Owned by the Enemy

The Show Must Go On

Dominic



The second I walk away from her, the air gets harder to breathe.

The pack laughs. A few whistle. Some glance at Astrid with a mix of pity and cruel curiosity. Exactly how I planned it.

I should feel victorious. Triumphant. I humiliated her. Degraded her. Reminded everyone—including her—that this isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a fu*k*ng cautionary tale, and I’m the wolf your Mother warned you about. She’s not here to be cherished. She’s here to pay.

But something about the way she stood there—shoulders back, spine locked, chin lifted like a queen in enemy territory—scrapes across every nerve ending like a dull blade.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. She just stood there. Tall. Proud. Unyielding. Like a goddess dropped into a pit of wolves who dared them to bite her.

Fu*k.

I shove my hands in my pockets and force a smirk at one of the females ogling me across the room. Malia. Or Mila. Or something that starts with an M and ends in fu*k off. She winks.

I don’t wink back. I should be eating this up. Lapping up the attention.Instead? I’m pissed off.

I stalk to the edge of the room, jaw tight, the pack parting for me like I radiate violence. Which, to be fair, I do. My wolf is pacing inside me, restless and snarling.

She’s ours. Why are you doing this?

Because she’s not mine.She’s yours, but she’ll never be mine.

So no—I don’t give a sh*t how green her eyes are or how sweet her scent makes my instincts ache. I don’t care how her mouth would look wrapped around my d**k or how her skin would feel trembling beneath my hands.

This is revenge.Not romance.

I’ve told myself that a hundred times. A thousand. I have to keep saying it, over and over. Because the second I stop… I start wondering what it would feel like to mark her.

To mate her.To own her in the only way that matters.

Claim her. Protect her. Keep her.

“Fu*k off,” I mutter under my breath, sharp and low. A nearby warrior flinches. I don’t clarify.

Instead, I glance back. She’s still standing exactly where I left her. Still proud. Still composed. Still infuriatingly beautiful. Every damn thing about her lights me up like a fuse—and I hate it. Because I can’t stop fu*k*ng looking at her.

Then Malia’s on me like a heat-seeking missile in lipstick and leather. All sharp smiles and sharp intentions.

“She looks fragile,” she purrs, voice laced with venom and curiosity. “How long do you think she’ll last before she breaks?”

I glance at her. Let amusement twist my lips. “Fragile?” I echo. “Not in my experience.” I lean in, let my breath touch her ear. Let her feel the chill of what I really think. “She’s more dangerous than anyone realizes.”

Malia hums, pleased. But there’s a flicker in her eyes—dark and hungry. Not for me. For what she thinks she can do to Astrid.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Dom.” Her fingers trace the edge of my bicep. “If she cracks… you’ll be the one bleeding.”

I shrug, brushing a hand through my hair, casual as sin. “Maybe.” I meet her gaze. “But I’m the one holding the knife.”

She grins, sharp and hungry. “Good. Because she doesn’t belong here.” She grabs my arm, pulling me in closer. “Come with me?” she whispers. “Let’s make sure she knows her place tonight.”

For half a second, I hesitate. My wolf claws my insides in protest. But the darkness wins.

That jagged part of me—the one that still screams with old pain and deeper betrayal—leans into it. Grabs the moment like a weapon. She’s right. Astrid needs to be broken. She needs to learn her place.

So I nod.

Together, we move through the crowd, a show of dominance and detachment. The room swallows us up in noise and movement. But I can feel her eyes on me like a tether. I glance back. Just once. She’s still watching. Still standing. But there’s something different in her face now. A flicker of hope, smothered.

A flash of hurt, raw and sharp.And a wildfire of fury rising in its place.

Good.

Let her rage. Let her burn.

Because I’m winning. And tonight, I’m not just the Alpha. I’m the king of her fu*k*ng misery.