18. Elena

At least,that's how long I think it's been. I've been tracking time-based on my meals. Three days of not leaving this room, of seeing no one else but Maeve.

Three days of this fucking dress that is chafing my skin.

Three lonely nights with nothing to soothe this deep ache inside of me. The lack of affection is hitting me the hardest. I just need to be touched so badly. Even more than I need to come.

My fingers get me off just enough that I'm not a total mess, but I feel like I'm going to shatter. Every meal that Maeve brings in is another one closer to me breaking. I won't beg them—not for anything.

I either need to be sedated or have the edge taken off by someone else. I'd rather poison myself than let one of those assholes touch me.

The telltale click of my door unlocking alerts me to someone entering my room. I assume it's going to be Maeve, but when I see it's Finn, a sneer takes over my face.

"Is the food not to your liking?" he questions calmly.

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I'm tired, even though all I've done is sleep. He looks sharp in his expensive suit. His hands are nonchalantly tucked into his pockets, like talking to me is just some stupid, trivial part of his day. I'm so lonely that I almost want to fight with him so that he doesn't leave right away.

"Don't tell me I've broken my toy already."

"Go fuck yourself." Okay, maybe some of the fire is still there.

"We really need to work on your insults. Maybe start giving them out in Italian."

"Mangia merde e morte."

"You know, that does sound a lot better. But I'm not in charge anymore, no need to wish for my death. My brother is giving you a pass to leave your room and come down for dinner."

I arch an eyebrow at him; it feels like a sick joke.

I look down at my wrinkly, smelly dress. I've showered and hung out in my towel for a few hours, but this is the only thing I have to wear.

"Can I have something else to wear?"

"No," he answers quickly.

I glare at him, and I swear mischief sparkles in his dark green eyes.

"Then, I'll pass."

"You don't want to see the men you have wrapped around your little finger?" He clicks his tongue. "They'll be heartbroken. I'll break the news gently," he snickers.

He's fucking enjoying this. It makes me want to do the opposite of what he wants. Plus, I could possibly see a window and maybe get a better idea of where I am. Even if I hate them, at least I wouldn't be alone.

"I'll come to dinner. Just give me a few minutes."

"Straight to the dining room. There are guards posted around the perimeter. You can try to escape, but you won't get far. I'm not negligent like your brother."

I want to roll my eyes, but I just nod my head.

Finn wants to play mind games. Then I'm fucking all in.

"We'll await your presence," he says, leaving my cage door wide open.

I won't deny that it feels like a trick. But I need to get out of this room, and I need to make a point while doing so.

Finn can say that Cillian, Logan, and Declan care about me, but I know it's a lie. You don't do what they did to me when you care about someone. A prisoner is still a prisoner, even if the captor plays nice every once in a while.

Hit them where it hurts, I tell myself.

I grab the hem of my dress until I'm completely naked. I don't have a hairbrush, so I'm sure my hair's a fucking mess—finger combing can only do so much. But I know how potent my scent is without my suppressants.

I feel like I'm going to pass out with every step down the hall—every naked step. I swallow, hoping that I'm not walking down to my own assault. But if they want to treat me like a piece of property, I'll act like one.

As soon as I enter the dining room, the looks I receive are absolutely worth the risk I'm taking.

Maeve drops a tray, one of Cillian's crutches falls to the floor, and both Logan and Cillian begin to growl.

I hold my head high and try to act unaffected. Like there isn't a pit in my stomach from hunger and from the stake they pushed through my heart.

When I look at Finn, there's nothing but a feral grin on his face. He's enjoying that I'm acting like this. He probably pushed me to it, if I'm being honest. I can't even be mad knowing the mayhem I've caused. He pulls out the chair at the head of the table for me to take a seat.

I place my bare behind on the seat, the wood cold against my ass, and I do my best not to make a noise. He helps me push it in before taking the seat next to Logan.

"Where are your clothes?" Cillian grates out.

It takes everything in me to meet his gaze, his eyes trying to stare at my face instead of my exposed breasts.

Good, take a very good look at what you're never going to get to touch again.

"Only Omegas who behave get clothes, according to Mr. Finn," I calmly reiterate what I was told.

Cillian might not have been the one to say it—clearly, Finn wasn't lying about him getting shot—but they're all to blame for how I've been treated. I don't care if the words came from his mouth or not.

Maeve comes over to the table, Irish curses falling from her tongue. She's clearly scandalized by the way I showed up to dinner naked as she places the food on the table.

I lean forward and fill my plate, my chest hitting the table as I put some mashed potatoes and roasted chicken on the expensive china. My stomach is probably the size of a strawberry right now, but this looks delicious, and I think I've made my point on the food strike side of things.

It's an added bonus to eat, as though I didn't go through multiple courses on how to be a lady. Naked, unrefined, and pissed off—the opposite of what an Omega should be.

"Things are going to be changing. This isn't what we wanted," Cillian grits out.

"Oh, you didn't want an Omega naked in your home, ready to get on her knees and take your knot whenever you require? Hmm… could have fooled me," I reply, picking apart the chicken with my fingers.

The first bite makes my mouth water, but I almost want to throw up at the same time. I keep eating regardless. My careless attitude is pissing the men around me off, and I relish it.

I hate them.

"Elena," Logan growls my name.

"Don't fucking speak to me, Logan," I spit right back at him. He was a fucking traitor to my family.

I dare to look at him, his blue eyes pleading with me. Eyes that I once loved, that brought me so much comfort. I can't stand the shade now.

"It's Lorcán," he corrects solemnly.

I laugh sardonically and take another bite of chicken. "Of course it is. Are you getting a good look? Lorcán?" I draw out his name angrily as I lean in his direction, pointing at him with my fork. "Isn't this what you wanted all those years while you stood by my side and fucking betrayed me? Take it all in now ‘cause it's the only time you'll see it. I'd rather fucking kill myself than sleep with a fucking rat."

He grips the table like he's trying to control himself but says nothing.

Logan—Lorcán—I fucking guess, was always in control. I want to break that control; I want to break him. He was spying on my family, on me, this whole time.

My gaze meets Finn's across the table, and I swear it's like he's seeing me for the first time. He's rubbing his scarred jaw with a thumb, but his eyes don't leave mine until I break contact with him to look at Declan.

"I fucking hate you too," I spit at him.

He looks away like it hurts.

Good. I hope it does.

"Elena, that's enough," Logan—I mean, Lorcán—chastises.

Cillian remains steadfastly quiet; my guess is because he can't believe that I'm behaving this way. Or maybe it's due to the fact that I had the gall to come down here naked in the first place. Either way, it's clear that, despite everything, my perfume is still thick as hell and is influencing the Alphas in the room.

I eat my food even though my throat protests and my stomach churns.

A sudden reality that I hadn"t considered hits me.

"Did you kill my father?" I ask Lorcán.

If he says yes, I think I'll actually try to kill him, still naked in this dining room. Stab his perfectly blue eyes with this fork.

His face genuinely falls. "No, I respected Matteo."

"Don't fucking say his name, you liar," I hiss.

"He knew who I was this whole fucking time, Elena. I was sent to be your detail when the agreement was made. Matteo made the pack contract, not Anthony," he throws out angrily.

"You're lying," I counter. The chicken stirs in my stomach, and tears are bitterly welling in my eyes.

"He's not. Our father signed the contract four years ago with your father. Lorcán was sent to be your protection, and when he felt you were ready, he was going to make a move to court you and introduce you to the rest of us. It wasn't supposed to go this way," Cillian explains.

All I can hear is my heartbeat booming in my ears as I look over at the man I've known as Logan for years. For years, he fucking lied about who he was, and my father was keeping secrets from me. It was never a choice.

It was all a farce.

"You're just trying to make me hate you less and my family more," I deny defensively.

Declan sighs and gets up from his chair, and my internal alarm bells start going off.

There's no way he could do this to me. My father wouldn't have made a contract with another family. Anthony just made the deal after he died.

My pàpa wasn't a good man, but he was a good father, the one person who truly loved me.

Declan comes back to the table; he looks down at my naked body but says nothing as he places a contract in front of me.

It's dated four years ago.

It has my father's signature.

My whole world shatters before me.

I stand from my chair and lose it. My hand swipes across the table as I knock over glassware and plates. They clatter to the floor while food sticks to my arms and hands. The scent of chicken suddenly repulses me as I lean to the side and empty the contents of my stomach.

The heave is dramatic, and my throat stings afterward, but nothing hurts more than the truth before me.

"Fuck," someone hisses, but I'm not sure who.

I fall to the ground, my naked knees smacking against the cold, tiled floor as a jacket wraps around me.

Somewhere in my brain, I know it's Cillian's because of the scent. There's no way it's Finn's, but then again, they're the same. The undeniable scent of one of my scent matches wraps around me, and all I want to do is set the jacket on fire.

I'm pathetic, naked, and sobbing on the dining room floor as arms wrap around me.

I don't fight it. I just close my eyes and try to breathe as my body trembles.

Everything was a lie.

I thought that I meant more to my father, that he respected me enough to give me this choice. He didn't.

I wasn't the exception to how he treated people; I was just too gullible to see it.

I'm not sure who I am anymore.

I'm not a Don's daughter. I'm not a pack's Omega. I'm fucking no one.

Nothing.

Everything hurts, and all I want to do is sleep forever so I don't have to deal with my life. Every man I've known has betrayed me, used me.

All I ever wanted to feel was loved, and now all I feel is broken.