with dark eyes. One of them had a large scar on his neck. I shrank back, instinctively retreating from their approach.
"Good morning, Princess," one of the twins mocked, his grin sharp as a blade.
"W-Who the hell are you?" My voice trembled, but I forced myself to sound defiant, even as my body quaked with fear.
"Get up. We're taking you to our Alpha," the other twin sneered, his grip tightening around my wrist as he yanked me off the bed. I landed roughly on the floor, instinctively trying to tug my shirt down to cover my bare legs. The men laughed, leering at me.
The red-haired twin crouched next to me, his fingers digging into my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You’ve grown up, Princess,” he crooned, his gaze wandering over me like a predator’s. "With looks like yours, your price just went up." He licked his lips before releasing me, his fingers leaving angry red marks on my face.
It took me a moment to recover from the shock of his touch, checking that my jaw wasn’t broken. The pain lingered, but I had no time to dwell on it.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving now,” he barked, standing tall and towering over me.
I stood, tension pooling in my stomach. I wanted to fight back, to scream at them, but the truth of my situation was undeniable. They were stronger. There was no escaping. Not now. Not yet.
"Turn around. At least give a lady some dignity while I dress," I demanded, a flash of defiance in my eyes.
The other twin chuckled darkly. “Shifters don’t need privacy. We’ve seen it all before.” His voice dripped with venom. "Now get dressed, or I’ll help you."
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to strip off my shirt, exposing myself to their lecherous stares. They laughed, making crude remarks, their eyes hungrily tracking every movement as I hastily put on my bra, jeans, and sweater. It was sickening, the humiliation crawling under my skin.
The moment I slipped on my shoes, they yanked me out of the apartment, and we were driven straight to the pack’s district—toward the Alpha’s mansion. It loomed in the distance, massive and imposing, its high walls and gates guarding a world of wealth and privilege. There, at the front, a grand fountain glinted in the moonlight, a symbol of the opulence within.
I clenched my teeth. The bastard who lived there could afford to bathe in gold while the children at the orphanage, even his own flesh and blood, starved.
They dragged me inside, through the hallways of a mansion that felt more like a prison. And then, there he was. My father.
I hadn’t seen him since he cast me out of the pack. He sat at the far end of a vast throne room, an enormous chair towering behind him. And with one brutal gesture, the twins shoved me to the ground, forcing me to kneel before him. I lifted my gaze and met his cold, calculating eyes.
“That thing dares to look me in the eye?” he sneered, his laughter ringing with cruelty.
"How dare you, bitch?" One of the twins raised a fist, ready to strike.
"Malcolm," my father commanded, his voice like iron. “Don’t damage what I’m selling.”
The twins chuckled, their hungry gazes fixed on me. My skin crawled. But my eyes stayed on my father. His black hair and emerald eyes mocked me. They made me hate him even more, for with every glance, I was reminded that my own reflection would forever carry the stain of his blood.
I had been brought here not as his daughter, but as an object to be sold. He inspected my body as if it were an item for the highest bidder, my worth measured by how much lust I could inspire. A bitter wave of nausea surged in me. I fought to hold it in, but rage boiled inside.
“Lock her in the guest room. The buyer will be decided by tomorrow,” he dismissed me coldly, his eyes meeting mine with a faint smirk of satisfaction.
It was clear: to him, I was nothing more than merchandise. A tool to be used, discarded when no longer valuable. If he could gain from tearing me apart, he would do it without hesitation. A special place in hell was too good for people like him. But if hell didn’t exist, I vowed I would create one—just for him.