chapter 102
Tori's POV:
The microphone slipped from my trembling fingers.
The gentle hum of anticipation that had filled the grand hall seconds ago transformed into confused murmurs. I couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe. The nightmare I'd been running from for four years had finally caught up with me in the most public, most devastating way possible.
"What's happening?" someone whispered loudly from the front row.
My seventeen-year-old self appeared on screen, thin and pale, silver eyes dulled with defeat as a guard shoved me roughly into a stark concrete cell.
The timestamp in the corner confirmed what everyone could see—footage from four years ago.
"No," I whispered, the word barely audible even to my own ears. "Please, no."
The audience fell silent as the next clip played—me curled in the corner of my cell, convulsing as the effects of forced suppressant injections ravaged my system.
A guard laughed off-screen, saying something about "teaching the killer Omega her place."
Tracy, my wolf, whimpered inside me, reliving the memory of how they'd nearly destroyed her with chemical suppressants designed to break our connection.
"Turn it off," I heard Lucas command from somewhere in the darkness, his Alpha voice carrying over the shocked silence. But nobody moved.
I saw him surge toward the control panel, yanking cables and power cords free with savage force.
The lights on the equipment died, but impossibly, the projection continued uninterrupted, images glowing eerily in the darkened hall.
"Find the source!" Lucas barked to security personnel who scrambled in different directions, searching frantically for whatever device was broadcasting the footage.
But the images continued to play, as if mocking their efforts. Whoever had orchestrated this had planned thoroughly, making certain no one could stop the show before my humiliation was complete.
The footage cut to the cafeteria, where two older inmates cornered me, dumping something into my food when I wasn't looking.
The next shot showed me violently ill, collapsed on the bathroom floor, blood trickling from my nose.
Gasps echoed through the hall. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn't move. I was frozen, watching my most humiliating, painful memories play out for everyone to see.
"Is that really her?" a woman's voice cut through the silence.
"My God, she was in prison?" someone else whispered loudly.
"I can't believe they'd treat anyone like that, even in Silver Fang."
"They can't do that to prisoners, can they? Even Omegas have rights..."
"Poor thing, she looks so young."
Then the scene changed.
A luxurious mansion appeared on screen.
My stomach clenched as I recognized it, where everything had begun.
Seventeen-year-old me stumbled weakly through the doorway of the mansion, my face pale and drawn. My hair, though I'd tried to style it, fell limply around my shoulders.
"Fiona said she'd be here," my younger self whispered, checking her phone with trembling fingers. "She promised she'd help me..."
My chest tightened painfully. I knew what was coming next.
I wanted to scream, to warn my past self to run, but I could only watch as Noah Morris stepped out from the shadows, his predatory smile making my skin crawl even now.
"You're here at last, sweetheart," on-screen Noah said, moving closer to me with a predatory smile. "I've been waiting for you."
My younger self glanced around nervously. "Where's Fiona? "
Noah laughed, the sound making my skin crawl even now. "Fiona? There's no Fiona here. Don't be shy now. We both know why you really came..."
The younger me backed away. "I should go—"
Noah's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "Don't be like that. You should be honored a male like me would even look at an Omega like you."
I watched in muted horror as the scene unfolded—Noah forcing me against the wall, his teeth grazing my neck as he attempted to mark me without consent.
My younger self struggled, tears streaming down her face.
"Please don't," she begged. "I don't want this."
"Omegas don't get to choose," Noah snarled, his eyes glowing red with dominance.
Just as Noah's teeth grazed my neck, the door burst open. Ryan, my brother, charged in with fury blazing in his eyes.
"Get away from my sister!" he roared, tackling Noah away from me.
For one hopeful moment, I thought we'd escape.
But Noah recovered quickly, his strength overwhelming my brother. In a blur of motion too terrible to watch again, Noah partially shifted and slashed at Ryan's throat.
My brother collapsed, blood pooling beneath him as the light faded from his eyes.
"Ryan!" my younger self screamed, crawling toward him.
Noah grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back. "Now, where were we?"
The grief hit me like a physical blow. Something inside me snapped—my wolf awakening for the first time in the most traumatic circumstances possible. The transformation tore through my body as I howled in anguish.
When Noah tried to force himself on me again, my newly emerged wolf fought back with primal fury.
In one desperate, defensive lunge, my teeth found his throat.
Blood sprayed across the pristine white wall. Noah collapsed, gurgling, his eyes wide with shock as his life drained away.
My younger self stared at her bloodied hands in horror, shifting back to human form as the realization of what she'd done sank in.
The scene cut to a courtroom.
The judge's voice rang out cold and unforgiving: "Tori Sullivan, as an Omega werewolf, you are found guilty of killing Alpha Noah Morris through excessive self-defense. Such actions violate our pack hierarchy and cannot be tolerated. I hereby sentence you to four years and three months at Silver Fang Detention Center."
The camera zoomed in on my face as the sentence was delivered—the moment hope died in my eyes.
Back in the Silver Fang footage, guards dragged me down a corridor, throwing me into isolation. "Special treatment for the killer," one sneered, before the door slammed shut, leaving me in darkness.
Then the screen went black.
The silence in the hall was deafening.
I stood there, exposed and vulnerable, as hundreds of eyes burned into me.
Morgan was the first to move, rushing toward the stage with tears in her eyes. But she was beaten by a swarm of reporters who surged forward, cameras flashing, questions overlapping:
"Is it true you killed a male?"
"How many others have you attacked?"
"Was your award part of a rehabilitation program for criminal Omegas?"
"Are you a danger to the students at Moonridge High?"
Their words hit me like physical blows.
I stepped back, nearly stumbling as the microphones were thrust toward my face. The room spun around me as panic clawed at my throat.
"Ms. Sullivan! How does it feel to be exposed as the infamous killer?" a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone so close it nearly hit my face.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. How could I explain? How could anyone understand?
The crowd pressed closer, their hungry eyes and accusatory questions suffocating me.