The Art Collector and His Billionaire Lover

Dahlia's POV

"Miss Dahlia? Alpha Damon has sent for you again..." Murmuring, Ava's timid voice barely makes it through my bedroom door.

I heard. He didn't just send for me, he sent his barbaric beta, Barke. It means I can either go to him, or get dragged to him.

"Miss Dahlia...?" Ava knocks again, sounding like she's about to burst into tears facing the scary beta.

Even for an omega, Ava is on the timid side. She is the maid Alpha Damon assigned me. How ridiculous, right? Giving an omega an omega maid. It's just one of his sick twisted jokes to humiliate me, just like the joke that's lying on my bed right now--

A red dress. A torn, red dress.

They are having a huge party tonight here at the Alpha's mansion. He knows I hate joining these events, and he sent me this torn dress an hour ago. Then three men after that, demanding my presence.

He took me home among slaves, saying he would protect me. I thought it can't get worse than being his sex toy, but now he sends me humiliations, and shows me off as his property.

Now, I'm just a worn toy he is bored of.

Staring at the long rip from the V collar all the way down to the abdomen of the dress and the messy wrinkles on its sides, I can feel the rage of the person when they tore it.

How could he even expect me to show up in this dress?

I know he despises me, but I'm still his sex slave. HIS. And he wants to expose my body in front of everyone in the most humiliating way?

Being a sex slave is horrible, but still far better than being a public toy.

I grip my nail deep into my palm to calm the urge to tear up the dress and draw his wrath on me. The piercing pain cools me down, and a wave of tiredness washes over me as I slide down against the wall, suddenly wondering--

How the hell did my life sink so low so fast?

Only three months ago, I was still a princess!

I was the daughter of an Alpha! I was adored by my mother and spoiled by my father. My grandfather was one of the most powerful Alpha in our history! But then he died. He died when he visited our pack, and then our pack was attacked. Mother died, father died, and I almost did, on the night of my 18th birthday.

I wish I had.

Unfortunately, I lived. I was taken to Alpha Damon's pack, to be a slave. I was just starting my life that night on that blood-stained birthday. I was going to be a female Alpha just like my mom, and I had my mate, my career, my whole life ahead of me, only to watch them wither in front of my eyes after a blink.

I can't just accept my fate and die in disgrace! I am still a Morgan!

I take a deep breath and come back to my feet.

I am Dahlia Morgan, daughter of Rossa Morgan, and even with my pack gone, I can't smear my mother's proud family name!

I hold my head up high and raise my voice: "Ava! Can you come in and help me dress up?"

Ava sneaks in fast like a rabbit running from the monster waiting at my door.

"Grab a pair of scissors. I also need some red strings and a needle." I nod at the huge closet as I go and tear up the dress like it's Damon Hayes himself, the evilest there is, the devil walking the earth -- their words, not mine.

Tearing him up feels as good as I imagined.

"Oh my! What did you do, Miss Dahlia?! The Alpha is going to kill me..." Ava gasps before murmuring at the edge of tears, a hand on her chest and the other on her forehead, staring at me as if checking whether I have lost it.

I worry she's going to faint on me: "I won't let you lose that little head of yours, but I need the scissors and everything. Now!"

She jumps before dashing out: "The Alpha's bedroom doesn't have those! I will be right back!"

The Alpha's room? I frown as I sit down in front of the make-up mirror. I have little time to waste.

Living here for three months now, I never knew this room used to be his. The mirror and the brand-new cosmetics threw me off. I just thought this belonged to one of his mistresses before it was my turn.

After all, "the devil" changes women like changing clothes. He doesn't get attached to anyone.

So what kind of a man would have a make-up mirror in their own bedroom?! Only a peacock!

I splashed makeup on my face in my fastest moves, bitching about him in my mind silently.

It actually makes sense! That man is a perfectionist when it comes to his looks. He's always fully dressed with his tie pushed high up to his throat and his sleeves buttoned. Always he is either shaping his hair, or just done shaping it. I don't think I have ever seen even a wrinkle on him. He would rather take an injury than shift to defend himself because that ruins his clothes.

Which is how I know my plan would annoy the hell out of him.

If I'm doomed to rot here quietly as the Alpha's worn toy, then I would rather go out with a blast!