Omega and the Twins Alpha

They always said male Omega performers sold higher.

Pretty boys. Flexible bodies. Soft voices.

Expensive trophies for the rich and ruthless.

I never believed it applied to me—until tonight.

The iron collar dug into my throat as I was dragged forward, the chain rattling behind me and echoing across the stone hall. Torches burned along the walls, lighting up my reflection in every piece of polished metal.

Long golden hair falling down my back.

Hips too slim.

Eyes too delicate.

Easy prey.

The crowd thickened as I stepped onto the stage. Bidders leaned forward, masked faces gleaming, the scent of Alphas thick and suffocating. My heart hammered hard enough to hurt, but I kept my chin high.

Rule one of Omega performers:

Never let them see you break.

The announcer grabbed my jaw, tilting my face toward the light.

“Lot Seventeen,” he called. “Male Omega. Rare. Untouched. Trained for discipline, poise, and service.”

A murmur rolled through the dark room.

My stomach dropped.

Then a door at the back opened—and the whole place went silent.

Two men stepped in.

Tall. Broad. Identical in every line of their bodies except their eyes.

Their presence hit like a storm.

Every Alpha in the hall tensed.

Every Omega shrank back.

The Twin Alphas of Helion Pack.

Thorne and Ryk Varyn.

The ruthless brothers.

The ones rumored to break their slaves long before letting them serve.

I’d heard the stories. Everyone had.

How they never shared anything—except their appetite for control.

How they never bought performers—unless they wanted to own them completely.

My breath froze.

They walked forward slowly, stopping right in front of the stage. Thorne folded his arms; Ryk tilted his head, studying me with cold curiosity.

A shiver ran through me.

“Begin the bidding,” Thorne said.

His voice vibrated through the hall.

Through me.

Numbers were shouted. Rising fast. Too fast.

I swallowed hard.

Because deep down, I knew:

No one was going to outbid the Twins.

And I was right.

With a final, bored flick of his fingers, Ryk ended the auction.

“Done.”

Chains tightened around my wrists.

The announcer forced me down the steps and toward them.

Toward the men who now owned my future.

Thorne stopped me with a single hand on my throat—not squeezing, just holding, feeling my pulse race beneath his palm.

“Pretty,” he murmured. “Fragile.”

Ryk stepped closer behind me, breath brushing my ear.

“He’ll break easily.”

My knees nearly buckled.

Thorne’s thumb pressed lightly under my chin, lifting my face to his.

“But we’ll teach him not to.”

And just like that, I was sold off to the Two Ruthless Alphas, then dragged into the Red Wing—their private domain, their training floor, their world.

The door slammed shut behind me.

My new life had begun.

The first thing I learned down there was silence.

The second was obedience.

On my first morning, a handler shoved a tray at me with a snort.

“Eat. You’ll need the strength. The Alphas expect perfection.”

Perfection.

I didn’t even know what that meant in this place.

The Red Wing was nothing like the slave blocks above. It was cold stone, dim lights, locked doors, and quiet footsteps echoing like ghosts. The walls felt alive with all the rumors I’d ever heard about the twins.

And every one of them felt suddenly believable.

Training started immediately.

Rule One: Never meet their gaze unless commanded.

Rule Two: Hold posture—knees apart, spine straight, wrists behind your back.

Rule Three: Speak only when the twins allow it.

Rule Four: Hesitation is disrespect. Disrespect is punished.

My instructor—a Beta with a cruelly calm voice—walked circles around me as I held position on the mat.

“Thorne notices everything,” he warned. “Even the way you breathe. Keep it slow. Controlled.”

“And Ryk?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

The Beta paused, then smirked.

“Ryk notices weakness. Show him any—and he’ll use it.”

My throat tightened. I kept staring at the floor, the rules echoing in my head.

I spent hours practicing stillness, balancing books on my back while kneeling, learning the exact curve of a bow the Alphas expected, the exact softness of a “yes, Alpha,” the exact pitch my voice should take when acknowledging commands.

Every mistake brought consequences.

Not violent—just sharp enough to remind me what I was.

“Again,” the Beta snapped when my posture faltered.

My knees ached. My arms trembled. My pride eroded piece by piece.

By the second night, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I sat on the edge of the cot in my tiny cell-like room, long golden hair falling over my face as I tried to breathe through the pressure building in my chest.

I wasn’t allowed mirrors, but I still knew what I looked like: tired, terrified, and too soft for a place like this.

Footsteps approached.

The door swung open.

The Beta stepped inside.

A smirk curled across his face. “Well… looks like it’s your lucky night, Omega.”

He leaned in, voice dropping into something crueler.

“The Twin Alphas have requested you in their bed.”

His laugh was low and mocking as he jerked his chin toward the hallway.

“Move.”