New World

Claire blinked, her eyes adjusting slowly to the unfamiliar surroundings. She was lying on a bed in a room, far different from the cold, dark auction warehouse she last remembered. 

Confusion clouded her mind as she scanned the space around her, white walls, soft lighting, delicate decor. It felt too quiet, too peaceful, and it only grew the sense of dread twisting in her stomach.

When her gaze landed on the man standing by the door, her pulse quickened. He was tall, dressed in a suit that clung to his muscular frame. His eyes were sharp, calculating, a hint of danger lurking behind them. Claire’s instincts screamed at her to stay cautious, to stay alert. 

“Hello, pretty,” he greeted, a smile spreading across his face that was more chilling than welcoming. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl, like she was something to be dissected, analyzed.

She swallowed, her throat dry. “Where... am I?” she managed to whisper, her voice hoarse. The last thing she remembered was being at the auction, witnessing her mate coldly ignore her as he chose someone else. And now, here she was, a prisoner once more, but in a much more luxurious cage.

The man tilted his head, still grinning. “You're in my home,” he replied smoothly. “I’m Don Linus, and I’m your owner now. I paid good money for you, Claire Wilson.”

The word *owner* echoed in her head, sharp and demeaning. Claire wanted to scream, to rage, but she was too exhausted, too defeated. She kept her gaze on him, hoping he couldn’t see the spark of defiance still flickering in her eyes.

Don Linus strolled closer, his eyes tracing over her with a clear interest. “I must admit,” he murmured, “I’m not entirely sure what to do with you yet. Omegas typically have talents... skills. I’m curious to know what yours are.” He paused, waiting for her response.

Claire’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she said nothing.

He smirked, seemingly unfazed by her silence. “Can you dance?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Claire shook her head.

“Seduce Alphas?” he questioned, his voice low and suggestive.

Again, she shook her head, her stomach twisting.

“Fight?”

Her head moved in the same silent denial. None of those skills applied to her.

Don Linus chuckled, crossing his arms as he studied her. “Then tell me, Claire... where does your power lie? What is it that makes you valuable?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Because if you don’t find a way to make yourself useful, I’ll have no choice but to dispose of you.”

The threat hung in the air, cold and heavy. Claire’s throat tightened, but she refused to let the fear show. She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her mind raced with panic. What was she supposed to say? She had no special skills, no talents that would interest someone like him.

Don Linus watched her in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he took a step back. “I’ll give you some time to think about that,” he said, his voice clipped. “You’re too pretty for me to put a bullet through your head....”

He gestured toward a small table beside the bed, where a tray of food had been laid out. “Eat. There’s no point in starving yourself. Some maids will come to bring you a change of clothes. Relax, clear your head... and think about how you can add value to my life and empire.”

Claire said nothing, simply watching him with wary eyes. He turned to leave but then stopped in the doorway, glancing back at her.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “Do you know Michael Tyson?”

Her heart skipped a beat, her stomach lurching. The name sent a cold wave through her, and for a brief moment, her emotions must have flickered across her face because Don Linus’s eyes sparkled with interest.

“I saw how your eyes followed him the entire night at the auction,” he continued, studying her reaction with a predatory smirk.

She forced herself to stay calm, to keep her expression blank. “I... don’t know him,” she lied, her voice steady.

Don Linus’s smile widened, as if he saw right through her. “I don’t believe that, Claire. Not for a second. But don’t worry, I’m a patient man. I’ll find out soon enough.” With that, he turned and walk out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the suffocating reality of her situation.

The moment the door clicked shut, Claire let out a shaky breath. She felt the weight of everything crash on her, the pain of her mate’s silent rejection, the fear of what awaited her in this new captivity. 

She glanced at the tray of food, but her appetite was nonexistent. Instead, she hugged her knees to her chest, trying to process everything, to make sense of the shattered pieces of her world.

Michael Tyson. Her mate. Her supposed fated one. The memory of his cold indifference at the auction, the way he had looked right through her, still felt like a knife twisting in her chest.

 She wanted to hate him, to erase every trace of the bond pulling at her heart, but it wasn’t that easy. The mate bond was relentless, a constant reminder of what could have been... and what had been cruelly taken from her.

And now, she was left to navigate this nightmare on her own, surrounded by people who saw her as nothing more than a possession, a prize. Her only hope lay in somehow surviving Don Linus’s twisted expectations.

The hours passed slowly, her mind racing with fear and bitterness. She felt like a prisoner not just in Don Linus’s house but in her own heart, chained by the bond that wouldn’t let her go.

Eventually, as promised, two maids entered her room, carrying a set of clothes. They didn’t speak, only offering her polite nods as they laid out the garments on the bed—a delicate blue dress

Claire stared at it, her heart sinking. It was a dress meant for display, for showing her off as some prized possession. But what choice did she have? Refusing would only provoke Don Linus’s wrath, and she needed time. Time to plan, to think, to figure out if there was a way out of this nightmare.

After the maids left, Claire reluctantly changed into the dress, her mind replaying Don Linus’s words. *Where does your power lie, Claire?* She didn’t know, but she had to find something, some edge, some way to prove herself that didn’t involve surrendering her soul to this monster.

As she adjusted the dress, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The woman staring back looked fragile, defeated, but there was still a spark of defiance in her eyes. She wouldn’t let this break her, not completely. She would survive this, somehow. And maybe, just maybe, she will find a way to escape.

But as she sat back down on the bed, the reality of her situation sank in deeper. The door was locked, and there were guards stationed outside. She was trapped, and her only connection to the outside world, to any hope of salvation, was the one person who had abandoned her.

Michael Tyson.