To ruin an Omega novel Chapter 268

Chapter 268: How the mighty have fallen 1

HAZEL

Sleep never came.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift as the hours crawled by. My cheek still burned where Mother had slapped me. My hands throbbed beneath the bandages. But those pains were nothing compared to the rage coiling in my chest like a living thing.

A prisoner. In my own room. In my own pack house.

The absurdity of it should have made me laugh, but I couldn’t find anything funny about it. Not when every breath felt like swallowing glass. Not when Baruch’s face kept flashing through my mind—his smile, his touch, the way he’d looked at me like I was something precious right before he destroyed everything.

I rolled onto my side, then my back again. The mattress felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Around three in the morning, I gave up on sleep entirely.

I stood and walked to the door, testing the handle even though I knew it was locked. It didn’t budge. Of course it didn’t. Mother had made sure of that.

I pressed my forehead against the wood, closing my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be Luna. I was supposed to have power, respect, fear. Now I had nothing. Not even the dignity of freedom in my own home.

The walls seemed to close in. My room, which had always felt spacious and luxurious, suddenly felt like a cage. I backed away from the door, my breathing coming faster.

There had to be a way out. There had to be.

Silver Creek was full of secret passages. I’d heard the stories my whole life. Hidden doors in the walls, tunnels beneath the floors, routes the former Alphas had used to move unseen through the pack house. Father had mentioned them once or twice when I was younger.

If there were passages throughout the pack house, surely there was one in my room. There had to be.

I started with the wall beside my bed, running my hands over the surface. The wallpaper felt smooth under my palms, unbroken. I pressed harder, searching for any give, any hollow sound that might indicate empty space behind it.

But I got nothing.

I moved to the next section of wall, then the next. My fingers traced the molding, pushed against the panels, searched every corner and seam I could find. The bandages on my hands made it awkward, but I didn’t care. I kept going, methodical and desperate.

There had to be something. Some lever, some hidden button, some trick to make the wall swing open.

But the more I searched, the more frustrated I became. The walls were just walls. Solid and unforgiving. Mocking me with their simplicity.

I moved to the area near my closet, pressing and prodding at every surface. Then to the section by the window. Then back to the door side of the room.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

My hands were shaking now. From exhaustion or rage, I couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

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