THE PAST

OPRAH’S POV

I jerked awake, gasping for air that burned my lungs. My heart slammed against my ribs like a wild animal trying to break free. For several terrifying seconds, the cold, damp walls of the dungeon still pressed in around me. The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue. My back throbbed with phantom pain from silver chains that were no longer there.

“P-please… I didn’t do it,” I had begged, voice cracking. “I swear on the Goddess, the baby is yours!”

But Derrick’s eyes had remained icy, filled with nothing but disgust and betrayal.

The memory shifted violently.

Rough hands yanked me across the filthy dungeon floor. Silver chains whistled through the air before they tore into my flesh. White-hot agony exploded across my back. I screamed until my throat turned raw, until the pain blended into one endless fire that consumed every nerve. Warm blood trickled down my spine, soaking what remained of my torn dress. Each lash carved deeper, slicing not just skin but the fragile hope I still carried for the man I once loved.

Eventually, even screaming became impossible. My body surrendered, and darkness swallowed me whole.

Now, my eyes flew open to a different nightmare.

The low hum of engines vibrated through my bones. I was no longer in the dungeon. Instead, I sat slumped against a hard seat inside a dimly lit private plane. My wrists and ankles were bound tightly with coarse rope that bit into my skin. Around me, young women huddled together, their faces pale with terror. The air reeked of fear, sweat, and something far worse.

A sharp gunshot cracked through the cabin.

My head snapped toward the sound. The girl seated beside me jerked violently. A gaping hole had appeared in the center of her forehead. Her wide, lifeless eyes stared straight ahead as dark blood poured down her face and pooled on the floor between us. The metallic scent flooded the cabin, thick and nauseating.

Screams erupted everywhere. Girls thrashed against their restraints, voices rising into a chaotic symphony of horror.

“Shut the fuck up!” a deep, menacing voice bellowed.

The man holding the still-smoking gun stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding against the narrow aisle. His eyes burned with cruel amusement as he scanned the terrified faces. Silence fell instantly, broken only by muffled sobs and the steady drone of the plane’s engines.

My breathing came in shallow, ragged bursts. I could not tear my gaze away from the dead girl. Her blood was still spreading, creeping slowly toward my bound feet.

The gunman’s attention suddenly locked onto me. He stalked closer, the weapon dangling casually from his fingers. He leaned down until his face was inches from mine. The stench of cigarettes and cheap cocaine rolled off him in waves, making my stomach churn.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he growled, grabbing my chin with bruising force and forcing me to meet his bloodshot eyes.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. My voice trembled, but the words spilled out before I could stop them. “She is dead. You should at least cover her up.”

Gasps rippled through the other girls. Several stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

The man blinked once, then threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent ice sliding down my spine. “Cute and courageous. I like that.” His gaze drifted slowly over my face and settled on my unusual hair. “Rare coloring too. The Boss is going to make a fortune selling you at the auction.”

Auction.

The word slammed into me like another lash from those silver chains. My eyes widened as the full horror of my situation crashed over me. I had escaped one death sentence only to fall into another.

Memories flooded back in rapid, merciless flashes. He had really helped me escape. I remembered running blindly through the moonlit woods until my legs gave out.

My heart stoppef abruptly.

The rogue.

It was him that found my broken body and sold me like livestock to these monsters. Holly shiet. From the frying pan to the fire.

The trafficker released my chin with a look of disgust. “What a waste. Born beautiful, yet worth nothing more than a few coins.”

I opened my mouth to snap back, fury momentarily overriding fear, but another voice barked from the front cabin.

“Stray!”

“Coming,” the man called back. Before leaving, he bent down and grabbed the dead girl’s body as if she weighed nothing. He dragged her toward one of the small emergency windows, yanked it open, and shoved her lifeless form out into the night sky. Wind howled through the cabin, whipping hair across terrified faces. The girl disappeared into the darkness below without a sound.

He slammed the window shut and turned to glare at me one last time. “Be careful, princess. The Boss doesn’t tolerate troublemakers.”

With that, he disappeared toward the cockpit.

I slumped back against the seat, chest heaving. My hands, still bound, moved instinctively to my belly.

Oh Goddess, I vould still feel it. The small swell was still there. My pup was alive. For now.

A soft voice whispered from my left. “Be careful with them. They are ruthless.”

I turned to see a girl who could not have been older than sixteen. Her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Dried blood crusted her forehead and her cheeks were badly swollen. She looked half-starved.

“Who are they?” I whispered.

The girl opposite me answered bitterly. “They work for a human trafficker known only as the Boss. They kidnap she-wolves and sell us like commodities at underground auctions.”

My stomach twisted violently. So that was my fate now. After everything I had endured, after being rejected, tortured, and sentenced to be buried alive by my own mate, I was going to be sold as a sex slave.

Tears burned my eyes, but I forced them back. I could not break. Not here. Not when a tiny life still depended on me.

“I’m sorry,” the young girl beside me murmured.

“I’m sorry too,” I replied, my voice barely audible.

Another tear slipped down my cheek as the weight of my reality pressed down harder than the earth in my nightmare grave. I clutched my stomach tighter with both bound hands, silently vowing to protect the child growing inside me at any cost.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

A small, urgent voice pierced through the darkness.

My eyes snapped open.

I bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat. My nightdress clung to my skin, cold and damp. My heart still thundered wildly, and for a moment the roar of the plane’s engines echoed in my ears. The metallic smell of blood seemed to linger in the air.

Zarek stood beside the bed, his hazel eyes wide with concern. His small hands clutched the edge of the blanket. “Mummy, are you okay?”

I stared at him for a long second, grounding myself in the present. I was in my hotel room. Not the dungeon. Not the plane of trafficked girls. My son was safe. Alive. Four years old and already far too clever for his age.

I reached out and pulled him into my arms, holding him tightly against my chest. My body still trembled from the nightmare’s grip. I pressed a kiss to his soft cheek, inhaling his familiar scent to chase away the ghosts.

“Another bad dream?” he asked quietly, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

“Yes, honey,” I whispered, forcing a gentle smile even as my pulse continued to race. The past refused to stay buried. Every night it clawed its way back, reminding me of the pain, the betrayal, and the endless fight to survive.

Zarek pulled back slightly and studied my face with those unnaturally perceptive eyes. “What is it, Mummy?”

I brushed damp strands of hair away from his forehead and took a steadying breath.

“We need to prepare, Zarek,” I said, my voice gaining strength with every word. “We are going back to America.”

The words fell heavily into the silent room, carrying four years of pain, hidden wounds, and revenge that had burned inside me for far too long.

Maybe it was time to repay the favour. A small sarcastic smile formed on my face.