Blood on the Ballroom Floor 

Chapter 4

The night of the Alpha Summit Gala arrived like a guillotine blade.

My pregnancy had advanced into the late second trimester. My belly was prominently rounded and heavy, making every movement deliberate. The custom robe Lucien commissioned for me was elegant—deep emerald silk that draped gracefully over my swollen form, embroidered with subtle gold threading that caught the light. It accentuated rather than hid what I was: a male omega, visibly carrying his child. A living rarity. A freak on display.

I stood before the mirror, hands trembling as I adjusted the fabric. This was my chance. For the first time in months, we would leave the heavily guarded penthouse. The gala was in a grand neutral venue—a towering historic ballroom filled with hundreds of powerful alphas and their omegas. Security would be tight, but not his security. In the chaos of the crowd, I could slip away. Disappear into the city. Find someone—anyone—who might help a pregnant omega escape the abyss.

Lucien stepped behind me, magnificent in a tailored black tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders and lethal grace. His hands settled possessively on my belly, feeling the strong kicks of our son. “Perfect,” he murmured, lips brushing my neck. “They’ll all see what I’ve claimed.”

I forced a small smile, heart hammering with equal parts dread and desperate hope. “Lucien… please. If it goes badly—”

“It won’t.” He turned me, kissing me deeply, tongue claiming my mouth as one hand slipped lower to cup me through the silk. Even now, heavily pregnant, my body responded to him with shameful slickness. “You are mine to show off. Mine to protect.”

The ride to the venue was silent. My escape plan was simple and fragile: wait for a distraction, lose myself in the crowd, use the service exits. I had hidden a small amount of cash and a burner phone in the inner lining of the robe weeks ago. For our child’s sake, I had to try.

The ballroom was opulent—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, tables heavy with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Powerful alphas in designer suits mingled with graceful omegas draped in jewels. Conversations hushed as we entered. Eyes widened. Whispers spread like wildfire.

“Is that… a male omega?”

“Pregnant? Voss bred a freak?”

Lucien’s arm stayed locked around my waist, his presence a wall of pure dominance. He guided me through the room, introducing me with pride bordering on arrogance. “My omega, Finn. Carrying my heir. The first of many.”

Some nodded with forced respect. Others stared with open curiosity or thinly veiled disgust. My cheeks burned. The weight of their gazes made my skin crawl.

Then Marcus Kane appeared.

Tall and lean with sharp features and cold gray eyes, Marcus moved like a predator scenting blood. A beautiful but cruel-looking female omega clung to his arm. He smiled as he approached, voice carrying across the nearby crowd.

“Well, well. Lucien Voss finally shows his hand. Or should I say… his freak?” Laughter rippled through nearby groups. Marcus’s gaze raked over my swollen belly with mocking delight. “A male who can conceive? How delightful. Tell me, Voss—did you have to drug the poor thing, or does the abomination spread its legs willingly for anyone with a fat wallet?”

The whispers turned to outright chuckles. Someone nearby muttered, “Voss has gone soft. Breeding a sideshow attraction.”

My stomach twisted. This was exactly what I’d feared. The mockery would taint Lucien. I could already see the calculating looks from other alphas—opportunities to challenge his power. My escape window was opening amid the growing tension.

Lucien’s grip tightened painfully on my waist, but his voice remained ice-cold. “Careful, Kane. Insult what’s mine again and I’ll paint these floors with your entrails.”

Marcus laughed louder, drawing more attention. “Mine? Look at him—round and blushing like a common whore. How long before the novelty wears off and you discard the freak? Or perhaps you enjoy parading your unnatural pet. Does he whelp like a bitch in heat?”

The laughter swelled. Omegas tittered behind fans. Alphas smirked. My vision blurred with humiliated tears. Freak. Whore. Abomination. The words I had whispered to myself for years, now public. I felt our son kick hard, as if protesting the venom in the air.

This was my moment.

As Lucien stepped forward, radiating lethal fury, I eased backward into the thickening crowd. Shoulders bumped me. Conversations masked my movement. I turned toward a side hallway marked “Staff Only,” heart pounding so hard I feared it would trigger early labor. Freedom was close—twenty steps, maybe less. I could flag down a cab, disappear into the undercity where even Lucien’s reach might falter long enough for me to hide.

A sharp, feminine scream of rage cut through the noise.

Marcus’s omega forged forward like a viper, a small jeweled knife flashing in her hand. Her eyes were wild with loyalty and cruelty as she lunged straight for me—for my belly. “You freak! You don’t deserve to carry anything!”

Time slowed. I stumbled back, arms instinctively wrapping around my swollen abdomen to shield our child. The blade arced downward—

Bang.

Lucien’s gunshot was deafening. The bullet struck her square in the head mid-step. Her skull exploded in a spray of blood and bone. The knife clattered harmlessly to the marble floor as her body crumpled.

Warm blood splattered across my face, my chest, and my pregnant belly—hot, sticky, horrifying. I gasped, frozen in shock as crimson droplets ran down the emerald silk. The baby kicked violently inside me, reacting to the terror and the metallic stench now coating us both.

Chaos erupted.

Marcus roared in fury and grief, lunging at Lucien with murderous intent. Their bodies collided with brutal force—fists, elbows, the wet sound of violence. Other alphas shouted, some backing away, others forming a loose circle as if this were entertainment.

Security rushed in, but Lucien’s men were faster, forming a protective ring while their boss unleashed hell. I stood there trembling, blood dripping from my chin, the weight of my belly and the horror pinning me in place.

“Finn!” Lucien’s roar cut through everything. Pure rage. Pure possession.

I didn’t run. Couldn’t. My legs shook too badly. The failed escape attempt died in the spray of blood.

Lucien dispatched Marcus with terrifying efficiency—a slash across the throat followed by a point-blank shot to the chest. The rival alpha fell beside his omega in a growing pool of red. The entire gala had descended into pandemonium—screams, running feet, overturned tables.

Two of Lucien’s guards appeared at my sides. They didn’t hurt me, but their grips were iron as they escorted me back to him.

Lucien met us halfway, yanking me against his bloodied chest. His hand immediately cradled my belly, feeling for movement despite the gore now staining both of us. The baby kicked strongly against his palm. Relief flashed across his face, quickly swallowed by fury.

“You tried to run.” His voice was deadly quiet, trembling with something darker than anger. “In front of everyone. After I warned you.”

“Lucien, please—” Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the blood. “They were laughing. Humiliating you because of me. That woman—she tried to… our baby—”

His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me impossibly closer despite my pregnant belly between us. “No one touches you. No one touches what’s mine.” His kiss was brutal, tasting of violence and desperate claim. Even here, surrounded by the aftermath of murder, his body pressed against mine with unmistakable hunger, as if the bloodshed had only heightened his need to reclaim me.

The ride back to the penthouse was silent and tense. Lucien’s hand never left my belly, but his grip on my wrist was bruising. When we arrived, he carried me straight to the bedroom, ignoring my protests and the blood still drying on our skin.

“You will learn,” he said darkly as he laid me on the bed, already stripping the torn, bloodied robe from my body. “There is no escape from me, little omega. Not tonight. Not ever.”

His mouth claimed every inch of my swollen, trembling form—kissing the stretch marks, sucking marks into my neck, fingers teasing my slick entrance while I sobbed with fear, exhaustion, and unwanted pleasure. When he finally knotted me, deep and relentless, the intensity stole my breath. The scent of blood still lingered faintly in the air.

As we lay locked together afterward, his arms like steel bands around me and our child, one terrifying realization settled over me:

My escape had failed spectacularly.

And the abyss had never been angrier—or more possessive.