Their Game, Her Ruin

Chapter 4

Autumn

I’m nothing to them anymore. A ghost. A mistake that never should’ve lived.

Nevertheless, Jaxon keeps watching me. Like I’m something he can’t look away from. Like he wants to trap me here and dissect me under his calculated gaze. This pressure builds in my chest, every second under his scrutiny stretching painfully into the next. And that’s when Brielle speaks again—drawing out each syllable like she’s savoring them on her tongue.

“Let’s start with something easy.” Her purr curls through the room. “Autumn … truth or dare?”

I freeze, my breath locking in my throat. Every eye in the room zeroes in on me, waiting, anticipating. The silence feels like it could crack my skull.

Jaxon still hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I sat down. His stare is relentless. Overwhelming. That alone is enough to make my skin crawl, to make me wish I’d never let Brielle drag me in here. But when he speaks, when his lips curl into that cruel smile, the venom in his voice punches a hole through my chest.

“Why is she even here, Brielle?” he asks lazily, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Thought this was a party, not a charity event.”

My head spins, and I feel sick, like my stomach has turned inside out as I’m put on display for everyone to laugh at.

A few people snicker. My face burns.

Brielle laughs and tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder like I’m a joke she’s already tired of.

I sink lower in the chair, wishing I could disappear. Brielle used to date my brother, back before he was killed. Back when she still pretended to be part of my family and when she pretended to like me.

Now she’s Jaxon’s. If the rumors are true, she’s set to be his Luna.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Jaxson. Let her play. What can it hurt?”

Jaxson says something too low for us to hear and swigs from his bottle before motioning to Ryker to join the game.

“Alright, let’s play,” Brielle announces, testing and spinning an empty bottle across the floor with a flick of her fingers before stopping it. “Truth or dare. No backsies.”

“Just hurry and spin the stupid bottle, Brielle. So we can get that Omega slut out of here,” Ryker snaps, his voice cutting through me like a lash.

I flinch at the word, but try my best to pretend it doesn’t bother me. It does. I’m used to the insults, but being used to it and being immune are two very different things. Everyone knows what Omegas are good for, knows what they whisper about us when they think we aren’t listening. We are not Lunas. We will never be the wives. Omegas are the dirty little secrets they tuck away in guest houses and back rooms.

Mistresses. Playthings. Disposable.

No one ever says it aloud, of course.

The bottle clinks against the floor and spins wildly, and I am relieved when it doesn’t land on me. Laughter. Cheering. The first few rounds go fast with stupid dares, sloppy kisses, and exaggerated lap dances.

I’m already planning my excuse to leave. Maybe I’ll say I have an early morning shift. Perhaps I’ll fake being sick. Anything to get out of here.

Then the bottle spins again and lands on me.

Everything goes silent.

I blink. “No. That’s not—” I wonder who it landed on first, or does she need to spin it again? I’m not sure I was zoning out, but either way, I don’t want any part of this.

“What’s wrong, Autumn?” Brielle purrs. “Too good to play with us?”

“This game is immature,” I mutter, pushing up from my chair. “I’m leaving.”

But before I can even take a step, Ryker growls low from across the circle. “She doesn’t even know how to play.”

I freeze.

Brielle gasps. “Wait—oh dear Moon Goddess, surely not, are you a prude, Autumn?”

The word crashes over me like a slap.

She laughs. “That much of a prude, huh? Have you ever kissed someone? Scared to kiss… Ryker? I thought all Omegas are good for was to be a piece of ass.”

Every eye in the room swings to him.

He looks furious that the bottle landed on me. His jaw is clenched so tightly, and his gaze is hard as he glares at me.

“I’m not a prude,” I snap, face burning.

“Then prove it.” Brielle grins wickedly. “Kiss him.”