Feeling the softness of the bed, the figure rolled peacefully, then swung his leg toward the air, momentarily brushing against the figure beside him, who already had his hands on him.
For a moment, he snuggled closer, throwing his slender hands around the body next to him, hugging him tightly. His palm landed on bare skin, and as he trailed down the supposed arrays of muscular structures, instead of firm strength, all he touched was sagging flesh and putrid skin.
It was strange and unusual, but he didn't notice until his hand fondled something—a manhood. A hot, throbbing flesh, pulsing furiously in his grasp.
"Wow, that's actually soft," the voice beside him hummed in delight while he still fondled the flesh, faster now, until a turbulent sound echoed from somewhere unknown, crashing into his eardrums. Startled, he fell from the bed, landing on the floor with a heavy thud.
"F**k!!"
Opening his lashes against the harsh sunlight, he blinked continuously, trying to make sense of where he was. Unfortunately, his mind came up blank—nothing about how he got here, nothing about why he was here.
"Oh baby, keep touching my dick… your hands feel so soft," a cracked voice came from behind.
Hearing such a vile statement, Daniel Lancaster turned sharply—and to his horror, standing there was a wretched old man. Could he even call him "wretched"? No—more like a walking corpse, because his entire body was a nightmare.
"Who are you calling baby?" Daniel snapped, disgusted beyond imagination.
The decrepit figure shuffled forward, and that's when Daniel saw it—his so-called joystick. Oh goodness, it looked like a dried twig. Not only dried but short—too short.
Who the fuck would ever get riled up by that? Daniel thought bitterly.
This was not how his day was supposed to start. Why the hell was he in this room?
The fragrance in the air felt off—like choking smoke threatening to suffocate his lungs. It was disturbing, pungent, reeking like those harsh insecticides used to chase away cockroaches and stubborn bugs.
"It's me, boo. Don't you like what you see?" the man croaked, his hollow throat echoing like a gutter, making Daniel recoil further.
His eyes—oh, God. They gave him the horrifying look of the Hyde from Wednesday. Daniel had watched it, and there was absolutely no difference between the two.
And if what was down there had already disgusted him, this was another level of horror.
His teeth—Daniel didn't even want to go there. They looked like the jagged edges of a chainsaw, ready to tear him apart. But Daniel was no tree, and he sure as hell didn't need a chainsaw of teeth cutting into him.
"Oh wow, that's so thoughtful of you, chief," Daniel muttered sarcastically, shifting uncomfortably, "but I propose you step back a little."
Yet the man kept advancing.
Doesn't he hear words? Or is he deaf—or just daft?
"I said stop coming forward, you wretched old hag!" Daniel blurted, and the words struck a nerve—so deep it almost delighted him.
The man's expression changed instantly, his countenance twisting into rage.
"I paid a lot of money for your service. I heard you're the prettiest, so I wanted to have a taste of that honey pot."
Oh, that did it. Daniel thought maybe he could respect the old hag simply because he was old enough to birth his ancestors—but no one called him such a vile name and walked away unscathed.
The man stretched his hand toward Daniel's leg and butt cheeks, but unfortunately for him, Daniel was faster. Before that twig-like hand could touch his body, Daniel's palm swung sharply, slapping the man's cheeks repeatedly until he tumbled and fell, his head hitting the bed stand.
Gasp.
Surprisingly, the man didn't pass out. Daniel didn't care if he had died or lived.
The effrontery to try something so bold! Daniel couldn't risk his identity being tainted by predators like this. Then suddenly, something the man had said rang in his mind.
He claimed he had paid a large sum of money for Daniel's "service." What the hell did that mean?
Luck or curse—Daniel had no idea—but at that exact moment, a knock came on the door.
"Master Garrit, have you satisfied your needs, or should we bring in another exotic breed?" a feminine voice called out.
Daniel froze. Exotic breed? That meant they knew he was an omega. But no one knew that—no one but his family. Only his father and mother. How could anyone else know?
"Sir, are you there? We just want to know," the voice continued, when silence followed.
Panic crept into Daniel's chest. Taking a proper look, he realized the room itself screamed luxury—exotic designs, expensive taste. For someone as disgusting as that old hag to stay here, he had to be a man of high class.
"Oh fuck," Daniel muttered, horrified. "I attacked a powerful man, didn't I?"
And just as he feared, the door was violently thrown open. A fat lady stormed in, followed by a beautiful woman.
Daniel, in desperation, was dragging the old man's body toward a cupboard, but unfortunately, they caught him in the act.
Shocked, the two women stared at him, and at the dangling figure in his hands.
Daniel raised his hands in mock surrender, lost for words.
"This isn't my fault," he defended quickly.
The enormous woman, eyes wide, glared at him and stepped closer, peering at the old man, who now lay carelessly dropped on the floor.
"Is he dead?" she questioned.
Daniel, like a respectful candidate at trial, shook his head quickly.
"He's alive—just unconscious," he added, not noticing the incredulous look the other woman shot him.
"How dare you attack a customer you're meant to service?" the fat woman roared.
Service?! The word itself was poison. Him—Daniel Lancaster—service someone? And not just anyone, but this old cargo? Someone had to be kidding him.
But no one laughed.
What the hell was going on? He had been home just hours ago. A sharp migraine hit him, his forehead burning in mad pain.
"We are not joking here, boy," the woman's voice thundered. "Get back in that bed and make me money—or I'll sell you off."
Her words pierced him, but before Daniel could reply, his knees buckled and he collapsed. The fat woman exchanged a mischievous grin with her accomplice.
"Drag him to the Red Room," she deadpanned.
******
A DAY AGO.
"Father, I told you I don't want to marry her. She doesn't enchant me," Daniel argued, his voice laced with desperation as he tried to defend himself from his father's accusing gaze and malicious words.
Alessandro's face darkened, frowning deeply, disappointment hardening his features.
"I didn't tell you to marry her for love. The Lancaster family doesn't do love. I didn't love your mother when I married her," Alessandro fired coldly, his eyes burning with bubbling hatred—as if he might stab him any minute.
Daniel, standing in the living room, felt his heart sink. Why was he being forced into a marriage he didn't want? Not only was he born an omega, but a weak one—a boy destined to be tossed around by men until discarded.
When Alessandro had discovered his son's status as an omega, his malice deepened. He treated Daniel like an abomination, a deformity, excluded him from everything. And now, he wanted him married off to a rich girl, ignoring the fact that Daniel could never get a woman pregnant.
He wanted Daniel gone—erased from the family, a stain removed.
Daniel stepped forward, clutching his father's hand desperately.
"No, father. Don't do this. You hate me, yes—but you know who I am. I can't survive out there," he begged.
But Alessandro only sneered.
"Marry her, or you're dead to this family. You'll cease to exist among us," he declared, his tone final. "You'll be erased as if you were never born. So stop being a pu**y and marry the damn girl."
Daniel's face fell, crestfallen and broken. So this was it—he had been abandoned, like he was nothing. How was he supposed to survive? Why him?
Thinking his mother might help, he turned toward her—but Alessandro gripped his arm tightly, iron-strong.
"Foolish boy. Your mother was the one who suggested throwing you out. Now get out, you dog!" Alessandro spat.
"Out! OUT!!!"
With his raised voice, several bodyguards rushed in, dragging Daniel out of the compound like a pile of discarded trash.