<1> The Anchor

Zosia’s POV

Two hundred and twelve dollars.

That was the number burned into the back of my eyelids. It was the exact cost of Nyx’s dialysis this Friday. It was the price of my sister’s very next breath.

I gripped the cold brass of the pole, my palms slick with a desperate, suffocating sweat. I couldn't look at the crowd; I couldn't bear to see them. If I looked, I’d see the predatory hunger in the Alphas' eyes and the cruel, mocking smirks of the Betas. To them, I was nothing more than a spectacle—the plus-size Omega who moved with a heavy, sluggish grace, a body to be judged and a soul to be consumed.

I wasn't always this way. Sometimes, in the quiet moments before dawn, I remembered a girl who was fast, lean, and powerful. A girl who was born to lead. But that girl had died a long time ago, along with my parents in the car accident that had left me an orphan at age seven.

Ever since that night, it had been just me and Nyx, my twin sister. But while I had emerged from the wreckage with the strength of a Prime Alpha, Nyx had been left with a deranged body. The doctors called it a cellular rejection—her body couldn't handle the proximity of my Alpha energy. To keep her alive, I had to suppress myself.

The black-market Serum-9 I injected into my thigh every morning was my penance. It kept my wolf buried, but it also slowed my metabolism and softened my sharp edges, layering my frame with deep curves that the world saw as a flaw.

"Turn around, sweetheart! Let's see the whole buffet!"

A raucous burst of laughter erupted from table nine. I kept my head down, my hair shielding my face. I didn't snap back. I didn't have the energy to be angry anymore. I was just tired. I was a twenty-two-year-old girl with the weight of a dying sister, a girl who’s just trying to make it to Friday.

But then, I looked toward the second-tier VIP booth. And for a moment, the heavy weight of the serum felt like wings.

Damien was there. My anchor, my sunshine in the dark.

He was leaning against the velvet-covered railing, his golden hair catching the strobe lights. When our gazes locked, he didn’t sneer at me. He didn’t look at my body like it was a joke.

He smiled.

It was a look of pure, sweet promise. For eight months, Damien Vane had been my sanctuary. He was a High Pack prince who had reached down into the Hollows and picked me up.

“You’re real, Zosia,” he had told me once, holding me in the dark of my cramped apartment. “These other girls are like paper dolls. But you… you’re gold. I don’t care what the pack says. I want you. Everyday.”

He was the reason I could endure this job. He was the reason I could stomach the daily agony of the inversion serum. He was even helping me manage the staggering costs of Nyx’s care. Every week, I gave him my tips, and he invested them in a high-yield Vane account for Nyx’s eventual heart transplant.

“I’ll handle the stress of the money, baby,” he’d told me last week, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You just focus on being my beautiful girl. I’ve got you.”

I finished my set, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure devotion. Damien raised his glass to me, a silent toast. I practically floated off the stage, the catcalls fading into the background. They didn't matter because he was waiting.

I headed straight for the dressing room, my breath coming in short, excited gasps. Tonight was our eight-month anniversary, and Damien had promised a surprise. He had asked me to meet him in the private suite after the main show and even requested I wear the black latex outfit I had spent two weeks’s worth of tips on.

The dressing room was a sanctuary of hairspray and old sweat, but I felt like a girl in a fairy tale. I pulled the latex suit from my locker. It was a second skin—high-necked and sleeveless. As I struggled into it, I checked the mirror, adjusting the high collar to hide the faint, rough scar on my neck where my Alpha mark had been suppressed.

I looked claimed. I looked like I belonged to someone who loved me.

"Going up to see your Prince Charming?" Sasha asked, leaning against the doorframe. My best friend was a bold Beta medic who often worried I was too soft for this world.

"It's our anniversary, Sash," I said, a shy smile breaking across my face. "He said he has something special planned. I think... I think he might finally be ready to introduce me to his father."

Sasha sighed, but her eyes were kind. "You deserve some happiness, Zo. Just don't forget to look out for yourself, too."

"I have Damien for that," I said firmly, sliding into my heels.

I climbed the back stairs to the second tier, my skin tingling with a sweet, naive anticipation. The Hollows felt a million miles away. The dialysis bills, the bullying, the weight of the world—it all disappeared when I thought of him.

I reached the heavy velvet curtain of the Vane Suite. I could hear his voice inside, along with the familiar laughter of his friends. My heart leaped. I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands over the latex, a giddy smile on my lips.

Tonight was going to be perfect. I was going to walk in there, and for the first time in my life, I was going to feel like I was exactly where I belonged.

I reached for the curtain, ready to step into the light of the man who had saved me, but a voice abruptly cut through my anticipation.

"Did you see the way the stage flexed when she landed that drop?" It was Chris, Damien’s best friend and Beta. His voice was sharp, slicing through the sweet haze of my excitement. "I thought the foundations of the Cage were going to give out. I almost called the pack fire marshal."