Set her up for doom

Sage's POV

The rogue's jaws were inches from my throat when I heard a sound that cut through the chaos.

A roar. Primal and furious and absolutely devastating in its power.

The massive black wolf collided with the rogue mid-strike, sending both creatures tumbling across the forest floor in a tangle of fur and claws. I scrambled backward, gasping for breath, trying to process what was happening.

Cass.

It was Cass in his wolf form, and he was fighting the rogue with a ferocity I'd never seen before. The two wolves clashed again and again, and I realized with dawning clarity that Cass was winning. His movements were controlled, precise, utterly devastating. Where the rogue was mindless and chaotic, Cass was calculated and lethal.

It took less than two minutes. One final, brutal strike, and the rogue wolf went still. Dead.

Cass shifted back into his human form, breathing heavily, his body covered in blood and scratches that were already beginning to heal. When he saw me, his expression shifted from rage to something softer. Something almost desperate.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, moving toward me.

I shook my head, unable to speak, unable to process the fact that he'd saved me. That he'd found me out here. That he'd killed the beast that was about to end my life.

"Come on," he said, pulling me gently to my feet. "Let's get you somewhere safe."

He carried me through the forest—literally carried me in his arms like I weighed nothing—until we reached an old home, abandoned and hidden deep in the trees. It looked like it had been untouched for years, but when Cass pushed open the door, the inside was clean. Lived in.

He'd been staying here.

He laid me on a bed in one of the bedrooms, and for a moment, I thought he was just going to let me rest. But then he started removing his clothes, and I felt my body tense.

"Cass, what are you doing?" I asked, sitting up.

"What do you think?" he said, his voice carrying an edge I'd never heard before. "The world already sees you as a slut, Sage. Everyone already thinks you're easy. So why are you resisting me? Why are you resisting the one person who actually wants you?"

The words were cruel, but what hurt more was the truth beneath them. He was right. The world did see me as a slut. Kael had rejected me. Vex had left me to die. What choice did I have?

I slapped him. The sound echoed in the small room.

For a moment, Cass went very still. Then he grabbed my wrist gently, his expression shifting into something that looked almost vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I didn't mean—I just... I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. You're mine. I want you for myself. Only myself."

He pulled me close, and I felt the bond between us pulsing with a desperate intensity.

"The others have rejected you," he continued, his forehead pressed against mine. "You don't need them. You only need me. And you know I'm right. What other choice do you have? Who else will accept you now?"

He was right. He was absolutely right. Kael had publicly humiliated me with Mara. Vex had tried to kill me. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. At least Cass wanted me. At least someone wanted me.

So I stopped resisting.

What followed was intimate and desperate and absolutely consuming. Cass made love to me like he was trying to prove something, his hands gentle but his intensity absolute. He whispered apologies and promises and declarations of love against my skin, and I let myself believe them because I had no other choice.

Afterward, he held me while I drifted toward sleep. He stepped out of the room, and I thought maybe I could finally rest.

That's when I heard his phone ping.

Curiosity got the better of me. My eyes were already open, and the phone was sitting on the nightstand. One notification. Then another. Then several more in rapid succession.

I picked it up without thinking, and my stomach dropped.

It was a group message. The header read "The Hunt" and it included a list of names—male students from the academy. And in the message thread, I saw pictures. My pictures. Dozens of them. Hundreds of them.

But these weren't the pictures everyone at school had seen. These were from different angles. Different locations. And they were being shared with commentary.

"Pretty good quality for a secret shoot."

"Worth every penny."

"Who took these anyway?"

And then the response that made my blood run cold:

"Cass Rivera. He sold the exclusive set to us. Smart business move. We all get what we want."

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone.

Cass had taken the pictures. Cass had sold them. Cass had orchestrated this entire thing. 

The door opened, and Cass walked back in. His expression shifted the moment he saw me holding the phone.

"Sage—" he started.

"You," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "You took the pictures. You sold them."

His face hardened. "Yes."

The single word hung in the air between us like a death sentence.

"Why?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I could see it in his expression—the desperate possessiveness, the need to control me, the belief that if he destroyed my reputation completely, I would have no choice but to accept him.

"Because you're mine," he said, his voice cold now. "Because I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else having you. Because you deserve exactly what's happening to you."

I wanted to slap him again. I raised my hand, but he caught my wrist and pushed me away with enough force that I fell back onto the bed.

"That's what you deserve," he said coldly. "A slut who spreads her legs for three different wolves deserves to be treated like a whore."

Then his expression cracked, and I saw the desperation underneath the anger.

"Don't you understand?" he said, his voice breaking. "I have to do this. I have to keep you. I can't let you go. I have every right to do what I did because you're mine. You belong to me. I'm the only one who will ever accept you now. I'm the only one who will ever want you."

He reached for me, but I scrambled backward, off the bed, toward the door.

"Don't leave me," he begged, his expression shifting back to that desperate vulnerability. "Please don't leave me. I love you. I'm the only one who loves you. I'm the only one who will ever accept you. What choice do you have? Where will you go? Who will take you in?"

But I was already moving. I  ran for the door, struggling against him as he tried to hold me back, begging me to stay.

I managed to break free and ran into the night, my body aching, my heart shattered, my mind reeling from the betrayal.

I had nowhere to go. No family. No friends. The scholarship was gone. My reputation was destroyed. I couldn't go back to the academy. 

So I ended up at the homeless shelter on the edge of the territory, lying on a thin mattress, trying not to think about anything at all.

**

A week had passed.

I was in the bathroom of the shelter, vomiting for the third time that morning, when I finally understood what was happening.

I was pregnant.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I staggered to the sink and splashed cold water on my face, trying to process the implications. Pregnant.

I went to the local clinic that afternoon—a place that served the poor and the disgraced. The nurse who examined me knew exactly who I was. Everyone knew who I was now.

"You're the Blackwood girl," she said, her voice carrying a mixture of pity and judgment. "Your family was quite the scandal."

My father had been a respected member of the pack until he was caught selling pack secrets to a rival territory. It was treason. The worst kind of betrayal. When the crime was discovered, my family was stripped of everything—their titles, their property, their standing in society. My mother had died shortly after, heartbroken and ashamed. My father had disappeared, running from the consequences of his actions.

I'd been marked by his crime ever since. Disgraced by association. Unworthy by birth.

"Congratulations," the nurse said, pulling off her gloves. "You're about one week pregnant. I assume you know who the father is?"

I didn't answer. How could I explain that I had no idea which of the three men had fathered the child? That all three had marked me, claimed me, and then rejected me?

The nurse's expression shifted to something colder. "Well. I suppose you'll need to figure that out. Are you keeping it?"

I looked at her, and I realized that I didn't have a choice. I was a disgraced omega, pregnant with an unknown child, living in a homeless shelter. No one would want me. No one would help me.

But as I placed my hand on my still-flat stomach, I felt something shift inside me. This child was mine. This child was the only thing in the world that belonged entirely to me. This child was innocent of my family's sins, innocent of my own mistakes.

I was going to survive. For this child, I was going to survive.

As I left the clinic, I heard the whispers. The stares. The judgment in people's eyes.

"There she is. The Blackwood whore."

"Her family was cursed. And now look at her."

But I kept walking, my hand on my stomach, my chin held high.

I had lost everything. But I still had this. I still had hope.

And I would be damned if I was going to let any of them—Kael, Vex, or Cass—destroy that too.