To ruin an Omega novel Chapter 190

Chapter 190: Like a swift 1

HAZEL

Mother swept out of the cell without another word. The door clanged shut behind her, and I heard her footsteps recede up the corridor with Delta’s quick pace beside her. The echo faded. Then nothing. Just the drip of water somewhere in the darkness and my own breathing.

I could not sit. The bench looked like it would crumble under my weight, or worse, leave something clinging to my clothes that I would smell for days. Standing was its own kind of torture though. My legs ached. The cold had worked its way into my joints, settling there like it had always belonged.

I leaned against the wall instead. The stone bit into my shoulder blades through my shirt. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pressure building in my calves. My right leg cramped. I bent down and pressed my thumbs into the muscle, kneading until the knot loosened enough that I could breathe through it.

That was when I heard them.

Footsteps again. Multiple sets this time. They came from above, filtering down through the ceiling in bursts of muffled sound. Voices followed. I could not make out words, just the rise and fall of conversation. Someone laughed. It sounded wrong down here, too bright for a place that smelled like rot.

I straightened and tilted my head, trying to catch more.

The voices grew louder. Closer. They were descending the stairs now, the same ones the sentinels had hauled me down earlier. I counted the footfalls. Three people. Maybe four. The rhythm was uneven, like one of them moved faster than the others.

Then I heard a woman voice go: "Open the door."

The command cut through everything else. It was not loud, but it did not need to be. The voice carried weight the way a blade carries an edge. Sharp. Certain. Used to being obeyed.

I held my breath.

Another voice answered. Softer. Familiar.

"This is my mother. Do as she says."

That voice was my mother. She sounded smaller than I had ever heard her.

Metal scraped against metal. The lock turned and the door swung open with a groan that set my teeth on edge.

Light spilled into the cell. Torchlight, warm and flickering, but after the dimness it felt like the sun itself had walked in. I squinted against it and raised a hand to shield my eyes.

A figure stepped through the doorway.

I lowered my hand slowly.

The most beautiful woman I had ever seen stood in front of me.

Beautiful in the way a painting was beautiful. Perfect and just as untouchable. She wore a suit tailored so precisely it might have been sewn onto her body. The fabric was dark, expensive, the kind that whispered money when it moved. Her hair fell in blonde waves that caught the torchlight and threw it back, too bright to be natural. Her lips were painted a deep red that made me think of blood on snow. Everything about her was calculated. Polished. A weapon dressed up as elegance.

She looked at me the way someone looks at a stain on their floor.

"This is her, I assume."

Her voice matched her appearance. Cold. Controlled. Every word clipped at the edges.

My mother stepped into view behind her. She looked diminished next to this woman, like someone had drained half the color from her face. "Yes, Mother."

The word hung in the air.

Pauline rolled her eyes. The gesture was so casual it almost made me laugh. Almost.

"What I was saying," she continued, her tone sharpening, "is if you can get put on a murder charge, it is off with your head. The safe choice anyone can make, including your father, is getting you into a stronger pack. A murder charge will not come if the high moral court here believes war could come for them. Blood reminds people of mortality. So the judgment will be kinder. It is not the first that has happened. Neither will it be the last."

I watched her speak. Every word came out smooth and practiced, like she had given this speech a hundred times before.

"The problem, however." She stepped closer again. Close enough that I could smell her perfume, something floral and cloying. "Your rank will be demoted before goddess and wolves. And whatever you have going for you right now is your pure ranks, which is debatable by the way, and your..."

She paused.

Her gaze dropped to my face. Then lower. To my chest.

"Your boobs."

The word sounded obscene coming from her mouth. Clinical. Like she was discussing livestock.

I felt my cheeks heat, but I kept my expression neutral.

"With your ranks in the gutter for deceit and attempted murder," she went on, "whatever game your father is currently struggling to pull will fall. No one will want a Luna demoted to a Gamma or a Delta." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "Or worse, if the heavens are set against you. An Omega."

Cold washed over me. Full body. The kind of cold that started in your gut and spread outward until your fingertips tingled with it.

Omega?