Chapter 14 One of The Women
The shock in her eyes didn’t fade—it deepened, sharpening into something that flickered dangerously close to recognition. It reminded Skylar of a look she had seen before, though she could not place where. Not anger, not entirely. But the kind of intensity that came when something unexpected struck too close to something personal.
Skylar wiped at her face again, forcing her breathing to steady.
“Nobody told you that?” she asked, her voice still rough but steadier now, as if she refused to let herself fall apart in front of a stranger.
The woman seemed to gather herself, the tension in her expression smoothing into something more controlled.
“So…” she said slowly, “you’re a werewolf?”
Skylar gave a faint nod, the movement small, almost reluctant.
“An omega,” she added, the word carrying more weight than volume. “Something that doesn’t matter much among them. Something made to stand below servants.”
The woman’s gaze lingered on her, searching, as though trying to reconcile the person in front of her with the image those words painted.
“How did you end up here?” she asked.
Skylar let out a breath that felt heavier than it should have been.
“I was trying to escape someone,” she said. “Someone you probably wouldn’t believe.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in thought. “Did they know what you are?” she asked. Skylar’s lips pressed together.
“That damn driver knew,” she said after a moment. “The one who brought me here. If he knew…” Her voice trailed off, but the implication settled clearly between them. “Then I guess everyone here does too.”
Something unspoken shifted across the woman’s face. Concern appeared only for a second before she masked it, but Skylar caught it.
The woman exhaled slowly, her posture straightening just slightly as if preparing to say something she didn't particularly want to. “You shouldn’t attract attention,” she said at last.
Skylar frowned faintly, her fingers tightening around the half-finished food in her hand.
“I already refused,” she said. “I’m not doing what they want.”
“That’s exactly why you’re here,” she replied quietly. “And if you keep it that way, you’ll make things worse for yourself.”
Skylar’s expression hardened, exhaustion still clinging to her features but no longer softening her resolve.
“I didn’t come here to be a freaking slut,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I’m not going to be their toy.”
The woman held her gaze. For a second, it seemed like she might argue. Instead, she looked away briefly, as if choosing her words more carefully.
“You need to understand who you’re dealing with,” she said. “Avanzini runs this place. Everything you’ve seen, everything you haven’t—she controls it. She owns the women here,” the woman continued, her voice quieter now, but heavier. “Every one of them. And she doesn’t tolerate defiance. Not for long.”
The dim light caught the edge of her expression, revealing something darker beneath the calm.
“She’s powerful. Connected. And she doesn’t hesitate when it comes to making examples.”
Then, almost as if the admission cost her something, the woman added, “What you did—refusing her—it won’t end quietly if you keep pushing.”
Skylar’s grip on the food loosened slightly.
“If you don’t obey,” she said, “she won’t bother keeping you under her protection. She’ll sell you,” the woman continued. “To whoever is willing to pay. No rules. No limits.”
Skylar’s stomach dropped.
“They’ll treat you like worse than a toy,” she added, her voice tightening just slightly. “And with what you are… it will be worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Humans don’t see werewolves the way they see each other,” she said. “To them, it’s… a toy they could play with longer, a fantasy they could make true. Because werewolves are stong, they popular in this kind of world as strong player—strong toy to play with.”
The words came carefully, but the meaning was clear enough.
“There are places where they prefer werewolves,” she added quietly. “Because of what they think you can endure.”
“What…?” she breathed, the word barely forming.
“Yeah, I know, that’s disgusting. But that’s real. So if you keep refusing, that’s where you’ll end up.”
Skylar’s voice came out hollow. “But I’d still be… one of them,” she said.
“At least under Avanzini,” she said, “you’re controlled. You have boundaries. You become… her responsibility.”
She paused, then added more quietly, “You surrender, and she protects what’s hers.”
The logic was brutal and it made sense. Her thoughts tangled, clashing against everything she had left of herself. Every instinct told her to refuse, to hold onto whatever dignity she could still claim.
But dignity didn’t mean survival.
She felt it now more than ever—the absence of strength, the absence of power that might have given her a chance.
Instead, she sat there with nothing.
Skylar lowered her gaze. After a moment, she exhaled quietly.
“My name is Enida,” the woman said, the introduction coming almost as an afterthought, as if it mattered less than everything else that had just been said. “I’ve been here long enough to earn her trust.”
Skylar glanced at her briefly, to the key in her hand that explained her words seconds ago. Enida held her gaze. “I can get you out of this cell,” she added. “But after that… you’ll have to play by her rules.”
Skylar didn’t respond, but she didn’t refuse. And that was enough. It didn’t take long after that.
The lock clicked open again to release her. The hallway outside felt just as suffocating as before, but at least it allowed her to stand without pressing herself into a corner.
They moved through a different part of the building this time. Cleaner. Brighter. Designed to hide what lay beneath it.
Enida led her into a private room.
“Sit,” she said gently. Skylar obeyed.
The bathwater was warm. Too warm against her chilled skin, sending a faint ache through her body as sensation returned in waves. Enida worked efficiently, not hurried, but practiced—washing away the grime, the sweat, the traces of the prison room that clung stubbornly to Skylar’s skin.
Afterward, Enida dressed her carefully, choosing a long, fitted gown in deep red that clung to her frame without being excessive. The color stood out sharply against Skylar’s white milk skin, drawing attention without asking for it.
Her hair was brushed next. The soft waves of brown were smoothed, one side tucked neatly behind her ear. When Enida stepped back, Skylar barely recognized the reflection.
“You’re ready,” Enida said quietly.
Skylar rose from the chair. For a brief moment, neither of them moved. Then Enida reached out—perhaps to steady her, perhaps to reassure. Their skin met.
And in that instant—Something broke.
A sharp, violent reaction tore through Enida’s body. Her expression twisted in shock, her breath catching as if something had struck her from within.
She let out a sudden, involuntary cry, stumbling backward. Her body hit the floor hard. The sound echoed through the room. Skylar froze, her own breath caught in her throat, her hand still half-raised where the contact had been.
“What—?”
The question never fully formed. Because whatever had just happened—It wasn’t normal.