NovelEnglishChapter 4: Chapter 04: A Life Not Worth Living
Selene’s POV
| don’t remember how | got to the omega quarters. | don’t remember who dragged my body through the stone
halls, or how many turns it took before | ended up in that cold, miserable corner of the packhouse. Everything
from that moment was a blur—like fog smothering my thoughts. All | remembered was the cold pressing into my
bones. And the silence. A silence so deep it roared louder than any scream.
There was no bed. No blanket worth the name. Just a filthy, stained cloth crumpled in the corner of a damp,
stone room that smelled of mold and old blood. It was barely larger than a prison cell. My chains had been
removed, but the mark on my arm still burned—a raw, angry brand etched into my flesh. A permanent symbol of
who | was now. Property. A slave.
| should've died that day.
| whispered those words in my mind over and over, like a broken chant. Why didn’t | die? Maybe the Moon
Goddess had truly turned her face from me. Or maybe this was punishment. Either way, death felt kinder than
what | had now.
The fever csoon after. Slowly at first, like a whisper crawling beneath my skin. But it grew—hot, violent. My
whole body burned, yet | shivered constantly. My head pounded. | didn’t know if it was night or day. The air
reeked of blood and filth. | couldn't eat. Couldn't move. My lips were cracked, my mouth dry, and | was too weak
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But my heart still beat.
Every throb of the brand reminded me—I was alive. Or at least, something that resembled it.
Maybe even death didn’t want me.
| lost count of the times | blacked out. | don’t know how many days passed. Tmeant nothing in that dark little
cell. But one morning—if it was morning at all—I opened my eyes, and the fever was gone. My skin was sticky
and cold, my arm still sore, but the mark had stopped bleeding. The wound had hardened into a crusted scar.
| was still breathing.
still here.
And that’s when the door slammed open.
| barely had tto sit up before a hand yanked my hair and draggedupright. | gasped, my limbs tangled in
the blanket as my vision spun.
"Get up, filth."
The voice was sharp, female, and filled with disgust. She was older, omega head-ranked just above omega
maids, but held herself as if she were better—like she fed on the scraps of power handed to her by those above.
Her grip onwas cruel, like she enjoyed my pain.
"You've rotted in here long enough. The Alphas gave your orders today."
| tried to speak, but my throat was dry, words trapped behind cracked lips. The branded skin on my arm
screamed as she yanked it forward.
She shoved a bundle of dull gray cloth into my chest. "Put this on. That's your new uniform. Slaves don’t wear
silk."
My torn dress clung tolike old skin, but | stripped it away and pulled the uniform over my head. The fabric
was rough, thin, and reeked of sweat and vinegar. It didn’t warm me. It just remindedof what I'd become.
"Move," the woman spat, jerking my wrist again.
| stumbled after her, my bare feet silent against the cold stone. As we walked through the dim hallway, | saw
others—omegas like me. Spaused to look. Most turned away. A few stared with pity. But none of them
spoke. And the ones who met my eyes? | saw something there.
Fear.
Not pity. Not kindness. Just fear.
They saw the mark.
Red and angry against my pale skin, edged in crusted blood. | knew what it said. What it meant.
| wasn’t just an omega. | was beneath them.
| was nothing.
She draggedthrough the tall double doors, and my stomach twisted as | stepped into the Alpha residence.
The floors gleamed—black polished stone, clean enough to reflect the ceiling. Silver and charcoal trim lined the
walls. Everything was expensive, elegant, cold. The portraits on the walls watched us with lifeless eyes. The air
was filled with the scent of cologne, ink, and power.
"This is where you'll work now," the maid said with a satisfied smile.
I didn’t answer.
"You're not allowed in their bedrooms unless summoned. You'll clean the halls, the floors, the training rooms. You
touch anything of theirs without permission..." she leaned in close, her breath sharp with bitterness, "...and you'll
wish you hadn't. They won't break a sweat punishing you."
Then she hissed, her voice low and cruel. "And don’t even think of running. They'll snap your legs and leave you
to crawl."
She handeda bucket, a rag, and a brush. That was it. That was my new world.
"Start with the stairs," she said. "On your knees."
So | knelt.
My knees cracked on the stone, my arms shaking. The bucket sloshed as | dipped the cloth and began to scrub.
My fingers burned. My body was weak. The mark on my arm throbbed with every movement. My vision blurred.
But | didn’t stop.
And then | heard them.
oe
LA
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