**SOLD. BETRAYED. CURSED.** Lyra Anderson’s uncle didn’t just betray her, he sold her to HELL. Orphaned, broken, and stripped of hope, she’s now a prized breeder in the Devil’s underworld… until her first client walks in. **Vincenzo Van Doren.** The most ruthless Mafia king in history. A monster bound by a blood curse, desperate for an heir. But the moment he sees Lyra, his world shatters. She’s not just a breeder—she’s his fated mate. And he’ll burn empires to claim her. Fate has other plans. Lyra’s first shift unleashes an unthinkable truth—she’s no ordinary Omega. She’s a Dominant, a creature of myth, and now the most hunted woman alive. For Vincenzo’s rival, Marcello, she’s the ultimate weapon. For Vincenzo, she’s the key to his salvation But when Lyra uncovers a devastating lie—that Vincenzo’s love might be nothing but a cold-blooded ruse—her trust evaporates in blood and betrayal. Will she break his curse… or become it?
Voir plusLyra’s POV“Get the hell up, Lyra, you have a visitor.”The guard’s voice was a growl, thick with annoyance as he slammed his palm against the iron bars. The sharp clang echoed through the cold, moldy walls of my cell like a death bell.A visitor?I squinted against the weak beam of sunlight filtering through the barred window. In five months—five long, soul-chewing months—not a single soul had come to see me. Not even to spit in my direction.“What? Are you deaf now?” the guard barked, pulling the chains that shackled my wrists to the wall. “Move!”My legs, stiff and sore from days of barely moving, wobbled beneath me. Heavy chains clanked with each step as I shuffled forward, wrists bound, ankles trapped. The guard shoved me hard in the back, nearly sending me to the filthy floor.“I said move!”“I heard you the first time, Shrek,” I muttered, just loud enough for him to catch.He grunted but didn’t respond. Probably used to inmates cracking from being locked away. But I wasn’t crac
Vincenzo’s POVI stared at Frank for a moment, the tension simmering just beneath my skin. The ballroom's golden chandeliers blurred in the background as if the world had shifted out of focus and left only his words hanging—she likes you.A slow grin cracked my face, disbelief wrestling with hope. I threw my drink—an obnoxiously expensive glass of scotch—over my shoulder. It smashed on the marble floor with a satisfying crack! Heads turned. I didn’t care."FRANK!" I bellowed, flinging my arms open and grabbing him in a crushing bear hug. He smelled like cheap cologne and bad decisions. "You’ve got the best damn view in the house!"Frank coughed. "Vince, I think my spine just cracked.""Shut up and feel appreciated, you sentimental hedgehog!" I released him and stepped back, slapping both hands on his shoulders. "You saw it. You saw it! Lyra looked at me like I was the only man in the room!""I mean," Frank began cautiously, eyes darting toward the shattered remains of my scotch, "she
Marcello’s POVI was in my chamber sipping my wine when the door was angrily pushed open. I knew it would be her—no one else stormed into my private quarters like that.I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look up. I merely took another sip, letting the sharp, aged taste of the red run over my tongue as I settled further into the velvet chair. I snickered softly.“Rebekah,” I said, her name a calm ripple in the storm that was about to break. “To what do I owe this... delightful intrusion?”“You bought her,” she spat, voice shaking with fury. “You bought Lyra.”I lifted my gaze, finally meeting hers. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her hands clenched at her sides, eyes ablaze. Her beauty always intensified when she was furious—like a storm about to rip the sky open.“So she told you,” I murmured, letting the glass dangle lazily from my fingers. “That surprises me. She hardly speaks to me at all.”“You’re not answering the question,” she snapped, stepping forward. Her boots struck the marble like
Lyra’s POV“I can't occupy everywhere if it’s a joke to you. I’m a bit too slim and tall for that. I don’t have the luxury of blending into tight corners like a mouse or sliding between bars like some rogue in a fairy tale.” I tried to explain myself to Rebekah, who had appeared outside my cell with a glint in her eye that suggested she found all of this a bit too entertaining.She sat down on the stone bench beside me—closer than I expected—like we were longtime friends catching up. Her face hovered near mine, scanning my expression with the curiosity of someone watching a particularly juicy drama unfold. My eyes must’ve told the story already. Stressed. Tired. Worn out like a shirt that had been through too many washes and too many bad days.“You look like someone used you to clean the floor,” she said, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. “Your eyeballs are screaming, girl.”I huffed, folding my arms over my bony chest. “Thanks, Rebekah. Nothing like being compared to a rag to brigh
Meera’s POVGabriel snorted. “They look like they’d taste like old money and cruelty.”I laughed—sharp and sudden—and it startled both of us. I hadn’t realized how close I was to shattering until the sound escaped.Gabriel reached across the gearshift and laced his fingers with mine. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got some cash. I mean, not mansion-cash. But enough.”“I don’t care about the money,” I whispered.“I know. That’s what scares him.” He glanced over. “You’re the only thing in his world that doesn’t have a price tag.”I stared at him, at the curve of his jaw, the tiny scar near his eyebrow from when he fell off his skateboard last year, the way he looked at me like I was human—messy, complicated, and still worth choosing.“Where are we going?” I asked.He smiled. “Anywhere but there.”Which turned out to be a 24-hour diner that smelled like burnt coffee and salvation. We slid into a booth with cracked red vinyl seats, steam clinging to the windows, everything humming with fluore
Meera’s POV“I’m not having this conversation again.” I crossed my arms and leaned back into the velvet couch like it was my throne. “You hate Gabriel. We get it. Move on.”Dad stood by the fireplace like some overgrown villain from a period drama, one hand wrapped around a crystal glass of scotch he hadn’t even sipped. He wasn’t drinking. He was brooding.“You’re throwing your future away for a boy with no legacy, no—no direction,” he snapped. “Do you know what the Sinclairs think about this?”“The Sinclairs can choke.” I said it calmly, too calmly, which I knew would needle him more than screaming.His eyes flared. “Meerah.”“Don’t Meerah me,” I shot back. “You act like I’m bringing home some street criminal. He’s smart, kind, and he doesn’t kiss your ass, which, let’s be honest, is the real issue here.”Dad laughed, the kind of cruel, clipped sound that made my stomach twist. “Kind? Is that what you think this boy is? Sweetheart, he’s a parasite. Clinging onto my daughter for a tas
Marcello’s POVShe flinched when I entered. Like my shadow alone was poison.I shut the door behind me and said nothing at first. Just stood there, staring at the girl who haunted my nights and defied me by day.“Lyra,” I said softly, taking a step toward her.She shrank back immediately, pressing herself into the carved headboard. “Don’t touch me.”I paused. My hands lifted instinctively—open, calm, as if that would undo what she’d just lived through.“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said.“You already did,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why are you like this?”I felt something coil inside me. Something old and cold.“You belong to me,” I said, slowly, carefully. “No one else gets to speak into your life. Especially not her.”She blinked, her lips trembling. “Her. You mean Rebekah?”I didn’t answer.“You lied to me.” Her voice grew stronger, edged with fury. “You never told me she was your ex. Why?”“That is none of your concern,” I snapped.She flinched again. I gritted my teeth
Marcello's POVDamn it.That deranged woman finally got to her.Rebekah. That name alone made my jaw clench. I could see her fiery silhouette just beyond the corridor, her voice a venom-laced lullaby winding its way into Lyra’s unsuspecting ears. My blood boiled. Only the heavens knew what poison she was whispering. I couldn’t let her think she was special. Not Lyra. Not the slave I hadn’t yet broken.I turned on my heel, boots slamming against the marble floor of the estate. The guards flinched when they saw the thunder in my eyes. I brushed past them, my stride long, calculated—each step meant to erase every word Rebekah dared plant in Lyra’s naive head.As I approached the grand hall, my voice thundered across the walls like a coming storm.“LYRA!”Both of them turned.Lyra’s eyes went wide. Hope flickered in them, fleeting, foolish. She took a step back as I closed the distance.“Get out. NOW,” I barked.She froze, trembling, lips parting to protest.I didn’t give her the chance.
Lyra's POVMy breath hitched.Standing beside Marcello—arm looped casually through his—was her.The woman from the mirror.The ghost, the enigma, the whisper in the air that had vanished like fog on glass. Only she wasn’t vanishing now. She was right here. Tangible. Alive. Wearing a gown that shimmered like starlight and a smile far too polite to be real.Marcello’s gaze locked on mine the moment I froze. His brows drew together, concerned flickering beneath his polished composure. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My mouth felt like it was full of sand.“Lyra,” he said, gently tugging me closer. “This is Rebekah. She’s an old family friend.”Old didn’t even begin to cover it.Rebekah extended a graceful hand, her expression as smooth as porcelain. “It’s nice to meet you, Lyra.”I stared at her hand for a beat too long. The memory of her touch—cold, knowing, impossibly ancient—still clung to my shoulder.I reached out, hesitating just a second before our palms met.The moment her fingers br
Lyra’s POV “LYRAAAA!" Meera’s scream tore through the mansion, sharp enough to shatter glass. I flinched but didn’t move, gripping the broom in my hands like a lifeline. Again. Whatever petty complaint she had this time, I wasn’t in the mood. Ever since my parents died and my Uncle took me in,I’ve been nothing but a slave in this house. But the silence that followed was worse. No second shout. No stomping footsteps. Just… waiting. Something was wrong. I forced myself down the stairs, my pulse hammering in my throat. The dining room doors were wide open, and the moment I stepped inside, the air turned to ice. Meera sat at the table, smirking. Uncle Zorah lounged beside her, his fingers steepled like a king on his throne. And across from them— A man. Strange. Old. Heavy-lidded eyes that crawled over me like damp fingers. A smile too wide, too knowing. “Ah. Here she is." Uncle Zorah slid a document across the table, the gold seal glinting under the chandelier. ...
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