Chapter 2 Omega's

Mikhail's POV

5 years later

I opened my eyes and sighed-Wow, I'm alive. I tried to sat down but my body feels aching. I sighed weakly. How many years had passed? When Colton k!lled my father infront me because of those bruise? And how he dragged me out the house and brought me here?

How he force me to have bond with him, how he shown me how ruthless and heartless he is? I don't want to be here-I want my freedom. I looks around my room, it's cozy warm and my bed is soft and bouncy but I felt like I'm empty.

I absentmindedly let my gaze travel down my body, taking in the scattered bruises and fresh wounds that marred my pale skin-dark patches of pain staining me like ink, each one a silent reminder of him.

The man I loathed.

The man who had stripped me of everything.

Colton never hesitated.

He never held back.

Time and time again, he pushed me past my limits, testing the boundaries of my endurance-physically, mentally, emotionally. And when I faltered, when I dared to resist him, when I failed to obey the silent, unspoken rules he had forced upon me, he made sure I remembered.

With his hands.

With his fists.

With the sharp sting of punishment that came swift and merciless, leaving me breathless and trembling on the cold floor, my body aching, my spirit cracked just a little more each time.

And then-

He would leave.

Without a word.

Without even a glance.

As if my suffering meant nothing.

As if I meant nothing.

I swallowed hard, my fingers ghosting over the newest bruises blooming along my arms, wincing at the dull ache that radiated from the contact. The pain was familiar now-almost second nature.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

I exhaled shakily, my chest tightening as a bitter thought surfaced in my mind.

Is this all I'll ever be?

A caged Omega.

A plaything for a cruel, heartless Alpha.

A body to be used, to be broken, to be controlled.

My hands clenched into fists, my nails biting into my skin as the weight of it all settled deep in my bones.

I hate him.

I hate this.

But no matter how much I hated it, no matter how much I wanted to break free-

Colton had already made one thing very clear.

There was no escaping him.

Not as long as he still owned me.

It's traumatizing, suffocating, an endless cycle of fear that wraps around my throat like an iron chain, tightening with each passing night. Sleep never comes peacefully anymore-not when the moment I close my eyes, the nightmares come rushing in, dragging me back to those memories I desperately wish I could erase.

The painful beatings.

The unbearable suffering.

The way his voice lingers in my head, cold and unforgiving, reminding me that no matter how much I resist, no matter how much I fight-I'm his.

I inhale shakily, my gaze drifting toward the heavy wooden door, its presence looming over me like a reminder of my captivity. The lock on the outside remains tightly secured, ensuring that even if I dared to attempt an escape, I wouldn't get far.

Colton made sure of that.

He always made sure I knew my place.

A bitter lump forms in my throat, but I force myself to push past it, slowly swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My body protests with a sharp ache, muscles sore and bruised from yet another round of punishment, yet I ignore it, willing myself to move.

Every step is deliberate, cautious, as I make my way toward the bathroom, the cool marble floor sending chills up my bare feet. I reach for the faucet, twisting the handle until warm water cascades down, steam curling into the air.

I step under the stream, letting it wash over me, hoping-praying-that it will cleanse more than just the dirt and dried blood clinging to my skin.

But it never does.

No matter how hard I scrub, no matter how long I stand beneath the water, the filth I feel inside refuses to wash away.

Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my gaze to the massive mirror in front of me.

And what I see makes my stomach twist.

A fragile, hollow reflection stares back at me-haunted eyes sunken with exhaustion, bruises decorating my arms like ugly reminders of my weakness, of my helplessness. My collarbone protrudes more than before, my skin pale and lifeless, a stark contrast to the dark marks littering my body.

I barely recognize myself anymore.

The person I once was-the boy who used to dream of freedom, of something more-he's gone.

In his place stands a broken soul.

An Omega stripped of his dignity.

A prisoner in both body and mind.

And the worst part?

A part of me is starting to believe that maybe, just maybe-

There's no saving me anymore.

I reached up, gathering my long, dark hair with trembling fingers, tying it back in a loose knot as I turned on the shower. The sound of water cascading down filled the empty bathroom, a steady rhythm that momentarily drowned out the chaotic thoughts swirling inside my head. I stepped under the warm stream, letting it soak into my skin, tracing over every aching bruise, every cut, every painful reminder of the life I had been forced into.

A slow, shaky sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes, tilting my head back, allowing the water to wash over me as if it could somehow cleanse away the filth that clung to me-not just on the surface, but deep inside, where the damage truly lay.

I want to be free.

The thought echoed in my mind, desperate and raw, a plea I knew would never be answered.

I want to live my life the way I always dreamed-without fear, without chains, without him.

But how could I possibly escape the den of a lion when I was nothing more than a trapped rabbit beneath his claws?

I couldn't.

And that cruel, inescapable truth made my stomach twist, made my hands press weakly against the tiled walls as a wave of helplessness crashed over me.

Colton was suffocating, a force so toxic, so all-consuming, that I could feel his presence even when he wasn't in the room, his voice still lingering in my head, his touch still burning on my skin. He was possessive to a terrifying degree, controlling every inch of my existence, dictating my every move, ensuring that I never forgot who I belonged to.

It made me sick.

Made me want to scream until my throat was raw, until the walls cracked, until the world heard me.

But I knew it wouldn't matter.

Because no matter how much I fought, no matter how much I despised him-

Colton would never let me go.

And that realization, that awful, soul-crushing reality, made me feel more trapped than ever.

I was in the middle of dabbing ointment onto the fresh bruises lining my arms when the door swung open without warning. My heart lurched, my breath caught in my throat, and my grip on the small container nearly slipped from my fingers.

And then I saw him.

Colton.

His towering figure filled the doorway, his sharp eyes locked onto me with an unreadable expression. The moment he stepped inside, his scent invaded the room-thick, overwhelming, intoxicating. It wrapped around me like an invisible chain, suffocating in a way that made my knees feel weak. Why? Why did he always let his pheromones seep into the air whenever he was near me? Was it intentional? A way to remind me of his control? Or was he simply that possessive, that territorial, that he felt the need to mark his presence even without touching me?

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze downward, not daring to meet his eyes. My hands trembled slightly as I resumed applying the ointment to my bruises, trying to ignore the tension thickening in the room.

"You're awake," Colton stated, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

I merely nodded, my fingers tightening around the small bottle as he removed his coat, tossing it carelessly onto the nearby chair. He wasn't supposed to be back this early-usually, he stayed out until late at night, leaving me alone with only my thoughts and the dull ache of my wounds. But now he was here, standing only a few feet away, his presence pressing down on me like a shadow I couldn't escape.

I kept my movements slow, deliberate, trying not to betray the nervous tremor running through me as I dabbed more ointment onto my wrist. But I knew he saw it. He always saw it.

And I hated that.

I hated that I could never hide anything from him.

Colton silently lowered himself onto the bed beside me, his heavy presence sending an unsettling chill down my spine. I kept my gaze lowered, pretending to focus on the ointment in my hands, but I could feel his eyes roaming over me, taking in every mark, every bruise, every wound that marred my skin.

A sharp frown tugged at his lips when he noticed the medical supplies scattered around me, and before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist with a force that sent a sharp jolt of pain up my arm.

I gasped, my body tensing instinctively as his fingers tightened, his grip unrelenting, almost crushing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a quiet fury that made my stomach twist with dread. He squeezed even harder, making me wince, the ointment slipping from my grasp and rolling onto the floor. "Are you trying to heal yourself just so you can escape me?"

His words hit like a slap, cold and accusing, as if he truly believed that was my only reason for tending to my wounds-as if my pain, my suffering, my need to breathe without constant agony, was some kind of betrayal.

I immediately shook my head, desperation clawing at my chest as I silently pleaded with him to believe me. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to stop trembling, to stop showing weakness in front of him. With shaky hands, I quickly signed, my fingers moving frantically as I tried to explain.

I just want to clean my wounds.

That was all.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

But my silent plea meant nothing to him.

Colton's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as anger flickered across his features. "I don't care," he snapped, his voice rising, raw with possessiveness and something dangerous lurking beneath it. "You're not treating anything-because you're not leaving me!"

Before I could react, before I could even process his words, he shoved me-hard.

The world tilted, my body colliding with the cold, unforgiving floor. A sharp gasp tore from my throat as the impact sent pain shooting through my already battered frame, my breath hitching as I struggled to push myself up.

My hands trembled against the smooth surface, my mind reeling, my heartbeat hammering so loudly in my chest it drowned out everything else.

I could feel his gaze burning into me from above, unwavering, unrepentant, as if daring me to fight back, to deny him, to prove that I was still mine-but I couldn't.

Because I wasn't.

I never had been.

Colton had made sure of that.

I groaned, my body shaking as I tried to push myself up from the floor. But the effort was futile-my arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, trembling with exhaustion and pain from the abuse I had endured, and I could barely lift myself. The weight of everything-of the physical wounds, of the emotional toll, of the constant fear that gripped my chest-seemed too much to bear. And then, just like that, the pain surged again, like a new layer added on top of everything else, pulling a sob from deep within me. I couldn't help it. It was too much.

Tears welled up, blurring my vision, as I curled into myself, unable to stop the tremors that wracked my body. I had barely begun to recover from the last time, but here I was again, on the floor, broken and helpless. I couldn't fight it. I couldn't fight him.

Colton's breathing grew heavy, erratic, and I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, suffocating me, pushing me deeper into the floor. His eyes were wild with rage, locking onto me like a predator that had cornered its prey. I wanted to hide from it-hide from him, from this. But there was nowhere to go.

"Fucking stand up!" he roared, his voice ripping through the silence of the room like a violent storm.

The command was laced with so much fury, so much hatred, that I couldn't help but flinch. My body reacted before my mind could even catch up-flinching back like I was about to be struck again. It was automatic. I had been conditioned to shrink away from him, from his anger, from the unpredictable cruelty that simmered beneath his skin.

I wanted to scream at him, to beg him to stop, but I couldn't. The words were stuck in my throat, buried beneath the weight of all the pain, all the helplessness.

I wanted to fight, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

I wanted to leave, but there was no way out.

Colton's patience snapped like a fragile thread, and before I could even brace myself, his hand shot out and grabbed me, yanking me upward with an unrelenting force. I gasped, my vision momentarily spinning from the sudden motion, and before I could react, he was dragging me toward the corner of the room. My heart hammered in my chest as I recognized where he was taking me-the closet.

No. Not again.

The very thought of that suffocating, dark space made my stomach twist in terror. Every part of me screamed to get away, to escape, to run as far as I could from that damn closet. I struggled against his grip, trying to pull my body away, but his hold was ironclad. I kicked and squirmed, desperation flooding my veins. I couldn't let him lock me in there again. I couldn't do it.

"No! No! Please, don't!" I signed frantically, my hands trembling, my body shaking with fear. Please, not the closet. Please, don't put me there again.

My eyes locked onto Colton's face, pleading with him to understand-pleading with him to stop-but it didn't matter. His gaze was colder than ice, his expression darker than I'd ever seen before.

Colton didn't care.

He never cared.

With one harsh, violent motion, he pulled my hair back, forcing my head to tilt up as I yelped in pain. His fingers dug into my scalp, and his grip tightened around my hair until I thought it would tear from my skull.

"I don't need your answer!" he hissed through gritted teeth, his breath hot against my face. His eyes were sharp, filled with a fury that left no room for argument. "I said get in!"

I tried to shake my head, my body instinctively trying to pull away, but Colton was relentless. His strength was overwhelming, and no matter how much I fought, no matter how much I screamed in silence, I was powerless to stop him.

Every muscle in my body screamed in resistance, but it was no use. Colton's grip on me was unyielding, and I was trapped-trapped in his world, in his twisted control, with nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape.

Tears blurred my vision as I was shoved into the suffocating darkness of the closet. My heart raced, pounding in my chest as I staggered back, feeling the cold wood against my back. The air felt thick, like I was suffocating on the weight of his words, his presence, and his control. I slammed my fists against the door, desperate to break free, desperate to do something-anything-but the walls around me felt like they were closing in, suffocating me with the heaviness of my own helplessness.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to beg him to stop, to let me out. I wanted to fight with everything I had, but I couldn't. The words were trapped in my throat, the tears in my eyes, and my body was too broken to do anything more than collapse into the dark corner of the closet, trembling uncontrollably.

I heard his voice from outside, cruel and commanding, as he spoke his final, damning words.

"You will stay there for two weeks! Got it?" Colton's voice rang out, harsh and final, like a decree from a king to his prisoner. "Don't you dare do anything stupid! Remember this... you can't leave me-because you're mine!"

His words were like ice-cold chains wrapping around my heart, tightening with every syllable. You're mine.

The thought haunted me as the door slammed shut, sealing me in complete darkness. I heard his footsteps retreating, and the sound of his presence was like a heavy weight, pressing down on me, suffocating me even in his absence.

I was alone again.

Alone in the suffocating dark.

The thought of being trapped here for two weeks made my chest tighten, my body shivering from fear and the growing despair that settled into my bones. The memories of the past, of Colton's cruelty, of how he'd shattered any hope of freedom, washed over me like a storm. And I was left drowning in it, with no way out.

I didn't know how I would survive this. Two weeks felt like a lifetime.

I slumped against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible, as if that would make everything go away, as if it would protect me from him. But I knew deep down, nothing would protect me. Nothing but the darkness and the constant ache of knowing I was never truly free.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden light that flooded in from the open door, but the brightness only made my vision spin, and my head felt heavy. I barely had the strength to hold my body up, my legs trembling, and my arms too weak to support me. My skin was burning, too hot to touch, like I was trapped in a fever that wouldn't break. Every breath felt shallow, my throat dry and aching from thirst. My stomach ached in hunger, but even the thought of food felt overwhelming.

The footsteps and voices I had heard earlier had become distant echoes in my foggy mind, and now, as the closet door swung open, a new voice reached me-a voice filled with concern, a voice that wasn't Colton's. I could hardly process it, but it was enough to pull my focus away from the pain, from the haze clouding my thoughts.

"Oh dear, what did he do to you?" the voice asked, gentle but frantic, like they were seeing something awful, something worse than I could even understand. They pulled me carefully, with surprising tenderness, guiding my fragile body out of the suffocating confines of the closet.

I tried to open my eyes fully, blinking through the exhaustion, but everything felt blurry. The world around me spun like I was caught in a whirlwind, and I couldn't find the strength to steady myself.

"You're burning, Señor!" the servant said, panic clear in their voice. Their hands were warm, and they moved quickly, but not without care, brushing against my overheated skin with a sense of urgency.

I wanted to speak, to tell them I was okay-or at least, that I could manage, that I wasn't worth all the worry. But my throat felt like sandpaper, and no words came. I could only manage to squeeze my eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out the dizziness threatening to consume me.

I was burning. I felt it with every passing second, the heat wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.

I wanted to say so much. I'm sorry. I need help. Please... But nothing would escape my lips.

"Come, you need to lie down," the servant said gently, helping me to my feet with surprising strength. They were so careful, as though they knew I was fragile, as if one wrong move would cause me to break completely. I felt so small, so utterly powerless.

I was burning. I couldn't think straight. I needed water. Food. But all I could do was lean against the servant, too weak to do anything for myself.

The servant's grip on me was steady, but their voice trembled with concern as they guided me carefully out of the dark confines of the closet. My vision was still clouded, the world around me a disorienting blur. I felt like I was drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to fully grasp the reality of what was happening.

"Shh, it's okay," the servant whispered softly, their tone almost soothing as they led me to a soft, cushioned surface. "You're safe now. Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me."

To be continue