The Broken Omega

5 years later

I opened my eyes and sighed-Wow, I'm alive. I tried to sat down but my body feels aching. I sighed weakly. How many years had passed? When Colton k!lled my father infront me because of those bruise? And how he dragged me out the house and brought me here?

How he force me to have bond with him, how he shown me how ruthless and heartless he is? I don't want to be here-I want my freedom. I looks around my room, it's cozy warm and my bed is soft and bouncy but I felt like I'm empty.

I absentmindedly let my gaze travel down my body, taking in the scattered bruises and fresh wounds that marred my pale skin-dark patches of pain staining me like ink, each one a silent reminder of him.

The man I loathed.

The man who had stripped me of everything.

Colton never hesitated.

He never held back.

Time and time again, he pushed me past my limits, testing the boundaries of my endurance-physically, mentally, emotionally. And when I faltered, when I dared to resist him, when I failed to obey the silent, unspoken rules he had forced upon me, he made sure I remembered.

With his hands.

With his fists.

With the sharp sting of punishment that came swift and merciless, leaving me breathless and trembling on the cold floor, my body aching, my spirit cracked just a little more each time.

And then-

He would leave.

Without a word.

Without even a glance.

As if my suffering meant nothing.

As if I meant nothing.

I swallowed hard, my fingers ghosting over the newest bruises blooming along my arms, wincing at the dull ache that radiated from the contact. The pain was familiar now-almost second nature.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

I exhaled shakily, my chest tightening as a bitter thought surfaced in my mind.

Is this all I'll ever be?

A caged Omega.

A plaything for a cruel, heartless Alpha.

A body to be used, to be broken, to be controlled.

My hands clenched into fists, my nails biting into my skin as the weight of it all settled deep in my bones.

I hate him.

I hate this.

But no matter how much I hated it, no matter how much I wanted to break free-

Colton had already made one thing very clear.

There was no escaping him.

Not as long as he still owned me.

It's traumatizing, suffocating, an endless cycle of fear that wraps around my throat like an iron chain, tightening with each passing night. Sleep never comes peacefully anymore-not when the moment I close my eyes, the nightmares come rushing in, dragging me back to those memories I desperately wish I could erase.

The painful beatings.

The unbearable suffering.

The way his voice lingers in my head, cold and unforgiving, reminding me that no matter how much I resist, no matter how much I fight-I'm his.

I inhale shakily, my gaze drifting toward the heavy wooden door, its presence looming over me like a reminder of my captivity. The lock on the outside remains tightly secured, ensuring that even if I dared to attempt an escape, I wouldn't get far.

Colton made sure of that.

He always made sure I knew my place.

A bitter lump forms in my throat, but I force myself to push past it, slowly swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My body protests with a sharp ache, muscles sore and bruised from yet another round of punishment, yet I ignore it, willing myself to move.

Every step is deliberate, cautious, as I make my way toward the bathroom, the cool marble floor sending chills up my bare feet. I reach for the faucet, twisting the handle until warm water cascades down, steam curling into the air.

I step under the stream, letting it wash over me, hoping-praying-that it will cleanse more than just the dirt and dried blood clinging to my skin.

But it never does.

No matter how hard I scrub, no matter how long I stand beneath the water, the filth I feel inside refuses to wash away.

Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my gaze to the massive mirror in front of me.

And what I see makes my stomach twist.

A fragile, hollow reflection stares back at me-haunted eyes sunken with exhaustion, bruises decorating my arms like ugly reminders of my weakness, of my helplessness. My collarbone protrudes more than before, my skin pale and lifeless, a stark contrast to the dark marks littering my body.

I barely recognize myself anymore.

The person I once was-the boy who used to dream of freedom, of something more-he's gone.

In his place stands a broken soul.

An Omega stripped of his dignity.

A prisoner in both body and mind.

And the worst part?

A part of me is starting to believe that maybe, just maybe-

There's no saving me anymore.

I reached up, gathering my long, dark hair with trembling fingers, tying it back in a loose knot as I turned on the shower. The sound of water cascading down filled the empty bathroom, a steady rhythm that momentarily drowned out the chaotic thoughts swirling inside my head. I stepped under the warm stream, letting it soak into my skin, tracing over every aching bruise, every cut, every painful reminder of the life I had been forced into.

A slow, shaky sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes, tilting my head back, allowing the water to wash over me as if it could somehow cleanse away the filth that clung to me-not just on the surface, but deep inside, where the damage truly lay.

I want to be free.

The thought echoed in my mind, desperate and raw, a plea I knew would never be answered.

I want to live my life the way I always dreamed-without fear, without chains, without him.

But how could I possibly escape the den of a lion when I was nothing more than a trapped rabbit beneath his claws?