The Unseen Wound

Inside the dimly lit villa, in a room adorned with luxury and secrecy—designed especially for the mistress of the house—a young woman lay curled upon a vast, silk-draped bed. Her slender form trembled, her limbs taut with tension that pulsed just beneath flushed, fevered skin. The air hung thick with the scent of Omega pheromones—deep, musky, and wild, like the damp earth of a forest just kissed by rain. It clung to every surface: soaked into the silk sheets, woven into the velvet drapes, hovering in the stillness like a fevered breath that refused to leave.

She was the source of that scent. She, Hima—withered by exhaustion, yet still ethereal.

Her face, oval-shaped and delicately balanced between fragility and grace, seemed sculpted from dusk itself. Her eyes—large, cat-like, a warm, glassy brown—held the color of burnt amber, blurred now by heat and emotion. They fluttered behind damp lashes, flickering with unrest and unspoken thoughts. Just above the gentle curve of herl small, upturned nose sat a single mole—a tiny beauty mark, subtle but unforgettable. The kind of detail one remembered in dreams and woke reaching for.

Her lips were thin, pale, and trembling, parted slightly as she drew in shallow, uneven breaths. There was something unfinished in her expression, as though her soul was caught in mid-sentence.

Her bronze-toned skin shimmered in the low light, flushed with the fire of her heat cycle and streaked with a sheen of sweat. Strands of her light brown hair clung to her temples and throat, framing her like a painting touched by stormlight. The silk slip she wore was soaked through, the fabric molding to her body—both vulnerable and striking, an outline of a woman undone.

And yet, even now—trembling, silent, waiting—Hima did not break.

She existed like a quiet force of nature. Not pleading. Not crumbling. Just enduring. A storm held in delicate hands. A fire behind shuttered eyes.

But the pain she endured tonight wasn’t from her heat.

As a dominant Omega, her cycles were usually brief—manageable, even forgettable. Her body had long since adapted. No, this was something else. Something crueler. A fever, punishing and merciless, layered over her heat like a second, sharper edge. A consequence of her Alpha husband’s discipline—a cold-blooded punishment for imagined defiance.

Shēn Mark had made her stand for hours in the rain—barefoot, soaked to the bone—as if she were a disobedient servant, not his wife.

It wasn’t the first cruelty.

And it would not be the last.

She clutched the sheets with one trembling hand, trying to ride out the pain, to stay quiet even as her body screamed.

It had been three years.

Three years since she was married into this loveless bond—a merger of bloodlines and assets, nothing more. A deal struck between two powerful business clans, and she, the bride, merely the signature that sealed it.

She still remembered the first time she saw Mark.

He had been tall, broad-shouldered, in his late twenties. His skin was smooth, his black hair always immaculately combed, his jaw sharp. His eyes—deep brown and unwavering—carried the weight of command. His voice was low, husky, perfectly tuned to control a room. He had seemed like the kind of Alpha any Omega might dream of bonding with.

For a brief moment, she had let herself believe.

Maybe, in time, he would soften. Maybe he would see her not as a pawn but as a partner. Maybe… she could matter to him.

But Shēn Mark was as cold in heart as he was in manner. The ice in his gaze touched everything—her hopes, her smiles, her longing. She had never been a wife to him. Only a transaction. A jeweled puppet to be displayed, silenced, and obeyed.

Outside, the night had deepened. Moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting silver onto the wooden floors, glinting across the furniture, and settling in pale patches across the bed where Hima lay, bathed in pain and silence.

Then—a knock.

She flinched.

A soft voice followed, muffled behind the thick oak door.

“Madam Shēn… are you awake?”

As if she could sleep. As if rest were something someone like her could afford.

She bit her lower lip. Waited. Then rasped, “Yes… come in, Aunty Lú.”

The door creaked open. The scent of her pheromones spilled out into the hallway, escaping like a secret. But Aunty Lú, a Beta well past her sixtieth year, was unaffected. She had served the Shēn family for decades, watched Mark grow from a sharp, serious boy into a colder man. And she had watched Hima arrive—a bright-eyed nineteen-year-old bride be handed over in marriage like currency.

Aunty Lú entered quietly, carrying a tray with a glass of water and a damp, folded towel. Her lined face softened the moment she saw Hima.

Hima forced herself upright, bones protesting, muscles aching as she leaned against the headboard.

“Yes…?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

Aunty Lú sat at the edge of the bed, her voice low and gentle, laced with hesitance.

“Your brother called.”

Hima froze.

Her breath caught as if she’d misheard. “Who…?”

“Your brother,” the old woman repeated gently. “Rén Khem.”

The name struck her like thunder. Her eyes widened, tears welling instantly. Khem—the little brother she had raised, protected, adored. The one she had been forced to leave behind.

He had been only thirteen when she was married off and vanished from his world.

She could still remember that day in pieces—his arms around her waist, refusing to let go. Lily, his closest friend, crying beside him, clinging to her dress. Don’t go, they’d begged. Don’t marry him. Don’t leave us.

Her throat tightened. Aunty Lú gently placed the glass in her hands.

After a long pause, Hima managed to ask, “What did he say?”

There was silence. Aunty Lú looked away, as if unsure whether to speak.

Then, after a breath too long, she said softly, “Your father… is in the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

Hima’s world tilted. The glass slipped slightly from her hand.

She stopped breathing.

And then—she broke.

Her tears came in silence, falling fast and hot. No sobs. No sound. Just grief, long-held and merciless, pouring down her fevered cheeks as the moonlight spilled across her pain.

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