Shadows of the Gala

Chapter 3

Three months had passed since Lucien Voss dragged me from that blood-soaked basement into his golden cage.

My belly had grown noticeably round and heavy, a constant, undeniable reminder of my freakish nature. The male omega who could conceive—an impossibility made flesh. Stretch marks silvered across my skin like delicate lightning. My chest was tender, my back ached, and the baby kicked with surprising strength during quiet nights. Lucien was obsessed. He attended every doctor’s visit, hand never far from my swollen abdomen, murmuring praises against my skin as if I were the most precious thing in his violent world.

“You’re glowing,” he’d say, voice rough with satisfaction, before pulling me into his lap and claiming me slow and deep, knot locking us together while he rubbed my belly. The sex had only grown more intense as my pregnancy progressed—his alpha instincts demanding he fill me again and again, even while protecting the life already inside.

But the cage had only tightened.

I was never alone. Guards shadowed every hallway. The penthouse windows remained sealed. Lucien’s touches were possessive, his gifts extravagant, yet every “I love you” felt like another lock clicking shut.

Tonight, he came home earlier than usual, shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie as he crossed to where I rested on the oversized sectional. His hand immediately found my belly, feeling the strong kick that greeted him.

“Our son is active today,” he said with rare softness, then kissed me deeply. When he pulled back, his dark eyes held a new glint of purpose. “There’s an event in two weeks. The Annual Alpha Summit Gala. The most powerful alphas in the underworld and legitimate business circles attend with their omegas. I’ve decided it’s time to reveal you.”

My heart stuttered. “Reveal me?”

Lucien’s fingers traced the curve of my belly through the soft robe. “Yes. I want them to see what I have. What no one else does. A male omega capable of bearing my heir. They’ll envy me. Fear me more.”

Fear. That word lodged in my throat. I was already a freak in my own eyes—rare, unnatural, something to be gawked at or tormented. The thought of being paraded in front of dozens of powerful alphas and their elegant, traditional omegas made bile rise.

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. Lucien glanced at it, jaw tightening. “Marcus Kane,” he muttered, answering with a clipped tone. The conversation was short, sharp, and ended with Lucien slamming the device down.

“Rival?” I asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably as the baby pressed against my ribs.

“Marcus Kane,” Lucien confirmed, eyes narrowing. “Another alpha kingpin. He’s been sniffing around my territory for months. Word travels fast in our circles. Somehow he learned about you—about the male omega I’m keeping who can actually conceive. He plans to use it against me at the gala. Make you a spectacle. Turn you into a laughing stock so the others see me as weakened by sentiment. A man foolish enough to breed a freak.”

The words hit like blows. Freak. Even Lucien’s rival used the label I had whispered to myself for years. I imagined the scene: elegant chandeliers, alphas in tailored suits with perfectly poised omegas on their arms, and me—visibly pregnant, male, an anomaly—being pointed at, whispered about, mocked. Tormented afterward in the shadows. The finger-pointing wouldn’t stop at me. It would taint Lucien too. The ruthless don who let a male breeding freak soften him. His reputation, his power, his carefully built empire of fear could crack under the laughter.

“I… don’t want to go,” I whispered, hands instinctively cradling my belly. “They’ll laugh. They’ll see me as a joke. A sideshow. And it’ll reflect on you. People will question your judgment. Your strength.”

Lucien’s expression darkened. He pulled me closer, one large hand covering mine over the swell. “They won’t laugh. They’ll kneel. I’m not hiding you anymore, Finn. You and our child are my greatest strength. Marcus thinks he can humiliate us? I’ll make an example of him instead.”

His kiss was fierce, possessive, tongue demanding entrance as his hand slipped lower, stroking me through the fabric until I was slick and whimpering despite my fear. He took me right there on the couch—gentle with my pregnant body but no less dominating—knotting me deeply while whispering promises of protection and power.

“You belong on my arm,” he growled against my neck as he filled me. “Let them stare. Let Marcus try. I’ll end anyone who disrespects what’s mine.”

The following days blurred between prenatal appointments and growing dread.

My belly had rounded further, making movement cumbersome. Simple tasks left me winded. Lucien hired a full-time omega specialist—a discreet doctor who marveled at my condition. “Truly rare,” she’d said during one ultrasound, the screen showing our son’s strong heartbeat. “Male conception rates are less than one in a million. You’re carrying beautifully, but the stress of public exposure could be risky this late in the second trimester.”

Lucien dismissed the warning with a wave. “He’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

But I couldn’t stop the nightmares. In them, I stood in the gala’s grand ballroom, spotlighted while alphas and omegas pointed and laughed. “The freak who got knocked up.” “Voss has gone soft.” “Imagine breeding something like that.” The mockery spilled beyond the event—rumors spreading, undermining Lucien’s authority, rivals circling like sharks. My presence would taint him. The man who had become both my savior and my jailer didn’t deserve that stain. Or maybe I was simply terrified of confirming what I’d always believed: I was something shameful.

One evening, as Lucien massaged my aching back with skilled hands, I voiced it again.

“What if Marcus is right? What if they see me and laugh? It won’t just hurt me. It’ll make you look… compromised. Like your obsession with a male omega has clouded your judgment. Your empire—”

“My empire,” he interrupted, turning me to face him, “is built on fear and power. Displaying you—displaying the impossible child you carry—will only strengthen it. They’ll see I can achieve what others cannot. And if Marcus tries to speak against you…” His smile was cold and lethal. “I’ll rip his throat out in front of them all.”

I shivered, equal parts aroused and horrified by the possessiveness in his voice. That night he was especially intense, fucking me on my side to accommodate my belly, one hand rubbing my swollen abdomen while the other stroked my cock in time with his thrusts.

“Say you’re mine,” he demanded as his knot began to swell.

“I’m yours,” I gasped, tears of conflicted pleasure slipping free.

Yet in the quiet hours after, when his breathing evened out and his arm remained locked around me, doubt festered. Lucien planned to reveal me as a trophy. Marcus Kane planned to use me as a weapon. And I—trapped between them—could only see the mockery and torment waiting.

The gala invitations had already gone out. Lucien’s suit was tailored to match a new gown-like robe designed to elegantly drape over my pregnant form. He seemed almost excited, talking strategy with his inner circle while I sat nearby, hands protectively over our kicking child.

Two nights before the event, I overheard a phone call. Marcus Kane’s voice carried through the speaker, smug and venomous.

“Bringing your little freak to the gala, Voss? Bold. I look forward to watching the room tear him apart with laughter. A male breeder on display? They’ll never take you seriously again.”

Lucien’s reply was ice. “Touch him, speak against him, and your blood will paint the ballroom floor.”

I retreated to the bedroom, heart pounding. The baby kicked hard, as if sensing my turmoil. I curled around my belly, whispering apologies to the innocent life inside.

Lucien found me there later. He climbed into bed behind me, pulling my back against his chest, one hand splayed wide over the swell.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. “You’re not a freak to me. You’re everything. And at the gala, the world will learn that no one mocks what belongs to Lucien Voss.”

His words should have comforted me. Instead, they only deepened the abyss I felt closing in. Salvation had come with chains I was beginning to fear I could never break.

And the night of the gala was approaching like a storm.