20

Melany’s POV

They led me into a white room, and before I could process what was happening, the door slammed shut behind me with a metallic click. 

I spun around, rage bubbling instantly to the surface, and charged toward the door. “Hey! Cowards!” I shouted, my fists pounding against the hard surface. “Open it!”

My voice cracked from the force, the desperation lacing each word making me sound half-feral, but I did not stop. I hit the door again and again, fists stinging, knuckles raw, until the only response I got was silence.

Breathless, I let out a shaky exhale and turned away, swallowing my frustration as I finally took in the room.

It looked like a cell disguised as luxury. Everything was white, unnaturally clean, blindingly sterile. A massive king-size bed sat planted in the middle of the room like a throne, and there was a small dining table set for two in the corner, as if someone thought pretending this was hospitality would erase the fact that I was still a prisoner.

I walked toward the bed, slow and wary, like it might vanish if I blinked too hard. 

When I sat down, the mattress gave under my weight in a way that felt entirely foreign... soft, indulgent, nothing like the hard boards I’d been forced to sleep on back at the brothel, side by side with other girls who had stopped dreaming years ago.

I stared at the floor for a moment, then let myself fall backward into the comfort that mocked everything I had ever known. My gaze drifted upward, locking on the white ceiling above me. "How the hell did my life end up like this?" I whispered.

For six years, I was a domestic servant in a brothel, and before that, I was a slave to a pack. I was never shaped by anything soft. In return, I was sold at an auction. I was worth less than a wolf, less than a witch... less even than a human.

I closed my eyes, but the silence did not bring peace, it brought memory. And memories, for me, were sharp.

The brothel came back with cruel clarity, like it never left the corners of my mind. I saw myself again, smaller, curled up behind the counter, bones aching from scrubbing floors all night, clutching those precious moments of stolen sleep while the others rotated through the upstairs rooms. It was the only place I could disappear, even if just for a moment.

But peace did not last in that place.

I remember when Nora, the pimp, stormed in with that chipped metal bucket in hand. She did not say a word... not at first. 

Nora just dumped its contents over my head, and I gasped at the sting that bit into my skin. I thought it was water, until the smell burned through my nose. Vodka. Cheap. It soaked my clothes and hair.

Then she spoke, in that flat, cold voice that always sounded bored with my existence. "I agreed to hide you here, but you are not being paid to sleep."

That day, I did not eat.

Nora said I hadn’t worked enough hours to earn my meal. I remember the ache deep in my stomach, the way it twisted and clawed at my ribs as I kept scrubbing floors already clean.

That’s why I hated wolves. In the pack, they treated me like a slave, they beat me and threw my food on the ground. In the brothel, they walked in and slept with the girls without paying a single coin. 

Wolves treated humans as nothing. And I always knew I wasn’t a wolf. I had the foolish hope of being a witch, but I knew I wasn’t. So when I accepted that I was just human, I hated wolves with all my heart. From the wealthy of Black Moon to the lords of the brothel.

But what choice did I have, really?

Without Nora, there was nowhere to go. Other brothels wouldn’t take a girl like me unless I spread my legs, and I refused. I wasn’t soft-faced enough to sell. 

And those sanctuaries the nobles always spoke of, those so-called "safe homes" for rescued humans, were nothing but cages. I’d heard enough to know better. Doors locked from the outside. Beds lined up like stalls. Guards who watched too closely and lingered too long. 

If a girl did not leave with bruises from a guard’s hands, she left with the smell of wine on her skin and coin pressed into her palm by some noble who thought rescue meant ownership. No one walked out of those places unchanged.

At least in the brothel, I knew what kind of monster I was dealing with.

The door handle turned without warning, and the door swung open. I straightened on the bed, instinctively pulling my knees closer to my chest.

Romeo walked in with slow, deliberate steps, his face too neutral to be casual. In his hands, he carried a glass jug and a stack of folded clothes. He did not look at me right away. Instead, he went to the small table against the wall, pouring water into the jug.

I had heard about Romeo ever since I was a child. The Beta had stood at the King’s side for over three hundred years, since before the Great War. He was known for his bravery and for being nearly as cruel as the King himself. Together, they held Atheon in iron fists... or so the old legends claimed.

“So, you are the chosen one this time,” he said finally, his tone soft but edged with sarcasm. “You should be proud. Not every human gets this close to the King and lives to tell about it.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” I replied, spine straight, fingers digging into the blanket.

Romeo gave a short, humorless laugh. He picked up a glass, filled it with water, and placed it on the dresser next to the clean clothes. Every move was slow and calculated. “Of course you do. You think I can’t tell when someone’s plotting something? It’s always in the eyes, and yours are hungry.” He finally turned to face me. “And it’s not hunger for food.”

I swallowed hard but kept my chin high. “You do not know me.”

Folding his arms across his chest. “you are not like the other humans. They come here crying, begging for mercy. You...” His gaze narrowed. “You look like you are figuring out where to stick the knife.”

I shrugged.

Romeo raised one brow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah... I like honesty.” He stepped closer to the bed, moving slowly. “But here’s a free piece of advice: do not try anything with him. If Ravok doesn’t kill you, Sorvane will.”

My heart kicked hard in my chest, but I did not let it show. 

Who the hell was Sorvane?

“Sorvane? Is that what you people call your excuse for being monsters?”

His head tilted slightly. “You know what? I like boldness. But boldness around here usually ends with bodies dumped in the forest.” Romeo grabbed the stack of clothes and tossed it onto the bed, right by my feet. “Put this on. And drink the damn water before you pass out. I do not want to be accused of killing the King’s new... guest.”

I said nothing. I just stared at him while my fingers brushed over the soft fabric, nothing like the rags back at the brothel.

“Well,” he said as he turned to leave, “if I were you, I’d stop looking like you are about to set this place on fire with your eyes alone.”

“And what if I could?”

He glanced over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Then maybe I’d start respecting you.”