The breakfast room of the Soren estate was usually a place of quiet power, but this morning, the air was thick with the suffocating scent of Jasmine and Bourbon.
Mika sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, his body still aching from the night before. He was dressed in a silk robe that felt too thin, his silver hair falling over his eyes as he stared at his untouched tea. Across from him, the "injured" Viktor was reclined in a chair, his foot propped up on a velvet stool.
Soren sat at the head of the table, his eyes buried in a holographic business tablet. But he wasn't reading. He was watching the way Mika's knuckles turned white as he gripped his spoon.
The Alpha's Game
"Viktor, does your ankle still throb?" Soren asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. It was a calculated tone, one he never used unless he wanted something.
Viktor beamed, his eyes glowing with a triumphant light. "It's a little better, Soren... but the doctor said I shouldn't walk for at least three days. It's so lonely in the guest wing."
Soren finally looked up, his amber eyes flicking to Mika, who was now vibrating with suppressed rage. "Then you'll stay in the sun parlor today. I'll have the servants move your things. I'll even spend the afternoon there with you... to make sure you're comfortable."
Mika's spoon clattered against the porcelain. He looked up, his violet eyes flashing with the "bad eye" Soren usually loved to provoke. "The sun parlor? That's where we were supposed to go today, Soren. You said—"
"I said a lot of things, Mika," Soren interrupted, his voice turning cold. "But after your... incident at the gala, I think you need some time to reflect on your behavior. Viktor is the guest here. He deserves my attention."
The Poisoned Comfort
Viktor let out a small, dainty giggle. He reached across the corner of the table and placed his hand over Soren's tattooed wrist. Soren didn't pull away. He let the Omega touch him, his gaze locked onto Mika's face, watching the jealousy bloom like a dark flower.
"You're so kind, Soren," Viktor whispered, leaning in so his scent of jasmine filled the space between them. "Just like when we were kids. Remember when you promised to always look after me?"
Soren smirked—a sharp, cruel thing. "I remember everything, Viktor."
Mika couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, the chair screeching against the marble floor. "I'm not hungry. If you want to play nurse to a snake, go ahead. I'll be in the garden."
"You'll be in our bedroom, Mika," Soren growled, the Alpha command in his voice making Mika's knees tremble. "You aren't permitted to leave the house. Not after what you did to my family."
The Spiced Confrontation
An hour later, Mika was pacing the bedroom, feeling like a trapped animal. The mansion felt smaller now that Viktor was being treated like a King. He felt confused—Soren had claimed him so violently the night before, yet now he was letting Viktor touch him?
The door opened, and Soren stepped in. He looked tired, but his aura was still dominant, still suffocating.
"Are you jealous, Little Jasmine?" Soren asked, closing the door and locking it with a click that echoed through the room.
"I hate you," Mika spat, backing away as Soren approached. "If you want him so much, why did you buy me? Why did you mark me? Go back to your cousin!"
Soren laughed, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down Mika's spine. In one move, he caught Mika's wrists, pinning them against the wall. He leaned in, his nose brushing against the mark on Mika's neck, inhaling deeply.
"He smells like flowers and desperation, Mika," Soren whispered, his voice thick with a dark lust. "It bores me. But you... you smell like fire and defiance. I'm only using him to see how far you'll go to keep what's mine."
Soren's hand dropped from Mika's wrists to his waist, pulling him so close their bodies fused. His kiss was a punishment—tasting of bourbon and possessiveness. It was spicy, desperate, and confusing. Mika tried to fight it, but his body was already betraying him, his hands tangling in Soren's dark hair.
"You're making him feel at home," Mika whimpered against Soren's lips. "He thinks he's winning."
"Let him think," Soren groaned, his hand sliding under Mika's robe to find the sensitive skin of his thigh. "While he dreams of a wedding that will never happen, I'll be in here... making sure you can't even remember your own name."
The Plan to Escape
Later that night, as Soren slept with the heavy, satisfied slumber of a predator, Mika lay awake. He looked at the mark on his neck in the mirror—a symbol of his slavery.
He realized now that Soren was a monster who played with people's hearts for fun. He was using Viktor to break him, and he was using Mika to satisfy his dark hunger.
I have to get out, Mika thought, his fingers trembling as he looked at the window. If I stay here, I'll become just like them. I'll become a ghost.
He knew about the security. He knew about the guards. But he also knew that Soren had a secret exit near the docks—the same place where he had taken a bullet for Mika's past.
Mika began to dress in silence, his heart hammering in his chest. He was going to leave the "Blood-Stained Vow" behind, even if it meant running into the night with nothing but his pride.