5

Lisa's pov

I was too stunned to laugh. Hell, I was too stunned to breathe.

Bryan looked around, realizing the crowd that had circled now wasn’t just staring at him—they were judging him. Watching him get dropped like overcooked spaghetti.

“Let’s go,” the masked man said, turning to me, extending his hand.

I hesitated for a second, mostly because my brain was still processing what the hell just happened, but I took it. Not out of fear or drama. Just pure curiosity.

Who the hell was this guy?

He led me away from the center, weaving effortlessly through the crowd like he owned the club. The music blared louder behind us, and I didn’t need to turn back to know Bryan was still fuming on the floor like a child denied candy.

We slipped into one of the dimmer VIP booths, shielded from the neon chaos. The moment we sat, the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a glass bottle of water. Fancy. Crystal cap. Expensive vibe. He twisted it open and handed it to me.

I blinked. “You carry water to the club?”

“I don’t drink,” he said. “Not when I’m working.”

I tilted my head, curiosity clawing at me. “Are you some kind of assassin or royal bodyguard or something?”

He chuckled lightly. “Closer to something.”

“Still masked though.” I squinted at him. “Mysterious much?”

“It’s safer that way.”

“For you or for me?”

He paused. “Both.”

I sipped the water, trying to settle the adrenaline rushing through me. “Thanks for stepping in. Not many people would’ve bothered. Most just assume Omegas like me deserve whatever hell’s handed to us.”

“I don’t believe in assumptions.”

I tilted my head. “So what do you believe in?”

He leaned back, elbows resting casually on the couch behind him. “Respect. Power. Silence when needed. Violence when required.”

“Violence when required,” I repeated, tasting the words. “Sounds poetic.”

“It’s survival.”

He turned to face me fully then, and even behind the mask, I could feel the weight of his eyes on me. Like he wasn’t just looking at me, but into me.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he said finally.

I snorted. “You mean the whipped, rejected, broken, low-ranked Omega?”

“I mean the girl who has the guts to kick a man in public.”

“Well,” I muttered, cheeks warming a little. “The kick was just me being unladylike.”

“It was beautiful,” he said, and I swear I stopped breathing for a second.

I stared at him. “You know a lot about me for someone whose name I don’t even know.”

“I have been observing for a while.” he replied, closing the gap between us.

“What! Why?” I asked, looking around.

“I’ve been observing for a while,” he said again, voice dipping lower as he leaned in closer.

His tone wasn’t invasive—it was intimate. Like a secret meant only for me. The club faded into the background. The music. The lights. The people. It all blurred until all I could see was him.

The mask made him harder to read, but everything else about him screamed confidence. Controlled. Dangerous.

“Why?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head. “Because I see something in you the rest of them are too blind to notice.”

I swallowed hard. “You mean the bruises?”

“No.” His gaze darkened. “The fire.”

The way he said it… it did something to me.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Hotter. My breathing is shallow.

He didn’t touch me, not yet—but the air between us practically crackled.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because I might believe you,” I whispered.

His hand moved slowly, deliberately. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the back of his fingers grazing my jaw in the softest, most devastating way.

“Then believe me.”

His words sank under my skin like ink.

One second, I was thinking too much. The next—I kissed him.

It wasn’t a polite, testing kiss. It was fire meeting gasoline. My hands gripped his jacket, pulling him closer. His fingers dug into my waist like he was trying to memorize the curve of me.

The mask stayed on. Maybe that was the craziest part. I kissed a man whose face I couldn’t even see—but somehow, it made everything feel more raw. Like I was giving in to something forbidden.

He lifted me effortlessly onto his lap, my dress riding dangerously high. His lips found my neck, and my head tilted back with a breathy moan I didn’t even recognize as mine.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice rough in my ear.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” I muttered in a rasp breath.

And that was it.

We didn’t make love. We devoured each other.

Every touch. Every gasp. Every second was reckless and messy and perfect.

For one night, I wasn’t an Omega. I wasn’t trash. I wasn’t a broken girl.

I was wanted.

Worshipped.

Ruined in the best way.

—

I woke up wrapped in expensive sheets and silence.

He was perfectly sleeping beside me.

The room was dim, quiet—except for the steady thud of my heart as I sat up and pulled the sheets tighter around me.

I tiptoed out of the bed, threw my clothes on before dropping some money on the small table in the room before walking out. I boarded a cab that took me straight to Fiona’s house who had gone to work.

I changed into a comfy outfit before going to the packhouse. I had barely stepped into the hallway of the packhouse when Irene’s voice sliced through the air.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the club whore.”

I froze.

Irene stood at the foot of the main staircase in a silk robe and heels, her blonde hair perfectly curled like she’d been waiting for this moment.

In her hand? A thick folder.

She tossed it across the marble floor like a cat throwing down its kill.

Photos spilled everywhere.

Me. In the booth. Straddling him. His hand on my waist. My lips on his.

And the one that made my stomach drop?

Me—half-naked—curled in the bed while he was in the shower.

“How did you—” I choked, stepping back.

“Sweetheart, you’re not the only one who knows people,” Irene sneered, folding her arms. “You made it way too easy.”

“You were spying on me?”

“I was protecting what’s mine,” she said, just as Bryan appeared behind her.

His eyes locked on the photos. Something primal shifted in his expression. The bond flared faintly between us, and I felt it—the rage. The shame. The bruised ego.

“Bryan, wait—” I started.

SLAP.

It was fast. Brutal.

My head snapped sideways, my cheek exploding in pain.

I staggered but didn’t fall. I wouldn’t fall.

“You fucking disgrace,” Bryan snarled, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you know what you’ve done?!”

“I wasn’t yours,” I said through gritted teeth, blood pooling in my mouth. “You rejected me by sleeping with that mashed up potato—” I yelled pointing to Irene.

“That doesn’t give you the right to whore yourself to strangers!”

Irene watched with satisfaction, eyes gleaming.

“You think you’re going to play Luna now? After spreading your legs in some booth like a club rat?!”

“I didn’t ask for the bond,” I hissed. “And I sure as hell didn’t ask for you.”

He stepped forward, ready to hit me again—

“Bryan, don’t!” one of the guards called out, but he didn’t listen.

Until he remembered the crowd forming. The tension thickened.

He stopped. Adjusted his collar. Wiped his hand on his trousers like touching me had infected him.

“Lock her up,” he snapped. “No food. No water. Strip her of every privilege. Let the pack see what happens to traitorous trash.”

The guards hesitated, just a beat. Enough to make him growl again.

“Now!”

They grabbed me by the arms. Dragged me down the hallway like I was nothing.

“Smile for the cameras next time,” Irene called out mockingly. “Maybe try wearing makeup too. You looked tired.”

The door slammed.

Darkness swallowed me again.

But this time?

This time, I wasn’t afraid.

This time, I had a reason to burn everything down.